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NLP Research Group 9

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

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- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

devour

How many times the word 'devour' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

returned

How many times the word 'returned' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

shop

How many times the word 'shop' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

out

How many times the word 'out' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

some

How many times the word 'some' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

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How many times the word 'column' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

visits

How many times the word 'visits' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

giggling

How many times the word 'giggling' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

signs

How many times the word 'signs' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

aperture

How many times the word 'aperture' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

dapper

How many times the word 'dapper' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

grand

How many times the word 'grand' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

railroad

How many times the word 'railroad' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

handed

How many times the word 'handed' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

wearing

How many times the word 'wearing' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

count

How many times the word 'count' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

directly

How many times the word 'directly' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

evelda

How many times the word 'evelda' appears in the text?

- and he can see them. Colloredo is clearly discomfited by this reception of his employee. He smiles and bows uneasily, as they include him in the small ovation. Mozart stands in the corridor, out of the Archbishop's line of sight, bowing and giggling, and encouraging the applause for the Archbishop with conducting gestures. Suddenly irritated, Colloredo signs to Arco, who steps forward and shuts the door, ending the applause. INT. PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains. CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless fascination. The music is played against his description of it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) Extraordinary! On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing a voice of God. Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he lays down the score. MOZART Excuse me! He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room. Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little figure. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) But why? INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 OLD SALIERI Why? Would God choose an obscene child to be His instrument? It was not to be believed! This piece had to be an accident. It had to be! INT. PALACE DINING ROOM - DAY - 1780'S At the table sits the EMPEROR JOSEPH II, eating his frugal dinner and sipping goat's milk. He is an intelligent, dapper man of forty, wearing a military uniform. Around him but standing, are his Chamberlain, JOHANN VON STRACK: stiff and highly correct. COUNT ORSINI-ROSENBERG: a corpulent man of sixty, highly conscious of his position as Director of the Opera. BARON VON SWIETEN, the Imperial Librarian: a grave but kindly and educated man in his mid-fifties. FIRST KAPELLMEISTER GIUSEPPE BONNO: very Italian, cringing and time-serving, aged about seventy. And Salieri, wearing decorous black, as usual. At a side-table, two Imperial secretaries, using quill pens and inkstands, write down everything of importance that is said. JOSEPH How good is he, this Mozart? VON SWIETEN He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an extraordinary serious opera of his last month. Idomeneo, King of Crete. ORSINI-ROSENBERG That? A most tiresome piece. I heard it, too. VON SWIETEN Tiresome? ORSINI-ROSENBERG A young man trying to impress beyond his abilities. Too much spice. Too many notes. VON SWIETEN Majesty, I thought it the most promising work I've heard in years. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well then, we should make some effort to acquire him. We could use a good German composer in Vienna, surely? VON STRACK I agree, Majesty, but I'm afraid it's not possible. The young man is still in the pay of the Archbishop. JOSEPH Very small pay, I imagine. I'm sure he could be tempted with the right offer. Say, an opera in German for our National Theatre. VON SWIETEN Excellent, sire! ORSINI-ROSENBERG But not German, I beg your Majesty! Italian is the proper language for opera. All educated people agree on that. JOSEPH Ah-ha. What do you say, Chamberlain? VON STRACK In my opinion, it is time we had a piece in our own language, sir. Plain German. For plain people. He looks defiantly at Orsini-Rosenberg. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Kapellmeister? BONNO (Italian accent) Majesty, I must agree with Herr Dirretore. Opera is an Italian art, solamente. German is - scusate - too bruta for singing, too rough. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Court Composer, what do you say? SALIERI I think it is an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty. It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure - if that is your Majesty's intention. JOSEPH You are cattivo, Court Composer. (briskly, to Von Strack) I want to meet this young man. Chamberlain, arrange a pleasant welcome for him. VON STRACK Yes, sir. JOSEPH Well. There it is. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S A somber room which serves both as a bedroom and a study. We see a four-poster bed. Also, a marble mantelpiece above which hangs a handsome cross in olivewood, bearing the figure of a severe Christ. Opposite this image sits Salieri at his desk, on which stands a pile of music paper, quill pens and ink. On one side of him is an open forte-piano on which he occasionally tries notes from the march he is composing, with some difficulty. He scratches notes out with his quill, and ruffles his hair - which we see without a powdered wig. There is a knock at the door. SALIERI Si. A servant admits LORL, a young lower-class girl, who appears carrying a basket in which is a box covered with a napkin. She has just come from the baker's shop. SALIERI Ah! Here she comes. Fraulein Lorl, good morning. LORL Good morning, sir. SALIERI What have you got for me today? Let me see. Greedily he unwraps the napkin and lifts the lid on the box. SALIERI Ah-ha! Siena macaroons - my favourites. Give my best thanks to the baker. LORL I will, sir. He takes a biscuit and eats. SALIERI Thank you. Are you well today, Fraulein Lorl? LORL Yes, thank you, sir. SALIERI Bene! Bene! She gives a little curtsey, flattered and giggling and is shown out. Salieri turns back to his work, chewing. He plays through a complete line of the march. He smiles, pleased with the result. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. He inclines his head to the Christ above the fireplace, and starts to play the whole march, including the phrase which pleased him. INT. A WIGMAKER'S SHOP - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S The march continues on the forte-piano as we see Mozart, seated in front of a mirror, wearing an extravagant wig. On either side of him stands a SALESMAN, one of them holding another wig, equally extravagant. Mozart takes off the first wig, to reveal his own blonde hair, of which he is extremely proud, and hands it back. MOZART And the other one? The Salesman puts the second wig on his head. Mozart pulls a face of doubt in the mirror. MOZART And the other one? He takes it off and the other Salesman replaces it with the first wig on his head. MOZART Oh, they're both so beautiful, I can't decide. Why don't I have two heads? He giggles. The music stops. INT. GRAND SALON - THE ROYAL PALACE - DAY - 1780'S A door opens. We glimpse in the next room the Emperor Joseph bidding goodbye to a group of military officers standing around a table. JOSEPH Good, good, good. He turns and comes into the salon, where another group awaits him. It consists of Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno, Von Swieten and Salieri. The room contains several gilded chairs dotted about, and a forte-piano. JOSEPH Good morning, gentlemen. All bow and say, Good morning, Your Majesty! JOSEPH (to Von Strack) Well, what do you have for me today? VON STRACK Your Majesty, Herr Mozart - JOSEPH Yes, what about him? VON STRACK He's here. JOSEPH Ah-ha. Well. There it is. Good. SALIERI Majesty, I hope you won't think it improper, but I have written a little March of Welcome in his honour. He produces a paper. JOSEPH What a charming idea. May I see? SALIERI (handing it over) It's just a trifle, of course. JOSEPH May I try it? SALIERI Majesty. The Emperor goes to the instrument, sits and plays the first bars of it. Quite well. JOSEPH Delightful, Court Composer. Would you permit me to play it as he comes in? SALIERI You do me too much honour, Sire. JOSEPH Let's have some fun. (to the waiting Majordomo) Bring in Herr Mozart, please. But slowly, slowly. I need a minute to practice. The Majordomo bows and goes. The Emperor addresses himself to the march. He plays a wrong note. SALIERI A-flat, Majesty. JOSEPH Ah-ha! INT. PALACE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - DAY - 1780'S Taking his instructions literally, the Majordomo is marching very slowly toward the salon door. He is followed by a bewildered Mozart, dressed very stylishly and wearing one of the wigs from the perruqier. INT. ROYAL PALACE GRAND SALON - DAY - 1780'S Joseph finishes the march. The door opens. MAJORDOMO Herr Mozart. Mozart comes in eagerly. Immediately the march begins, played by His Majesty. All the courtiers stand, listening with admiration. Joseph plays well, but applies himself fiercely to the manuscript. Mozart, still bewildered, regards the scene, but does not seem to pay attention to the music itself. It finishes and all clap obsequiously. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Bravo, Your Majesty! VON STRACK Well done, Sire! The Emperor rises, pleased with himself. He snatches the manuscript off the stand and holds it in his hand for the rest of the scene. JOSEPH Gentlemen, gentlemen, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you. Ah, Mozart. He extends his hand. Mozart throws himself to his knees, and to Joseph's discomfort kisses the royal hand with fervour. MOZART Your Majesty! JOSEPH No, no, please! It is not a holy relic. (raising Mozart up) You know we have met already? In this very room. Perhaps you won't remember it, you were only six years old. (to the others) He was giving the most brilliant little concert here. As he got off the stool, he slipped and fell. My sister Antoinette helped him up herself, and do you know what he did? Jumped straight into her arms and said, Will you marry me, yes or no? Embarrassed, Mozart bursts into a wild giggle. Joseph helps him out. JOSEPH You know all these gentlemen, I'm sure. Von Strack and Bonno nod. JOSEPH The Baron Von Swieten. VON SWIETEN I'm a great admirer of yours, young man. Welcome. MOZART Oh, thank you. JOSEPH The Director of our Opera. Count Orsini-Rosenberg. MOZART (bowing excitedly) Oh sir, yes! The honour is mine. Absolutely. Orsini-Rosenberg nods without enthusiasm. JOSEPH And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Herr Salieri. SALIERI (taking his hand) Finally! Such an immense joy. Diletto straordinario! MOZART I know your work well, Signore. Do you know I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours? SALIERI Really? MOZART Mio caro Adone. SALIERI Ah! MOZART A funny little tune, but it yielded some good things. JOSEPH And now he has returned the compliment. Herr Salieri composed that March of Welcome for you. MOZART (speaking expertly) Really? Oh, grazie, Signore! Sono commosso! E un onore per mo eccezionale. Compositore brilliante e famossissimo! He bows elaborately. Salieri inclines himself, dryly. SALIERI My pleasure. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Now to business. Young man, we are going to commission an opera from you. What do you say? MOZART Majesty! JOSEPH (to the courtiers) Did we vote in the end for German or Italian? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Well, actually, Sire, if you remember, we did finally incline to Italian. VON STRACK Did we? VON SWIETEN I don't think it was really decided, Director. MOZART Oh, German! German! Please let it be German. JOSEPH Why so? MOZART Because I've already found the most wonderful libretto! ORSINI-ROSENBERG Oh? Have I seen it? MOZART I - I don't think you have, Herr Director. Not yet. I mean, it's quite n - Of course, I'll show it to you immediately. ORSINI-ROSENBERG I think you'd better. JOSEPH Well, what is it about? Tell us the story. MOZART It's actually quite amusing, Majesty. It's set - the whole thing is set in a - in a - He stops short with a little giggle. JOSEPH Yes, where? MOZART In a Pasha's Harem, Majesty. A Seraglio. JOSEPH Ah-ha. ORSINI-ROSENBERG You mean in Turkey? MOZART Exactly. ORSINI-ROSENBERG Then why especially does it have to be in German? MOZART Well not especially. It can be in Turkish, if you really want. I don't care. He giggles again. Orsini-Rosenberg looks at him sourly. VON SWIETEN (kindly) My dear fellow, the language is not finally the point. Do you really think that subject is quite appropriate for a national theatre? MOZART Why not? It's charming. I mean, I don't actually show concubines exposing their! their! It's not indecent! (to Joseph) It's highly moral, Majesty. It's full of proper German virtues. I swear it. Absolutely! JOSEPH Well, I'm glad to hear that. SALIERI Excuse me, Sire, but what do you think these could be? Being a foreigner, I would love to learn. JOSEPH Cattivo again, Court Composer. Well, tell him, Mozart. Name us a German virtue. MOZART Love, Sire! SALIERI Ah, love! Well of course in Italy we know nothing about that. The Italian faction - Orsini-Rosenberg and Bonno - laugh discreetly. MOZART No, I don't think you do. I mean watching Italian opera, all those male sopranos screeching. Stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about! That's not love - it's just rubbish. An embarrassed pause. Bonno giggles in nervous amusement. MOZART Majesty, you choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch. Pause. Joseph is clearly pleased. JOSEPH Well, there it is. Let it be German. He nods - he has wanted this result all the time. He turns and makes for the door. All bow. Then he becomes aware of the manuscript in his hand. JOSEPH Ah, this is yours. Mozart does not take it. MOZART Keep it, Sire, if you want to. It is already here in my head. JOSEPH What? On one hearing only? MOZART I think so, Sire, yes. Pause. JOSEPH Show me. Mozart bows and hands the manuscript back to the Emperor. Then he goes to the forte-piano and seats himself. The others, except