The Canterville Ghost

"The Canterville Ghost.

"Universally renowned as the most fearsome

"of all English phantoms is the notorious ghost

"of Sir Simon de Canterville.

"This remarkable apparition has manifested itself

"in a spectacular variety of forms and guises,

"each more awe-inspiring than the other,

"exhibiting the same flair for the theatrical

"that reputedly characterized Sir Simon himself.

"The origin of this apparition, so legend has it,

dates from a fateful stag hunt in the year 1634... "

Out of the way. Bellman! Bugler!

Thrust-ho, Sir Valentine.

Ow!

Anthony de Canterville!

Anthony, what have I done to thee?

It's my arm, Sir Valentine.

Thank heavens 'tis but thine arm.

Why hidest thou in the brush

like a rabbit?

I- I was plucking bluebells.

Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!

Bluebells?

A manful pursuit for a Canterville

in the hunting season?

More manful than you would imagine, Sir Valentine.

Methinks 'twas

the wrong stag we flushed.

My bride-to-be!

Eleanor?

Eleanor!

How couldst thou, Eleanor?

Thou art promised to me.

Promised to thee no longer, Sir Valentine.

She was wed to me at yestereve.

Wed?

Thou dare steal her from me

knowing she was pledged?

Yea.

I shall expect satisfaction from thee, sir,

at Bolton Manor within the hour.

Anthony!

Thou wouldst not be so bold, Sir Valentine,

were I possessed of my good right arm.

Ha ha ha!

A pretty excuse to snivel out of it.

Simon!

My brother will give thee satisfaction.

Simon, the honor of the cantervilles

has been questioned.

What?

Wherefore dost thy dagger reek with his blood?

My sword arm is pierced to the bone.

Take thou my signet ring and fight in my stead.

Who? Me?

Who else?

Come, come, Simon,

pick up the gauntlet and fling it in his face.

Whose face?

Sir Valentine's.

Oh.

Give me thy ring.

But 'twas Anthony who ran off with my betrothed.

He danced.

He should pay the piper.

A Canterville has been slighted.

And by one of an upstart brood,

honored scarce 200 years.

I choose the weapon of chivalry-

the lance.

The lance?

Yea.

I'll teach thee a kinsman is a kinsman.

What keeps the popinjay?

My gauntlets, dunderhead.

By hereward the wake,

I'll pin him on my lance like a capon on a spit.

There he is, sir.

Hmm?

There, sir.

Where is thine armor, Valentine?

Alack, Sir Simon, I suffered the most dreadful mishap.

Ha ha ha!

So I felt obliged to give way to my cousin,

the bold sir guy.

Shall we be on with the merriment,

my noble marshal?

But faith, Valentine, it was you-

ah, a kinsman is a kinsman.

Sound the order of combat.

May the right prevail.

Sir Simon! He's breaking off.

Coward! After him, sir guy!

Fetch him back on your lance!

Aye! Harpoon him!

Hoist him high!

Poltroon!

I tell thee 'tis no disgrace, my son.

Be thankful thou hast a brother to wear thy signet,

and such a chivalrous brother.

I recall the day I wore my brother Edward's signet

before good queen Bess.

Unhorsed six men in a single hour in this very armor.

By Saint Peter of the fetters.

Simon must go a long way to excel that!

Where is he?

Who?

That Lily-livered son of yours

who skittered off in terror before the lance.

Cowardice? In one who bears on his neck

the birthmark of the cantervilles? Ha! Preposterous!

Ooh, is it?

Ha ha!

Then what might be lurking in yon alcove?

A fat quail, perchance?

No son of mine cowers in any alcove.

No? Then milord

can assuredly have no objection

to the sealing up of the door

with stone and mortar.

I most certainly can!

I've too great a regard for my house.

For your house, milord,

or your son?

Giles, Thomas! Fetch the stonemasons!

Hasten!

Have we not had enough

of this play-acting, Sir Valentine?

One never leaves the theater, milord,

until the curtain has fallen.

Ah!

Continue.

Father!

It is I, thy son.

Forsooth, a fat quail indeed.

Or was it the wind that whistled down the flue?

I heard no sound.

Spare me! Spare me!

Pose the last stone.

Pose it, I say!

But, milord,

'twas meant only in jest.

Leave my house!

It is thy son!

Go!

Simon de Canterville,

because thou hast shamed thy heritage

and dishonored thy proud blood,

in that tomb of thine own choosing

shall lie thy whited bones,

and may thy craven spirit

walk the halls of Canterville castle

until a kinsman shall wear thy signet...

And perform for thee

the brave deed thou didst fail to perform

for thy kinsman.

"Thus goes the legend of the Canterville Ghost.

"And today, after 300 years of terror,

"Canterville castle stands silent and deserted-

"a mute, foreboding monument to the fearsome phantom

who stalks those silent halls."

Aah! Aah!

Auntie! Auntie!

I just saw the ghost!

The ghost? Where?

On the roof of the castle.

Oh, that was the tinsmith, darling.

Oh!

I asked Mr. Peabody to engage him

to mend the waterspouts.

Oh. But why, Auntie? Nobody lives there.

Jessica, we're turning the castle over

to a platoon of American soldiers.

American soldiers?

But, good gracious,

can they live in the castle when it's haunted?

Your family did, darling, till 20 years ago.

I know, but, Auntie-

ahem!

We're ready to leave now, ma'am.

The helpers have arrived?

They'll meet us at the castle, ma'am.

You're going, Auntie?

Of course. Guests are coming.

Noblesse oblige.

Madame, there's sure to be a downpour.

I'm afraid there will be.

You know, Auntie,

you're not well.

Oh, very well.

Extend my regrets to the soldiers

and tell them I'll come to see them

as soon as I'm able.

Yes, ma'am.

Auntie, what does it mean-

noblesse oblige?

Oh, that's just an expression, darling.

But what does it mean?

You were going out because of it.

Noblesse oblige is French.