for Salieri, gather around the manuscript held by the King. Mozart plays the first half of the march with deadly accuracy. MOZART (to Salieri) The rest is just the same, isn't it? He plays the first half again but stops in the middle of a phrase, which he repeats dubiously. MOZART That really doesn't work, does it? All the courtiers look at Salieri. MOZART Did you try this? Wouldn't it be just a little more -? He plays another phrase. MOZART Or this - yes, this! Better. He plays another phrase. Gradually, he alters the music so that it turns into the celebrated march to be used later in The Marriage of Figaro, Non Piu Andrai. He plays it with increasing abandon and virtuosity. Salieri watches with a fixed smile on his face. The court watches, astonished. He finishes in great glory, takes his hands off the keys with a gesture of triumph - and grins. INT. BEDROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S We see the olivewood cross. Salieri is sitting at his desk, staring at it. SALIERI Grazie, Signore. There is a knock at the door. He does not hear it, but sits on. Another knock, louder. SALIERI Yes? Lorl comes in. LORL Madame Cavalieri is here for her lesson, sir. SALIERI Bene. He gets up and enters: INT. MUSIC ROOM IN SALIERI'S APARTMENT - DAY - 1780'S KATHERINA CAVALIERI, a young, high-spirited soprano of twenty is waiting for him, dressed in a fashionable dress and wearing on her head an exotic turban of satin, with a feather. Lorl exits. CAVALIERI (curtseying to him) Maestro. SALIERI Good morning. CAVALIERI (posing, in her turban) Well? How do you like it? It's Turkish. My hairdresser tells me everything's going to be Turkish this year! SALIERI Really? What else did he tell you today? Give me some gossip. CAVALIERI Well, I heard you met Herr Mozart. SALIERI Oh? News travels fast in Vienna. CAVALIERI And he's been commissioned to write an opera. Is it true? SALIERI Yes. CAVALIERI Is there a part for me? SALIERI No. CAVALIERI How do you know? SALIERI Well even if there is, I don't think you want to get involved with this one. CAVALIERI Why not? SALIERI Well, do you know where it's set, my dear? CAVALIERI Where? SALIERI In a harem. CAVALIERI What's that? SALIERI A brothel. CAVALIERI Oh! SALIERI A Turkish brothel. CAVALIERI Turkish? Oh, if it's Turkish, that's different. I want to be in it. SALIERI My dear, it will hardly enhance your reputation to be celebrated throughout Vienna as a singing prostitute for a Turk. He seats himself at the forte-piano. CAVALIERI Oh. Well perhaps you could introduce us anyway. SALIERI Perhaps. He plays a chord. She sings a scale, expertly. He strikes another chord. She starts another scale, then breaks off. CAVALIERI What does he look like? SALIERI You might be disappointed. CAVALIERI Why? SALIERI Looks and talent don't always go together, Katherina. CAVALIERI (airily) Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste. He strikes the chord again, firmly. Cavalieri sings her next scale, then another one, and another one, doing her exercises in earnest. As she hits a sustained high note the orchestral accompaniment in the middle of Martern Aller Arten from Il Seraglio comes in underneath and the music changes from exercises to the exceedingly florid aria. We DISSOLVE on the singer's face, and she is suddenly not merely turbaned, but painted and dressed totally in a Turkish manner, and we are on: INT. OPERA STAGE - VIENNA - 1780'S The heroine of the opera (Cavalieri) is in full cry addressing the Pasha with scorn and defiance. The house is full. Watching the performance - which is conducted by Mozart from the clavier in the midst of the orchestra - we note Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg, Bonno and Von Swieten, all grouped around the Emperor, in a box. In another box we see an overdressed, middle-aged woman and three girls, one of whom is Constanze. This is the formidable MADAME WEBER and her three daughters, Constanze, JOSEFA and SOPHIE. All are enraptured by the spectacle and Madame Weber is especially enraptured by being there at all. Not so, Salieri, who sits in another box, coldly watching the stage. Cavalieri is singing Martern aller Arten from the line Doch du bist entschlossen. CAVALIERI Since you are determined, Since you are determined, Calmly, with no ferment, Welcome - every pain and woe. Bind me then - compel me! Bind me then - compel me! Hurt me. Break me! Kill me! At last I shall be freed by death! After a few moments of this showy aria, with the composer and the singer staring at each other - he conducting elaborately for her benefit, and she following his beat with rapturous eyes - the music fades, and Salieri speaks over it. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) There she was. I had no idea where they met - or how - yet there she stood on stage for all to see. Showing off like the greedy songbird she was. Ten minutes of ghastly scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down like fireworks at a fairground. Music up again for the last 30 bars of the aria. CAVALIERI (singing) Be freed at last by death! Be freed at last by death! At last I shall be freed By! Death! Before the orchestral coda ends, cut to: INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1823 Through the window we see that night has fallen. OLD SALIERI Understand, I was in love with the girl. Or at least in lust. I wasn't a saint. It took me the most tremendous effort to be faithful to my vow. I swear to you I never laid a finger on her. All the same, I couldn't bear to think of anyone else touching her - least of all the Creature. CUT BACK TO: INT. THE OPERA HOUSE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The brilliant Turkish finale of Seraglio bursts over us. All the cast is lined up on stage. Mozart is conducting with happy excitement. CAST OF SERAGLIO (singing) Pasha Selim May he Live forever! Ever, ever, ever, ever! Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! May his noble brow emblazon Glory, fortune, joy and fame! Honour be to Pasha Selim Honour to his regal name! Honour to his regal name! The curtains fall. Much applause. The Emperor claps vigorously and - following his lead - so do the courtiers. The curtains part. Mozart applauds the singers who applaud him back. He skips up onto the stage amongst them. The curtains fall again as they all bow. In the auditorium, the chandeliers descend, filling it with light. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S The curtains are down, and an excited hubbub of singers in costume surround Mozart and Cavalieri, all excited and chattering. Suddenly a hush. The Emperor is seen approaching from the wings, lit by flunkies holding candles. Von Strack, Orsini-Rosenberg and Von Swieten, amongst others, follow him. Also Salieri. The singers line up. Joseph stops at Cavalieri who makes a deep curtsey. JOSEPH Bravo, Madame. You are an ornament to our stage. CAVALIERI Majesty. JOSEPH (to Salieri) And to you, Court Composer. Your pupil has done you great credit. INT. BACKSTAGE CORRIDOR - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S MADAME WEBER Let us pass, please! Let us pass at once! We're with the Emperor. FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame. It is not permitted. MADAME WEBER Do you know who I am? (pointing to Constanze) This is my daughter. I am Frau Weber. We are favoured guests! FLUNKY I am sorry, Madame, but I have my orders. MADAME WEBER Call Herr Mozart! You call Herr Mozart immediately! This is insupportable! CONSTANZE Mother, please! MADAME WEBER Go ahead, Constanze. Just ignore this fellow. (pushing her) Go ahead, dear! FLUNKY (barring the way) I am sorry, Madame, but no! I cannot let anyone pass. MADAME WEBER Young man, I am no stranger to theatres. I'm no stranger to insolence! CUT BACK TO: INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S All are applauding Cavalieri. The Emperor turns to Mozart. JOSEPH Well, Herr Mozart! A good effort. Decidedly that. An excellent effort! You've shown us something quite new today. Mozart bows frantically: he is over-excited. MOZART It is new, it is, isn't it, Sire? JOSEPH Yes, indeed. MOZART And German? JOSEPH Oh, yes. Absolutely. German. Unquestionably! MOZART So then you like it? You really like it, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Of course I do. It's very good. Of course now and then - just now and then - it gets a touch elaborate. MOZART What do you mean, Sire? JOSEPH Well, I mean occasionally it seems to have, how shall one say? (he stops in difficulty; to Orsini- Rosenberg) How shall one say, Director? ORSINI-ROSENBERG Too many notes, Your Majesty? JOSEPH Exactly. Very well put. Too many notes. MOZART I don't understand. There are just as many notes, Majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less. JOSEPH My dear fellow, there are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening. I think I'm right in saying that, aren't I, Court Composer? SALIERI Yes! yes! er, on the whole, yes, Majesty. MOZART (to Salieri) But this is absurd! JOSEPH My dear, young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Cut a few and it will be perfect. MOZART Which few did you have in mind, Majesty? Pause. General embarrassment. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Into this uncomfortable scene bursts a sudden eruption of noise and Madame Weber floods onto the stage, followed by her daughters. All turn to look at this amazing spectacle. MADAME WEBER Wolfi! Wolfi, my dear! She moves toward Mozart with arms outstretched in an absurd theatrical gesture, then sees the Emperor. She stares at him, mesmerized, her mouth open, unable even to curtsey. MADAME WEBER Oh! Mozart moves forward quickly. MOZART Majesty, this is Madame Weber. She is my landlady. JOSEPH Enchanted, Madame. MADAME WEBER Oh, Sire! such an honour! And, and, and these are my dear daughters. This is Constanze. She is the fiancee of Herr Mozart. Constanze curtsies. CU, of Cavalieri, astonished at the news. CU, of Salieri, watching her receive it. JOSEPH Really? How delightful. May I ask when you marry? MOZART Well - Well we haven't quite received my father's consent, Your Majesty. Not entirely. Not altogether. He giggles uncomfortably. JOSEPH Excuse me, but how old are you? MOZART Twenty-six. JOSEPH Well, my advice is to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna. MADAME WEBER You see? You see? I've told him that, Your Majesty, but he won't listen to me. Cavalieri is glaring at Mozart. Mozart looks hastily away from her. MADAME WEBER Oh, Your Majesty, you give such wonderful - such impeccable - such royal advice. I - I - May I? She attempts to kiss the royal hand, but faints instead. The Emperor contemplates her prone body and steps back a pace. JOSEPH Well. There it is. Strack. He nods pleasantly to all and leaves the stage, with his Chamberlain. All bow. Cavalieri turns with a savage look at Mozart and leaves the stage the opposite way, to her dressing room, tossing her plumed head. Salieri watches. Mozart stays for a second, indecisive whether to follow the soprano or help Madame Weber. CONSTANZE (to Mozart) Get some water! He hurries away. The daughters gather around Madame Weber. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Katherina sits fuming at her mirror. A dresser is taking the pins out of her wig as she stares straight ahead of her. Mozart sticks his head round the door. MOZART Katherina! I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write another aria for you. Something even more amazing for the second act. I have to get some water. Her mother is lying on the stage. CAVALIERI Don't bother! MOZART What? CAVALIERI Don't bother. MOZART I'll be right back. He dashes off. INT. OPERA HOUSE STAGE - VIENNA - NIGHT - 1780'S Constanze and Mozart make their way quickly through a crowd of actors in turbans and caftans, and stagehands carrying bits of the dismantled set of Seraglio. We see all the turmoil of backstage after a performance. A fireman passes Mozart carrying a small bucket of water. Mozart snatches it from him and pushes his way through the crowd to Madame Weber, who still lies prone on the stage. Mozart pushes through the crowd surrounding her and throws water on her face. She is instantly revived by the shock. Constanze assists her to rise. CONSTANZE Are you all right? Instead of being furious, Madame Weber smiles at them rapturously. MADAME WEBER Ah, what an evening! What a wise man we have for an Emperor. Oh, my children! (with sudden, hard briskness) Now I want you to write your father exactly what His Majesty said. The activity continues to swirl around them. MOZART You should really go home now, Frau Weber. Your carriage must be waiting. MADAME WEBER But aren't you taking us? MOZART I have to talk to the singers. MADAME WEBER That's all right; we'll wait for you. Just don't take all night. INT. CAVALIERI'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT - 1780'S Cavalieri, still in costume, is marching up and down, very agitated. CAVALIERI Did you know? Had you heard? SALIERI What? CAVALIERI The marriage! SALIERI Well, what does it matter to you? CAVALIERI Nothing! He can marry who he pleases. I don't give a damn. She catches him looking at her and tries to compose herself. CAVALIERI How was I? Tell me honestly. SALIERI You were sublime. CAVALIERI What did you think of the music? SALIERI Extremely clever. CAVALIERI Meaning you didn't like it. Mozart comes in unexpectedly. MOZART Oh - excuse me! CAVALIERI Is her mother still lying on the floor? MOZART No, she's fine. CAVALIERI I'm so relieved. She seats herself at her mirror and removes her wig. SALIERI Dear Mozart, my sincere congratulations. MOZART Did you like it, then? SALIERI How could I not? MOZART It really is the best music one can hear in Vienna today. Don't you agree? CAVALIERI Is she a good fuck? MOZART What?? CAVALIERI I assume she's the virtuoso in that department. There can't be any other reason you'd marry someone like that. Salieri looks astonished. There is a knock on the door. CAVALIERI Come in! The door opens. Constanze enters. CONSTANZE Excuse me, Wolfi. Mama is not feeling very well. Can we leave now? MOZART Of course. CAVALIERI No, no, no, no. You can't take him away now. This is his night. Won't you introduce us, Wolfgang? MOZART Excuse us, Fraulein. Good night, Signore. Mozart hurries Constanze out of the door. Cavalieri looks after them as they go, her voice breaking and rising out of control. CAVALIERI You really are full of surprises, aren't you? You are quite extraordinary, you little shit! She turns and collapses, crying with rage, into Salieri's arms. We focus on him. OLD SALIERI (V.O.) At that moment I knew beyond any doubt. He'd had her. The Creature had had my darling girl. INT. OLD SALIERI'S HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT - 1820'S The old man speaks passionately to the priest. OLD SALIERI It was incomprehensible. What was God up to? Here I was denying all my natural lust in order to deserve God's gift and there was Mozart indulging his in all directions - even though engaged to be married! - and no rebuke at all! Was it possible I was being tested? Was God expecting me to offer forgiveness in the face of every offense, no matter how painful? That was very possible.

thank

How many times the word 'thank' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

coins

How many times the word 'coins' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

takes

How many times the word 'takes' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

storm

How many times the word 'storm' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

made

How many times the word 'made' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

only

How many times the word 'only' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

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-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

sound

How many times the word 'sound' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

pulls

How many times the word 'pulls' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

soaked

How many times the word 'soaked' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

samantha

How many times the word 'samantha' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

gaping

How many times the word 'gaping' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

reach

How many times the word 'reach' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

train

How many times the word 'train' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

envelope

How many times the word 'envelope' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

frame

How many times the word 'frame' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

hyperventilating

How many times the word 'hyperventilating' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

burnt

How many times the word 'burnt' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

nose

How many times the word 'nose' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

related

How many times the word 'related' appears in the text?

-The cord holding together the bale of chain-link is snipped and a boot rolls the fencing out flat. -Chain-link is attached to the stakes with a number of metal braids. -The prefab DOGHOUSE is set down in the back corner. Curtis stands in front of his newly created dog pen. It's waist high and about 7' X 10', tucked in the back left corner of the yard so that half of the pen is made up by the existing fencing. INT. FLEA MARKET - DAY Samantha turns to see a large woman holding up an intricately embroidered pillow. You can tell by the look of her that she's a flea market pro, a BARGAIN HUNTER(54). BARGAIN HUNTER How much you asking for this pillow? 22. SAMANTHA This pillow's fifteen dollars. BARGAIN HUNTER That's more than I want to spend. SAMANTHA This is all hand stitched. It takes a really long time. That's why I charge that. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you seven for it. Samantha looks at the woman, who is almost daring her. SAMANTHA I can't go that low. BARGAIN HUNTER Well that's my offer. The woman sets down the pillow and begins looking over other items on the table. Samantha bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't like to haggle. SAMANTHA How about 10? The woman doesn't look up. BARGAIN HUNTER I'll give you eight, but it's in change. Samantha forces a smile and motions to Hannah. SAMANTHA That's fine. The woman smiles and removes a Ziplock bag of assorted coins from her purse. Hannah takes the bag. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) Lucky for you she likes to count change. Hannah opens the bag and begins to turn it over. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - DAY - LATER Curtis unlatches a piece of the braided wire holding a separated section of fencing that acts like a gate. CURTIS Red! Come on. 23. He opens it and looks down at Red, who sits at his feet. He speaks gently to the dog. CURTIS (CONT'D) Get in. Red walks into the pen. CURTIS (CONT'D) Good boy. Curtis closes the gate, kneels and places his hands on the fence. Red approaches so that his nose is touching Curtis' fingers. Curtis scratches him. CURTIS (CONT'D) I'm sorry about this buddy. We just gotta work it like this for awhile okay? Curtis stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He sees the Storm Shelter poking up from behind the trash pile. He looks down at Red. Curtis walks to the Shelter. Clearing past the trash pile, the shelter appears, the mound fully visible. Curtis stops at the angled doors. He studies them. A rusted padlock is snapped shut across the handles. He reaches out and lifts up the padlock. He yanks on it, then lets it fall. INT. KITCHEN - DAY Coins splash across the kitchen counter. Curtis sets an empty coffee can back on the shelf in front of him and begins sifting through the change. Odd screws, buttons, then he gets to what he's looking for. A small set of brass keys on a matching ring. He grabs the keys from the pile and exits. EXT. LAFORCHE BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS Curtis walks back out to the storm shelter, keys in hand, long flashlight in his back pocket. He pulls up the padlock that holds the two rusted doors together. Popping off the rubber cover, he tries a key. The lock pops up. He unhooks it from the doors and lets it fall to the ground. Curtis strains to pull the first door open. It's heavy and sticks from lack of use. Finally, with a creak, the door swings back. 24. Curtis holds his head to the side, a musty odor coming from inside. He forces the second door open. Curtis stands in front of the shelter, a gaping black hole angled up from the earth. He takes the flashlight from his pocket and turns it on. It illuminates concrete steps leading down. The dog, nose at the fence, watches from his pen on the other side of the yard. Curtis enters the shelter. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS It's pitch black inside. Curtis makes his way down the steps and holds out the flashlight. An assortment of trash on the ground, empty cans and water bottles, some candy wrappers. The whole shelter is only about 6' X 8'. His head fits fine, but he still ducks like he might bump it. He shines the light on the back wall. A rotted, wooden bench is bolted into the concrete there. Curtis walks to it and takes a seat. He's looking back toward the steps now. A shaft of light cuts a strict beam through the open doors, lighting only the concrete entry. Curtis takes in the quiet of the concrete box. He leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He shuts off his flashlight. Left in the dark, he takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. INT. DEN - NIGHT NEWS ANCHOR (ON TELEVISION) While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs wife... Curtis sits in his Lazyboy bent over a frozen dinner. He watches the local news on TV. Samantha walks in with a glass of milk and some Oreos, a magazine tucked under her arm. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Samantha takes a TIN down from the top of the fridge. It has designs of starfish and other ocean creatures on it. 25. She sets the tin on the counter next to the tackle box she uses as a cash register and yells to Curtis in the den. SAMANTHA But that's what I don't understand. If he didn't do anything why did you put him out back? Samantha counts out the money earned at the flea market. She sets a portion aside and closes the tackle box. Curtis says something, but it's inaudible. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) What? She opens the tin and removes an envelope with the word "BEACH" written on it in black sharpie. Samantha adds the money to the envelope and puts up the jar. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) You hear me? I said if he didn't do anything why did you have to put him outside? Curtis' attention is on the TV. Samantha sits on the couch. CURTIS I just wanted him to be outside for awhile. SAMANTHA He's your dog. He's always been an inside dog. CURTIS He's my dog, and that's why he's outside. Right now with Hannah and everything I just think it'd be better. SAMANTHA Hannah loves Red. CURTIS Hold on. Curtis stares at the television program. Samantha's eyes narrow. Frustrated, she flips open her magazine. NEWS ANCHOR ...the gas cloud spread across their six acre property. (MORE) 26. NEWS ANCHOR (CONT'D) The only way off their land was across the train tracks which were blocked by wreckage. WALTER JACOBS (from a hospital bed) I tried using some wet rags and towels to breathe through but that just seemed to make it worse. NEWS ANCHOR While rescue workers made several attempts to reach the family, Walter Jacobs' wife and brother-in- law died in the home. Jacobs survived despite enduring eleven hours of exposure to the gas cloud before finally being flown out by helicopter. CURTIS You hearin' this? Her nose still in the magazine. SAMANTHA It's awful. CURTIS Eleven hours. No way out. Samantha shakes her head. Curtis watches the footage of Walter Jacobs. He watches his red rimmed eyes. The deep lines in his face. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY It's daytime, but the house feels dark from the storm blowing outside. The SOUND of rain pelts the windows and roof. Curtis, dressed for work, walks from his bedroom down the hallway. He passes the den and stops at its entryway. IN THE DEN, Hannah sits on the couch with her back to him. She's on her knees looking out one of the front windows. A dull orange glow halos from the bank of windows. What sunlight there is appears diffused by the dark, thick rain smearing down the outside of the glass. A THUNDER STRIKE. 27. Curtis flinches. He shows concern as heavier rain begins battering the house. The wind picks up making wood beams creak on their foundation. CURTIS Hannah. Hannah doesn't move. She continues staring out the window. The SOUND of the storm outside intensifies. Windows begin to rattle in their frames. Curtis walks over and reaches for Hannah but is startled by the sight of a MAN'S FACE just outside the window. Hannah and the Man have been staring at one another. The Man, hollow eyed and pale, moves out of the window and out of sight. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey! Thunder CRACKS overhead. Curtis scoops Hannah into his arms and heads out of the room. BANG. The front door rattles. Curtis stops and turns back. BANG. BANG. The SOUND of someone kicking at the front door. The storm outside has grown to a deafening pitch. The power goes out. The entire house vibrates, like a freight train running across the roof. The BANGING at the front door continues, frame giving way, as the STORM reaches its apex. Curtis, holding Hannah, kneels and braces himself in the entryway to the den. He covers the back of Hannah's head with his hands and squeezes her tight into his shoulder. Then Silence. A stillness. The rain stops. No more banging at the front door. The SUN moves brightly though the front windows. WOOSH. The furniture in the den lifts off the ground. A couch, Lazyboy, coffee table and lamp. It all hangs in the air, floating for a moment. Quietly. Curtis watches, eyes wide. A rumbling. Grows. The SUNLIGHT vanishes. SMASH! The sound of the storm is sucked back into the room as the furniture crashes to the floor, breaking apart on impact. 28. The windows BLOW OUT. Curtis squeezes his eyes shut and pivots his body, trying to protect Hannah. Shards of glass splinter across his face. INT. BEDROOM - DAY Curtis gasps for air. It doesn't come. Gasp. He's sucking for a breath. Hyperventilating. He rises up in bed, gasping. His face flushed and head soaked in sweat. His eyes dart around the room, frantically searching his surroundings. One more gasp, and air enters his lungs. He coughs. More air. Long, deep breaths. He's calming down. His breathing comes under control. His attention turns to something else. Something under the sheets. Curtis pulls back the bed sheets. The mattress is soaked in YELLOW urine. This scares him. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch his wet boxers. The toilet FLUSHES. Footsteps in heels. Curtis quickly pulls the covers back up. Samantha enters the bedroom. She pulls her hair into a tight ponytail and picks earrings off a nearby dresser, her back to Curtis. CURTIS Babe? SAMANTHA Yeah? CURTIS You got the number for Dr. Shannan? She turns. SAMANTHA You're still not feeling good? CURTIS Yeah, but you got the number? SAMANTHA Uh, yeah baby but he'll be closed today. She approaches the bed and he holds his hand out. 29. CURTIS Right. Yeah. I'll call tomorrow. SAMANTHA Honey if you're not feeling good we take you in somewhere. She walks closer to the bed. CURTIS No. Stop! She's taken aback. SAMANTHA Okay. Do you want me to cancel lunch today... CURTIS Shit... SAMANTHA What is that? CURTIS I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just I got a sore throat. I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you. SAMANTHA I was gonna leave Hannah with you so I could go to church, but I'm not going to with you like this. CURTIS It's fine. I'll be fine. SAMANTHA No. She needs breakfast. CURTIS (STERN) I've got it. SAMANTHA I'm sorry that you feel bad but you need to drop the attitude. CURTIS Come on. Just go. SAMANTHA What's wrong with you? CURTIS I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just go. 30. SAMANTHA Hannah's in the den. We have cereal for her. Samantha stomps out of the room. Curtis sighs. He halfway lifts the sheet then lets it fall again. INT. BEDROOM - LATER Curtis strips the sheets off the bed. INT. HALLWAY - DAY The laundry room is a stackable set squeezed into a closet off the hallway. Curtis loads the sheets into the washer and presses start. Watching the clothes spin, a thought. INT. DEN - DAY Curtis pushes Hannah's shoe onto her foot. He stops with the shoes to concentrate. He moves his index finger from one shoulder to the other and speaks. CURTIS We're going out. Confused, she slices her finger down an open palm. CURTIS (CONT'D) (with open palms) We're going out. Okay? It's okay. EXT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY Curtis leads Hannah up the front walk of the Grafton Public Library. It's a one-story brick building with 1960's architecture. The parking lot is nearly empty behind them. INT. GRAFTON PUBLIC LIBRARY - CONTINUOUS Curtis holds the glass front door open for Hannah. They stop in the entryway and survey the LIBRARY. There are only a few people, one of which is the LIBRARIAN sitting behind a central desk. It is an open room with cinder block walls painted in brightly colored shapes. 31. Curtis finds the children's section to the left and leads Hannah over. She takes a seat at a kid's size table as Curtis grabs a Dinosaur book from a nearby display. Kneeling in front of her, Curtis shows her the book and motions with open hands to the ground. CURTIS You stay put okay? Hannah begins looking through the book. Curtis stands, he sees a set of computers under a sign reading, "CATALOGUE". AT THE COMPUTERS, Curtis takes a seat in front of one of the two computers set up on a folding table. He eyes the search screen. Title, Author, Subject. He clicks on "Subject" and types the word "DREAMS". He scrolls through a list of titles and writes down a number. He looks back for Hannah. She's still flipping through her book. No one else is around. He begins another search. He types "MENTAL ILLNESS". AT THE BOOK SHELVES, Curtis scans the spines looking for his title. He already holds two books against his chest. He pulls out a thick hard cover book. The title reads, "Understanding Mental Illness." I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/GRAFTON STREETS - MOVING - DAY Hannah is once again strapped into her car seat. She holds a big children's book in her hands. They pass a Grocery Store. Curtis turns as it goes by. The truck pulls a U-turn in the street and heads for the store parking lot. INT. GROCERY STORE - DAY Curtis pushes a cart down the aisle. Hannah rides in the fold down metal seat. They stop at the bottled water section. Curtis loads several plastic, gallon jugs of water into his cart. The cart is filled with an assortment of supplies: Batteries, canned food, first aid supplies, matches. 32. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - DAY Samantha sits in the dining room at a fully dressed table. Steam rises off bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried chicken piled on a platter. MELVIN(58) taps his finger on the empty plate in front of him and subtly checks his watch. JANINE(57) smooths out the embroidered table cloth. KATHRYN(37) and CHARLIE(39) tend to their child, REX(3). Rex repeatedly jams a finger into the potatoes. SAMANTHA Let's just start. MELVIN Let's all join hands for the blessing. The SOUND of the front door opening. Samantha gets up and leaves the room. BY THE FRONT DOOR, Curtis has Hannah in his arms. He closes the door. Samantha appears behind them. She speaks in a hushed, angry voice. SAMANTHA Where the hell have you been? CURTIS I know. I'm sorry. I had to run an errand. SAMANTHA You're really late. CURTIS I know. SAMANTHA You didn't even bring your cell phone. Samantha heads back to the dining room. Curtis sucks his teeth. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/DINING ROOM - LATER Potatoes dalloped, chicken passed, the table is active with the family serving and eating. Curtis watches it all, somehow separated from it. He's exhausted. 33. MELVIN Missed you at church this mornin' Curtis. SAMANTHA Dad. MELVIN He knows what to do if he wants me to stop askin'. Curtis looks at him. CURTIS Was it a good service? MELVIN It was. It was good work. Curtis nods. The family in front of him eats the meal. CURTIS I'm thinking about cleaning up that storm shelter out back. They look at him. INT. LAFORCHE HOME/HALLWAY - EVENING Light from the open closet door cuts a shape in the relatively dark hallway. Curtis roots through the back of the closet. INT. STORM SHELTER - SERIES OF IMAGES - NIGHT -Curtis sweeps the concrete floor of the storm shelter. A Coleman camping lantern sits on the wooden bench attached to the back wall. It casts an odd light up into the room. -Curtis places cans of food onto metal shelves. -Curtis flips through keys on his key ring. He adds the two small padlock keys to the ring. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha sits on the bed in her pajamas applying lotion to her legs. She wipes the remainder on her knuckles and looks at the empty spot on Curtis' side of the bed. 34. INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Samantha walks into the kitchen and turns off the overhead light. She pauses, seeing something in the backyard. She stops at the back door and stares out at the storm shelter. The camp lantern's orange light glows through the open metal doors. She watches for a moment. INT. STORM SHELTER - CONTINUOUS The shelter has been cleaned up. The metal shelves hold canned food, water jugs and first aid supplies. Blankets and pillows are stacked on the other side of the room. Curtis sits in the back corner of the shelter on the wooden bench. He flips through one of the books from the library. The cover reads, "DREAM ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION". The book on mental illness sits by his feet. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/RECEPTION AREA - DAY The Doctor's Office is a converted one-story residential house. Curtis slouches in a faux leather chair grouped in the small reception area. He has nodded off. His head snaps up. He sucks air through his nose and sits up in his chair. He sees a WOMAN(25) reading a children's book aloud to her DAUGHTER(3) on a colorful rug in the corner. A door opens and a NURSE with a clipboard steps out. NURSE Curtis? Curtis stands and follows the nurse out of the room. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE/EXAM ROOM - DAY Curtis sits, fully clothed, on the edge of a paper covered bench in the exam room. DOCTOR SHANNAN, an older man with a smoker's voice, enters smiling and gives a firm handshake. DOCTOR SHANNAN Curtis, how you doin' bud? CURTIS Hey Doc. DOCTOR SHANNAN How's my girl? 35. The Doctor turns to a small table in the corner and grabs a wooden tongue depressor and an otoscope from a drawer. CURTIS She's good. DOCTOR SHANNAN That's good to hear. Tilt your head back for me. The Doctor shines the otoscope into his nostrils. CURTIS I don't have a cold. The Doctor pauses and turns to check a chart on the table. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. Did she get that down wrong? CURTIS No, I just told her that. DOCTOR SHANNAN Oh. So what's the problem? CURTIS I've been havin'...I've been having some trouble sleepin'. I was hopin' you could give me somethin' for it. Doctor Shannan takes a seat on a rolling stool and processes the request. DOCTOR SHANNAN How long's this been goin' on? CURTIS `Bout four nights now. DOCTOR SHANNAN You're not sleepin' at all? CURTIS Well some, but real restless. DOCTOR SHANNAN Well, I think four nights is a little too soon to tell. My advice would be to not eat or drink anything after 8 o'clock at night. Cut back on any alcoholic drinks, tobacco, caffeine...get some daily exercise. 36. CURTIS Well, I think... Curtis isn't sure how much he wants to say. CURTIS (CONT'D) I think I may need to try some medication. DOCTOR SHANNAN Why do you say that? CURTIS (STILL RELUCTANT) The reason I've been having trouble sleeping is because of some dreams I've been havin'. I didn't think it was anything at first, but then the other day I woke up and the bed was wet. DOCTOR SHANNAN You urinated in your bed? CURTIS Yeah. Couple days before that I had a dream that my dog attacked me and it took all day for the pain in my arm to go away. Doctor Shannan leans his back against the table and thinks about this. DOCTOR SHANNAN You been to see your mother lately? He swivels the stool around and writes on a prescription pad. CURTIS It's been about a month. He tears two sheets off and holds the first out to Curtis. DOCTOR SHANNAN Okay. This is a prescription for a pretty mild sedative. It's non- habit forming, but I'm only giving you enough for a few days anyway. Take it and see if it helps. In the meantime, (holds up the other slip) This is the number of a good friend of mine in Columbus. He's a psychiatrist. It's a drive, but he's the best I know. 37. CURTIS Okay. DOCTOR SHANNAN I'll give him a call and let him know you'll be down to see him. CURTIS All right. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY The construction site sits in the middle of open farmland but is considerably more involved than Curtis' last job site. Dump trucks, backhoes and cement mixers roll and beep across muddy ground. A 20 MAN CREW operates throughout. NEAR THE WELL DRILLING RIG, Dewart pushes down a lever that activates the hydraulic lift for the drill. Curtis appears behind him. CURTIS Hey Dewart! DEWART (HALF TURNING) What you say Curtis? CURTIS Not much. Curtis kneels at the ground beside the rig. Sifts dirt through his fingers. DEWART They want us to get a pilot hole drilled by lunch. I figure worse comes to worse we can eat on the rig. CURTIS Yeah, we'll get it done. Weekend all right? DEWART Yeah. Same old shit. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - LATER It's lunchtime. The men sit around in different groups eating out of bagged lunches. Curtis eats a sandwich and watches the men. Some bitching. Others laughing. 38. Wind blows through a wooded area nearby. He watches the leaves move. He looks to the sky. It's a beautiful day. Almost peaceful. EXT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY The insurance office sits in a row of small downtown buildings. INSURANCE AGENT (O.S.) No. I need the name of the specialist whose diagnosis you'll accept. INT. SHEPHERD INSURANCE OFFICE - DAY An INSURANCE AGENT(62) sits behind her desk with the phone to her ear. She's an older woman wearing a pant suit. Samantha sits by a fake plant and sips a Coke. She watches Hannah play with building blocks from a plastic tub provided by the office. INSURANCE AGENT (into the phone) No. Look it. I've told you this twice. Please. Just get me the name and or the approval code. (BEAT) Okay. The Agent writes something down. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) (into the phone) All right. And the phone. Well great. Thank you very much. The Agent hangs up the phone and rips a piece of paper from the pad in front of her. She hands it to Samantha. INSURANCE AGENT (CONT'D) This is the name and number of the specialist who the insurance company approves of. Just call and make an appointment. Now if this doctor signs off , you should have the implant procedure fully covered. I'm sorry it took so long. Samantha looks at the paper, impressed. SAMANTHA Can I give you a hug? 39. INSURANCE AGENT It's fine. It's fine. You know your husband's company actually has very good insurance when it kicks in. Not a lot of jobs offer policies half as good. You're very lucky. INT. GROCERY STORE PHARMACY - DAY Curtis stands in line at the pharmacy located in the back corner of the grocery store. He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription to a female PHARMACIST. She disappears behind a divider as Curtis removes his wallet. He takes out an insurance card and runs his thumb over the bills. The Pharmacist returns with a stapled white bag. Curtis holds out the insurance card. PHARMACIST That's okay. We have your insurance on file. That'll be $47.64. CURTIS What's the co-pay? PHARMACIST That is your co-pay. Curtis studies the small paper sack and removes three, 20 dollar bills from his wallet. INT. LAFORCHE HOME - EVENING Curtis enters the front door, closing it behind him. He turns and is met by Samantha, who wraps her arms around him. CURTIS Hey. She squeezes him. Then kisses him. SAMANTHA I love you. CURTIS I love you too. SAMANTHA I have good news. 40. INT. KITCHEN - LATER Curtis finishes off a dinner of roast and potatoes. Samantha sets the piece of paper the Insurance Agent gave her in front of him and begins clearing the table. Hannah draws on a piece of construction paper at the other end of the table. Samantha picks up a crayon and shows it to Hannah. SAMANTHA Green? How `bout a red? She pretends to use the crayon as lipstick. SAMANTHA (CONT'D) It was like talking to a sane person for once. She made one phone call. That's it. I've been trying that 800 number for weeks. CURTIS It's great. It's great. (TO HANNAH) Hey, Hannah. Hannah doesn't look up. He stands and goes over to her. Touches her shoulder and kneels beside her. CURTIS (CONT'D) You excited? Huh? We're gonna get you some help. Curtis touches his finger to her chest then stops. He can't think of the sign. He turns to Samantha. CURTIS (CONT'D) How do you say...sign excited? SAMANTHA Like this. Samantha shows him the sign. Curtis mimics. CURTIS Excited. Yeah? Hannah nods. He kisses her on the forehead. He picks up a crayon and holds it up to her lips like lipstick. CURTIS (CONT'D) Now I got to do you. 41. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Samantha lies under the covers looking at a real estate magazine. Curtis takes off his clothes by the dresser. He subtly removes a prescription bottle from his pants pocket and cups it in his palm. SAMANTHA Oh, honey. Look at this one. It's a 2-1 and it sits directly on the beach. Wouldn't that be great? We wouldn't have to worry about Hannah crossing traffic. Curtis walks over and leans in to see the page. They are rental photos of beach condos. CURTIS What's the rent? SAMANTHA Eight ninety nine a week. CURTIS That sounds real nice. Samantha keeps flipping through the magazine as Curtis heads to the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Curtis turns the water on in the sink and shakes two pills from the orange bottle. He stuffs them in his mouth and chases it with water from the faucet. Curtis looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cutting out the light. INT. BEDROOM - MORNING A crack in the ceiling slowly comes into focus. Curtis sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room. He hears Samantha in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, smelling the breakfast cooking. Curtis smiles. INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER Curtis sits at the kitchen table as Samantha dishes up some eggs. 42. SAMANTHA You sleep well? CURTIS Yeah. I did. SAMANTHA You look like you're feeling better. Curtis nods and eats his breakfast. EXT. PUMP STATION CONSTRUCTION SITE/FARMLAND - DAY Curtis and Dewart attach a drill bit to the rig. CURTIS You want me to come there and do it for you? Jesus. Curtis steadies the large metal piece as Dewart ratchets it down. CURTIS (CONT'D) Hey, how much food do you think you'd need to live on for a week? DEWART What do you mean? CURTIS I mean to stay alive. What do you think you'd need? DEWART Not a lot. CURTIS You think? DEWART I don't know. You hear about people livin' for days all the time offa bark and melted snow. CURTIS I've never heard of that. DEWART Shit I don't know. You asked the question. CURTIS It's on there. It's on. Come on. 43. Curtis steps back from the arm of the drill. Dewart taps the wrench on two bolts to make sure they are secure. A LOUD BOOM RATTLES. THUNDER. Curtis flinches at the sound. CURTIS (CONT'D) Dammit. DEWART What? Curtis turns around and checks the sky. It's clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. CURTIS It sounds like thunder. DEWART What sounds like thunder? BOOM. ANOTHER THUNDER STRIKE. Curtis doesn't move. He watches Dewart walk to the controls of the drilling rig. MORE THUNDER. ROLLING NOW. Curtis steps back from the rig and checks the horizons. Nothing. It's a beautiful day. Dewart looks down at him. Curtis' face is pale, scared. Curtis looks at him. Not sure what to say. Curtis turns and walks to his truck. DEWART (CONT'D) Where you goin'? Curtis. Where you goin'? BY CURTIS' TRUCK, Curtis stops and rests his hands on the bed of the truck. Another THUNDER STRIKE makes him flinch. Curtis VOMITS next to the back tire. He quickly stands, wiping his mouth. He checks over his shoulders to see if anyone has seen him. I/E. CURTIS' TRUCK/RURAL HIGHWAY - MOVING - DAY Curtis studies his face in the rearview mirror as he sails down the rural highway. 44. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks in the side mirror. The horizon is still clear. Curtis begins to hyperventilate. Short breaths accompanied by cold sweat. Sucking air. He

jest

How many times the word 'jest' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

one

How many times the word 'one' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

life

How many times the word 'life' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

most

How many times the word 'most' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

too

How many times the word 'too' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

pleasure

How many times the word 'pleasure' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

property

How many times the word 'property' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

married

How many times the word 'married' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

retreating

How many times the word 'retreating' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

friend

How many times the word 'friend' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

necessarily

How many times the word 'necessarily' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

advances

How many times the word 'advances' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

unwieldy

How many times the word 'unwieldy' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

dona

How many times the word 'dona' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

unquestionably

How many times the word 'unquestionably' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

de

How many times the word 'de' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

imposts

How many times the word 'imposts' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

whispers

How many times the word 'whispers' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

cops

How many times the word 'cops' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might exact of

night

How many times the word 'night' appears in the text?

. rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies mysterious dangers. In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling and anxious wife. "They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells me so. The girl! . . . the girl!" She was accepting blindly all the statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy's advances announced by Elena. "Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!" And the girl, object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous youth on hearing of her mother's anxiety. "Just let the shameless fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!" And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the avenging knife. The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when summering at their country seats. Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own selfish folly. Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with all the compensating bravery that he could muster. "No, they will not come," he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. "I have a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO come!" . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to cancel a former debt as soon as possible. In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the silver services. He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious appointment that even a millionaire could possess. "My golden bath," he thought. "I have there my tub of gold." This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions' claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king's! Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette's, and the entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let that go. Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. "They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their coaches. In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite direction. The senator couldn't believe his ears. "You are beside yourself!" he exclaimed. "It is necessary to leave Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!" And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. "But you will be taken prisoner!" protested the senator. "Perhaps they will kill you!" A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was going to meet the army. That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade Germany! . . . Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word. At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation. In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place. Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, some celebrity from the Government. At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the last three days. "Monsieur, why do they flee?" she said to Desnoyers. "War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid." Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the round towers of his castle. The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by their forefathers which they had never left. In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly smile. After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke out into kindly excuses--"A good man, with no fault except a little bad temper. . . ." And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in the delightful atmosphere of popularity. As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time to time was milking the neglected cows. Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart told him that they would not get that far. He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would gather this abundant fruit! . . . By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the village. Georgette, the Warden's daughter, brought the news that many enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes:--"Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc. Probably he had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the afternoon. Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the retreat! Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping . . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the involved movements of the invader. The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. 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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

pitifully

How many times the word 'pitifully' appears in the text?

10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

catastrophe

How many times the word 'catastrophe' appears in the text?

10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

heinous

How many times the word 'heinous' appears in the text?

10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

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10 Things I Hate About You Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Ten Things I Hate About You - by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU written by Karen McCullah Lutz & Kirsten Smith based on 'Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare Revision November 12, 1997 PADUA HIGH SCHOOL - DAY Welcome to Padua High School,, your typical urban-suburban high school in Portland, Oregon. Smarties, Skids, Preppies, Granolas. Loners, Lovers, the In and the Out Crowd rub sleep out of their eyes and head for the main building. PADUA HIGH PARKING LOT - DAY KAT STRATFORD, eighteen, pretty -- but trying hard not to be -- in a baggy granny dress and glasses, balances a cup of coffee and a backpack as she climbs out of her battered, baby blue '75 Dodge Dart. A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack. The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees who his board has hit. RIDER Hey -- sorry. Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered belongings. KAT Leave it He persists. KAT (continuing) I said, leave it! She grabs his skateboard and uses it to SHOVE him against a car, skateboard tip to his throat. He whimpers pitifully and she lets him go. A path clears for her as she marches through a pack of fearful students and SLAMS open the door, entering school. INT. GIRLS' ROOM - DAY BIANCA STRATFORD, a beautiful sophomore, stands facing the mirror, applying lipstick. Her less extraordinary, but still cute friend, CHASTITY stands next to her. BIANCA Did you change your hair? CHASTITY No. BIANCA You might wanna think about it Leave the girls' room and enter the hallway. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Bianca is immediately greeted by an admiring crowd, both boys and girls alike. BOY (adoring) Hey, Bianca. GIRL Awesome shoes. The greetings continue as Chastity remains wordless and unaddressed by her side. Bianca smiles proudly, acknowledging her fans. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY CAMERON JAMES, a clean-cut, easy-going senior with an open, farm-boy face, sits facing Miss Perky, an impossibly cheery guidance counselor. MISS PERKY I'm sure you won't find Padua any different than your old school. Same little asswipe mother-fuckers everywhere. Her plastic smile never leaves her face. Cameron fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. MISS PERKY (continuing) Any questions? CAMERON I don't think so, ma'am MISS PERKY Then go forth. Scoot I've got deviants to see. Cameron rises to leave and makes eye contact with PATRICK VERONA, a sullen-looking bad ass senior who waits outside Ms Perky's door. His slouch and smirk let us know how cool he is. Miss Perky looks down at her file and up at Patrick MISS PERKY (continuing) Patrick Verona. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. She gives him a withering glance. He answers with a charming smile. PATRICK I missed you. MISS PERKY It says here you exposed yourself to a group of freshmen girls. PATRICK It was a bratwurst. I was eating lunch. MISS PERKY With the teeth of your zipper? She motions for Patrick to enter her office and Cameron shuffles out the door, bumping into MICHAEL ECKMAN, a lanky, brainy senior who will either end up a politician or game show host. MICHAEL You the new guy? CAMERON So they tell me... MICHAEL C'mon. I'm supposed to give you the tour. They head out of the office MICHAEL (continuing) So -- which Dakota you from? CAMERON North, actually. How'd you ? MICHAEL I was kidding. People actually live there? CAMERON Yeah. A couple. We're outnumbered by the cows, though. MICHAEL How many people were in your old school? CAMERON Thirty-two. MICHAEL Get out! CAMERON How many people go here? MICHAEL Couple thousand. Most of them evil INT. HALLWAY - DAY- CONTINUOUS Prom posters adorn the wall. Michael steers Cameron through the crowd as he points to various cliques. MICHAEL We've got your basic beautiful people. Unless they talk to you first, don't bother. The beautiful people pass, in full jock/cheerleader splendor. MICHAEL (continuing) Those 're your cowboys. Several Stetson-wearing, big belt buckle. Wrangler guys walk by. CAMERON That I'm used to. MICHAEL Yeah, but these guys have never seen a horse. They just jack off to Clint Eastwood. They pass an espresso cart with a group of teens huddled around it. MICHAEL (continuing) To the right, we have the Coffee Kids. Very edgy. Don't make any sudden movements around them. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Michael continues the tour MICHAEL And these delusionals are the White Rastae. Several white boys in dreadlocks and Jamaican knit berets lounge on the grass. A cloud of pot smoke hovers above them MICHAEL (continuing) Big Marley fans. Think they're black. Semi-political, but mostly, they watch a lot of Wild Kingdom, if you know what I mean. Michael waves to DEREK, the one with the longest dreads. MICHAEL (continuing) Derek - save some for after lunch, bub? DEREK (very stoned) Michael, my brother, peace Cameron turns to follow Michael as they walk into the cafeteria. CAMERON So where do you fit in all this? INT. CAFETERIA - DAY - CONTINUOUS Loud music and loud students. Michael sits with a group of studious-looking teens. MICHAEL Future MBAs- We're all Ivy League, already accepted. Someday I'll be sipping Merlot while those guys -- He points to the table of jocks, as they torture various passers-by. MICHAEL (continuing) are fixing my Saab. Yuppie greed is back, my friend. He points proudly to the ALLIGATOR on his shirt. Cameron stops listening as BIANCA walks by, and we go SLO MO. Pure and perfect, she passes Cameron and Michael without a look. Cameron is smitten CAMERON That girl -- I -- MICHAEL You burn, you pine, you perish? CAMERON Who is she? MICHAEL Bianca Stratford. Sophomore. Don't even think about it CAMERON Why not? MICHAEL I could start with your haircut, but it doesn't matter. She's not allowed to date until her older sister does. And that's an impossibility. ENGLISH CLASS - DAY A room full of bored seniors doodle and scare off into space MS. BLAISE, the one-step-away-from-medication English Teacher, tries to remember what she's talking about. MRS. BLAISE Well, then. Oh, yes. I guess that does it for our analysis of The Old Man and the Sea. Any other comments? (with dread) Kat? Kat, the girl we saw as we entered the school, slowly cakes off her glasses and speaks up. KAT Why didn't we just read the Hardy Boys? MRS. BLAISE I'm sorry? KAT This book is about a guy and his fishing habit. Not exactly a crucial topic. The other students roll their eyes. KAT (continuing) Frankly, I'm baffled as to why we still revere Hemingway. He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who had a lot of cats. JOEY DORSEY, a well-muscled jock with great cheekbones, makes fun of her from his row. JOEY As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends? A few giggles. Kat ignores him. A practiced gesture MRS. BLAISE That's enough, Mr. Dorsey. Really gets fired up now KAT I guess the school board thinks because Hemingway's male and an asshole, he's worthy of our time She looks up at Ms. Blaise, who is now fighting with her pill box. KAT (continuing) What about Colette? Charlotte Bronte? Simone de Beauvoir? Patrick, lounging in his seat in the back row, elbows a crusty-looking crony, identified by the name SCURVY, embroidered on his workshirt. PATRICK Mother Goose? The class titters. Kat wears an expression of intolerance INT. GUIDANCE COUNSELOR'S OFFICE - DAY Kat now sits before Miss Perky. MISS PERKY Katarina Stratford. My, my. You've been terrorizing Ms. Blaise again. KAT Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action. MISS PERKY Well, yes, compared to your other choices of expression this year, today's events are quite mild. By the way, Bobby Rictor's gonad retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested. KAT I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. I was merely a spectator. MISS PERKY The point is Kat -- people perceive you as somewhat ... Kat smiles at her, daring her to say it. KAT Tempestuous? MISS PERKY No ... I believe "heinous bitch" is the term used most often. She grimaces, as if she's referring to a medical condition. MISS PERKY (continuing) You might want to work on that Kat rises from her chair with a plastic smile matching the counselor's. KAT As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. INT. SOPHOMORE ENGLISH CLASS - DAY Bianca ignores the droning teacher as she writes a note in big flowing handwriting. TEACHER (0.S.) I realize the language of Mr. Shakespeare makes him a bit daunting, but I'm sure you're all doing your best. Bianca folds the note and passes it behind her with a flip of her hair to CHASTITY. Chastity opens the note and reads: INSERT - "JOEY DORSEY SAID HI TO ME IN THE HALL! OH! MY GOD!" Chastity frowns to herself. TEACHER (0.S.) (continuing) Ms. Stratford, do you care to comment on what you've read so far? Bianca looks up and smiles the smile of Daddy's little girl. BIANCA Not really. The teacher shakes her head, but lets it go. MANDELLA. a waif-like senior girl who sits off to the side trying to slit her wrist with the plastic spiral on her notebook, looks up and raises her hand. TEACHER Mandella -- since you're assisting us, you might as well comment. I'm assuming you read the assignment. MANDELLA Uh, yeah, I read it all TEACHER The whole play^ MANDELIA The whole folio. All the plays. TEACHER (disbelieving) You've read every play by William Shakespeare? MANDELLA Haven't you? She raises a challenging eyebrow. The stunned teacher doesn't answer and goes to call on the next student. EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD - DAY Mandella and Kat sit down in the quiet corner. They are eating a carton of yogurt with gusto. MANDELLA Your sister is so amazingly without. She'll never read him. She has no idea. Kat attacks KAT The fact that you're cutting gym so you can T.A. Sophomore English just to hear his name, is a little without in itself if you ask me. Kat's attention is caught by Patrick as he walks by with his friends, lighting up a cigarette. Mandella notices her staring. MANDELLA Who's that? KAT Patrick Verona Random skid. MANDELLA That's Pat Verona? The one who was gone for a year? I heard he was doing porn movies. KAT I'm sure he's completely incapable of doing anything that interesting. MANDELLA He always look so KAT Block E? Kat turns back to face Mandella and forces her yogurt into Mandella's hand. KAT (continuing) Mandella, eat. Starving yourself is a very slow way to die. MANDELLA Just a little. She eats. Kat sees her wrist KAT What's this? MANDELLA An attempted slit. Kat stares at her, expressionless. KAT I realize that the men of this fine institution are severely lacking, but killing yourself so you can be with William Shakespeare is beyond the scope of normal teenage obsessions. You're venturing far past daytime talk show fodder and entering the world of those who need very expensive therapy. MANDELLA But imagine the things he'd say during sex. Thinks a minute KAT Okay, say you do it. You kill yourself, you end up in wherever you end up and he's there. Do you really think he's gonna wanna dace a ninety pound compulsive who failed volleyball? Mandella's attention is struck by Bianca ACROSS THE COURTYARD As she and Chastity parade by Joey and his COHORTS One of the cohorts elbows Joey. COHORT Virgin alert. Joey looks up and smiles at Bianca. JOEY Lookin' good, ladies. Bianca smiles her coyest of smiles. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Still watching. MANDELLA Tragic. Doesn't respond ANOTHER ANGLE Michael and Cameron observe Joey's leers at Bianca from their bench in another corner. Cowboys eating cue of a can of beans linger on the grass behind them. CAMERON Why do girls like that always like guys like that? MICHAEL Because they're bred to. Their mothers liked guys like that, and their grandmothers before them. Their gene pool is rarely diluted. CAMERON He always have that shit-eating grin? MICHAEL Joey Dorsey? Perma-shit-grin. I wish I could say he's a moron, but he's number twelve in the class. And a model. Mostly regional stuff, but he's rumored to have a big tube sock ad coming out. The BELL rings, and the cowboys stand and spit into their empty bean cans. Cameron and Michael rise as Cameron tries to catch a glimpse of Bianca as she walks back inside. MICHAEL (continuing) You know French? CAMERON Sure do ... my Mom's from Canada MICHAEL Guess who just signed up for a tutor? CAMERON You mean I'd get a chance to talk to her? MICHAEL You could consecrate with her, my friend. Cameron watches as Bianca flounces back into the building. EXT. SCHOOL PARKING LOT - DAY Kat and Mandella walk toward Kat's car. Joey pulls up beside her in his Viper. JOEY (re her dress) The vintage look is over, Kat. Haven't you been reading your Sassy? KAT Yeah, and I noticed the only part of you featured in your big Kmart spread was your elbow. Tough break. JOEY (practically spitting) They're running the rest of me next month. He zooms away as Kat yanks open the door of her Dart. Mandella ties a silk scarf around her head, as if they're in a convertible. KAT The people at this school are so incredibly foul. MANDELLA You could always go with me. I'm sure William has some friends. They watch Joey's car as he slows next to Bianca and Chastity as they walk toward the school bus. ON BIANCA AND CHASTITY JOEY Need a ride, ladies? Bianca and Chastity can't get in Joey's car fast enough. He pulls away with a smile. BACK TO KAT AND MANDELLA Mandella lowers her sunglasses to watch. MANDELLA That's a charming new development Kat doesn't answer, but reaches over and puts a tape in the tape deck. The sounds of JOYFUL PUNK ROCK fill the car. As they pull out, Michael crosses in front of them on his moped. Kat has to SLAM the brakes to keep from hitting him KAT (yelling) Remove head from sphincter! Then pedal! Michael begins fearfully, pedaling as Kat PEELS out, angry at the delay. Cameron rushes over CAMERON You all right? He slows to a stop MICHAEL Yeah, just a minor encounter with the shrew. CAMERON That's her? Bianca's sister? MICHAEL The mewling, rampalian wretch herself. Michael putters off, leaving Cameron dodging Patrick's grimy, grey Jeep -- a vehicle several years and many paint jobs away from its former glory as a REGULATION MAIL TRUCK - - as he sideswipes several cars on his way out of the lot. INT. STRATFORD HOUSE - DAY SHARON STRATFORD, attractive and focused, sits in front of her computer, typing quickly. A shelf next to her holds several bodice-ripper romance novels, bearing her name. Kat stands behind her, reading over her shoulder as she types. KAT "Undulating with desire, Adrienne removes her crimson cape, revealing her creamy --" WALTER STRATFORD, a blustery, mad scientist-type obstetrician, enters through the front door, wearing a doctor's white jacket and carrying his black bag. WALTER I hope dinner's ready because I only have ten minutes before Mrs. Johnson squirts out a screamer. He grabs the mail and rifles through it, as he bends down to kiss Sharon on the cheek. SHARON In the microwave. WALTER (to Kat) Make anyone cry today? KAT Sadly, no. But it's only four-thirty. Bianca walks in. KAT (continuing) Where've you been? BIANCA (eyeing Walter) Nowhere... Hi, Daddy. She kisses him on the cheek WALTER Hello, precious. Walter kisses Bianca back as Kat heads up the stairs KAT How touching. Walter holds up a letter to Kat WALTER What's this? It says Sarah Lawrence? Snatches it away from him. KAT I guess I got in Sharon looks up from her computer. SHARON What's a synonym for throbbing? WALTER Sarah Lawrence is on the other side of the country. KAT I know. WALTER I thought we decided you were going to school here. At U of 0. KAT You decided. BIANCA Is there even a question that we want her to stay? Kat gives Bianca an evil look then smiles sweetly at KAT Ask Bianca who drove her home SHARON Swollen...turgid. WALTER (to Bianca; upset) Who drove you home? Bianca glares at Kat then turns to Walter BIANCA Now don't get upset. Daddy, but there's this boy... and I think he might ask... WALTER No! You're not dating until your sister starts dating. End of discussion. BIANCA What if she never starts dating? WALTER Then neither will you. And I'll get to sleep at night. BIANCA But it's not fair -- she's a mutant, Daddy! KAT This from someone whose diary is devoted to favorite grooming tips? WALTER Enough! He pulls out a small tape recorder from his black bag. WALTER (continuing) Do you know what this is? He hits the "play' button and SHRIEKS OF PAIN emanate from the tape recorder. BIANCA AND WALTER (in unison, by rote) The sound of a fifteen-year-old in labor. WALTER This is why you're not dating until your sister does. BIANCA But she doesn't want to date. WALTER Exactly my point His BEEPER goes off and he grabs his bag again WALTER (continuing) Jesus! Can a man even grab a sandwich before you women start dilating? SHARON Tumescent! WALTER (to Sharon; as he leaves) You're not helping. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Cameron sits with an empty chair beside him. Bianca arrives in a flurry of blonde hair. BIANCA Can we make this quick? Roxanne Korrine and Andrew Barrett are having an incredibly horrendous public break- up on the quad. Again. CAMERON Well, I thought we'd start with pronunciation, if that's okay with you. BIANCA Not the hacking and gagging and spitting part. Please. CAMERON (looking down) Okay... then how 'bout we try out some French cuisine. Saturday? Night? Bianca smiles slowly BIANCA You're asking me out. That's so cute. What's your name again? CAMERON (embarrassed) Forget it. Bianca seizes an opportunity. BIANCA No, no, it's my fault -- we didn't have a proper introduction --- CAMERON Cameron. BIANCA The thing is, Cameron -- I'm at the mercy of a particularly hideous breed of loser. My sister. I can't date until she does. CAMERON Seems like she could get a date easy enough... She fingers a lock of her hair. He looks on, dazzled. BIANCA The problem is, she's completely anti-social. CAMERON Why? BIANCA Unsolved mystery. She used to be really popular when she started high school, then it was just like she got sick of it or something. CAMERON That's a shame. She reaches out and touches his arm BIANCA Gosh, if only we could find Kat a boyfriend... CAMERON Let me see what I can do. Cameron smiles, having no idea how stupid he is INT. BIOLOGY CLASS A frog is being torn asunder by several prongs and picks. Michael and Cameron go for the spleen. MICHAEL You're in school for one day and you ask out the most beautiful girl? Do you have no concept of the high school social code? Cameron grins away CAMERON I teach her French, get to know her, dazzle her with charm and she falls in love with me. MICHAEL Unlikely, but even so, she still can't go out with you. So what's the point? Cameron motions with his head toward Patrick, a few lab tables away. He's wearing biker glasses instead of goggles as he tries to revive his frog. CAMERON What about him? MICHAEL (confused) You wanna go out with him? The others at the lab table raise their eyebrows CAMERON (impatient) No - he could wrangle with the sister. Michael smiles. Liking the intrigue. MICHAEL What makes you think he'll do it? CAMERON He seems like he thrives on danger MICHAEL No kidding. He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just got out of Alcatraz... CAMERON They always let felons sit in on Honors Biology? MICHAEL I'm serious, man, he's whacked. He sold his own liver on the black market so he could buy new speakers. CAMERON Forget his reputation. Do you think we've got a plan or not? MICHAEL Did she actually say she'd go out with you? CAMERON That's what I just said Michael processes this. MICHAEL You know, if you do go out with Bianca, you'd be set. You'd outrank everyone. Strictly A-list. With me by your side. CAMERON I thought you hated those people. MICHAEL Hey -- I've gotta have a few clients when I get to Wall Street. A cowboy flicks the frog's heart into one of the Coffee Kid's latte. Cameron presses on, over the melee. CAMERON So now all we gotta do is talk to him. He points to Patrick, who now makes his frog hump another frog, with full-on sound effects. MICHAEL I'll let you handle that. INT. WOODSHOP - DAY Boys and a few stray girls nail their pieces of wood Michael sits next to PEPE, a Coffee Kid, who holds out his jacket like the men who sell watches in the subway. Inside several bags of coffee hang from hooks. PEPE Some people like the Colombian, but it all depends on your acidity preference. Me? I prefer East African and Indonesian. You start the day with a Sumatra Boengie or maybe and Ethiopian Sidamo in your cup, you're that much farther ahead than someone drinkin' Cosia Rican or Kona -- you know what I mean? Michael nods solemnly. ACROSS THE ROOM Patrick sits at a table with Scurvy, making something that looks like a machete out of a two-by-four. Cameron approaches, full of good-natured farm boy cheer CAMERON Hey, there In response, Patrick brandishes a loud POWER TOOL in his direction. Cameron slinks away. CAMERON (continuing) Later, then. Michael watches, shaking his head. INT. CAFETERIA - DAY Joey and his pals take turns drawing boobs onto a cafeteria tray with a magic marker. Michael walks up and sits between them, casual as can be MICHAEL Hey. JOEY Are you lost? MICHAEL Nope - just came by to chat JOEY We don't chat. MICHAEL Well, actually, I thought I'd run an idea by you. You know, just to see if you're interested. JOEY We're not. He grabs Michael by the side of the head, and proceeds to draw a penis on his cheek with the magic marker. Michael suffers the indignity and speaks undaunted. MICHAEL (grimacing) Hear me out. You want Bianca don't you? Joey sits back and cackles at his drawing. MICHAEL (continuing) But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case and no one will go out with her. right? JOEY Does this conversation have a purpose? MICHAEL So what you need to do is recruit a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who's up for the job. Michael points to Patrick, who makes a disgusted face at his turkey pot pie before he rises and throws it at the garbage can, rather than in it. JOEY That guy? I heard he ate a live duck once. Everything but the beak and the feet. MICHAEL Exactly Joey turns to look at Michael. JOEY What's in it for you? MICHAEL Oh, hey, nothin' man Purely good will on my part. He rises to leave and turns to the others. MICHAEL (continuing) I have a dick on my face, don't I? INT. BOY'S ROOM - DAY Michael stands at the sink, trying to scrub Joey's artwork off his face as Cameron watches. CAMERON You got him involved? MICHAEL Like we had a choice? Besides -- when you let the enemy think he's orchestrating the battle, you're in a position of power. We let him pretend he's calling the shots, and while he's busy setting up the plan, you have time to woo Bianca. Cameron grins and puts an arm around him CAMERON You're one brilliant guy Michael pulls back, noticing other guys filing in. MICHAEL Hey - I appreciate gratitude as much as the next guy, but it's not gonna do you any good to be known as New Kid Who Embraces Guys In The Bathroom. Cameron pulls back and attempts to posture himself in a manly way for the others, now watching. INT. KENNY'S THAI FOOD DINER - DAY Kat and Mandella pick apart their pad thai. Mandella is smoking. KAT So he has this huge raging fit about Sarah Lawrence and insists that I go to his male-dominated, puking frat boy, number one golf team school. I have no say at all. MANDELLA William would never have gone to a state school. KAT William didn't even go to high school MANDELLA That's never been proven KAT Neither has his heterosexuality. Mandella replies with a look of ice. Kat uses the moment to stub out Mandella's cigarette. KAT (continuing) I appreciate your efforts toward a speedy death, but I'm consuming. (pointing at her food) Do you mind? MANDELLA Does it matter? KAT If I was Bianca, it would be, "Any school you want, precious. Don't forget your tiara." They both look up as Patrick enters. He walks up to the counter to place his order. Mandella leans toward Kat with the glow of fresh gossip MANDELLA Janice Parker told me he was a roadie for Marilyn Manson. Patrick nods at them as he takes his food outside. KAT Janice Parker is an idiot INT. MISS PERKY'S OFFICE - DAY Patrick sits before Miss Perky, eating his Thai food MISS PERKY (looking at chart) I don't understand, Patrick. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well? PATRICK Touch of the flu. MISS PERKY I'm at a loss, then. What should we talk about? Your year of absence? He smiles his charming smile PATRICK How 'bout your sex life? She tolerates his comment with her withering glance. MISS PERKY Why don't we discuss your driving need to be a hemorrhoid? PATRICK What's to discuss? MISS PERKY You weren't abused, you aren't stupid, and as far as I can tell, you're only slightly psychotic -- so why is it that you're such a fuck-up? PATRICK Well, you know -- there's the prestige of the job title... and the benefits package is pretty good... The bell RINGS. MISS PERKY Fine. Go do something repugnant and give us something to talk about next week. INT. TUTORING ROOM - DAY Several pairs of tutors and students sit at the various desks. Mandella sits with TREVOR, a White Rasta. She attempts to get him to do geometry, but he stares at her, as if smitten MANDELLA Look, it's really easy. TREVOR You're a freedom fighter. Be proud, sister. Mandella sets down her pencil and closes the book. MANDELLA (rotely) It's Mandella with two L's. I am not related to Nelson Mandela. I am not a political figure. I do not live in South Africa. My parents just spent a few too many acid trips thinking they were revolutionaries. TREVOR But you freed our people MANDELLA Your "people" are white, suburban high school boys who smoke too much hemp. I have not freed you, Trevor. (grabbing his arm dramatically) Only you can free yourself. ACROSS THE ROOM Bianca and Cameron sit side by side, cozy as can be BIANCA C'esc ma tete. This is my head CAMERON Right. See? You're ready for the quiz. BIANCA I don't want to know how to say that though. I want to know useful things. Like where the good stores are. How much does champagne cost? Stuff like Chat. I have never in my life had to point out my head to someone. CAMERON That's because it's such a nice one. BIANCA Forget French. She shuts her book and puts on a seductive smile BIANCA (continuing) How is our little Find the Wench A Date plan progressing? CAMERON Well, there's someone I think might be -- Bianca's eyes light up BIANCA Show me INT. HALLWAY - DAY Cameron and Bianca lean against the wall -inconspicuously. Bianca plays it cool. BIANCA Give me a sign when he walks by. And don't point. The bell RINGS. Kids flood past. Then Patrick saunters by with Scurvy. Cameron nudges Bianca. CAMERON There. BIANCA Where? Out of desperation, Cameron awkwardly lunges across Patrick's path. Patrick shoves him back against the wall without a thought. Cameron lands in a THUD at Bianca's feet. CAMERON I guess he didn't see me (calling after Patrick) Some other time -- Bianca watches Patrick, a wicked gleam in her eye. BIANCA My God, he's repulsive. He's so perfect! INT. GYM CLASS - DAY Several volleyball games are being played. Joey and a member of his hulking entourage, approach Patrick, who still manages to look

q

How many times the word 'q' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

spaniard

How many times the word 'spaniard' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

other

How many times the word 'other' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

case

How many times the word 'case' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

somewhat

How many times the word 'somewhat' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

ladies

How many times the word 'ladies' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

with

How many times the word 'with' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

each

How many times the word 'each' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

give

How many times the word 'give' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

appetite

How many times the word 'appetite' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

probably

How many times the word 'probably' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

passing

How many times the word 'passing' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

certainly

How many times the word 'certainly' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

upon

How many times the word 'upon' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

given

How many times the word 'given' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

scotland

How many times the word 'scotland' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

such

How many times the word 'such' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

cowl

How many times the word 'cowl' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

delicate

How many times the word 'delicate' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

abandoned

How many times the word 'abandoned' appears in the text?

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead of destroying the note--it was long years since all her love-letters from him had been returned to the writer--she unlocked her little writing-case again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow, the little golden curl of her sister's, the half-finished sewing of her mother. The shabby writing-case itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her everywhere. To be sure, her changes of place had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She locked the case up again, and felt all the richer for that morning. A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful for her to re-enter the house; but Mr. Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk. "You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to Mr. Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who complain of his being surly now and then." "You are not thinking of parting with him?" said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon. "Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can boast." Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flower garden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move--just as one does in a nightmare--but she was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was still blandly talking, and saying-- "It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes through the ash-field yonder we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains; indeed, the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches. Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins?" Mrs. Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy--"Ah! I can understand such feelings--Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones always go through the stable- yard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain missy--" "I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now, Miss Ellinor, there--" "Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we leave." The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but avoiding passing directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he made straight for one spot--a little space of unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty scullery-maid, lay: Sacred to the Memory of MARY GREAVES. Born 1797. Died 1818. "We part to meet again." "I put this stone up over her with my first savings," said he, looking at it; and then, pulling out his knife, he began to clean out the letters. "I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this 'ere spot of ground." Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man: and promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, "I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter of the churchyard." It was a much more easy affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother receives a favour from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I have ever been since my father died," she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber, for talking aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. "And yet," she went on, "I don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that word 'mess,' and correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the moment before! Well! those days are all over now. God be thanked!" In spite of being glad that "things were not in her hands" Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their "little sociable teas." The most provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he had been asked; but she could never get leave to do so. "Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement," as she confided to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and by-and-by many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in ---shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own. Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her--not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance. Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others--the doctor included--who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary. She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness. Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years. Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man. As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget. It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up. Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited her to the chapter-house for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences and rather formal details were really interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow, and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea) confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs. Forbes. Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about? It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered; or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed. It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of concealing, that Mrs. Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when, a little later on, she heard him speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks had been knocked down by the unlucky waft of some passing petticoat. Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought. Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of Fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief. Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before, and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament; everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino, with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain, everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her despondency, her ill-health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive, drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the half-quaint, half naive expressions of her pleasure. So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages, showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up, smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East Chester face. "When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody--Miss Monro in particular?" Ellinor asks. He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast as they were lighted. "You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat." "Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me." When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters. "From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?" "No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why. "No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else who expected to hear. Your man of business--I forget his name." "My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell me--I want to know. I have been expecting it--only tell me." She sat down suddenly, as white as ashes. "Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old servant--" "Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm. "Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes, come here!" For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving her tea in spoonfuls. "I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home." "You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly. "You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought. "Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be long--half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone." There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests. The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it was now recognised--a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee. At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill. "Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself." They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside. "Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only, please, go." She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr. Johnson's--the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who was so anxious to obtain the folio _Virgil_ with the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the _Virgil_ fancier." "Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking liker to a ghost than to a living woman. "Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know--all you have heard about my--you know what?" "Miss Monro was my informant--at least at first--it was in the _Times_ the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins." "No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally--and papa--we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest--please remember that." The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again. "Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in--" "Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!" He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor attempt at an apologetic smile: "It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!" "You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no premeditated malice." Ellinor shook her head. "How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once." "Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles

forbeses

How many times the word 'forbeses' appears in the text?