All language subtitles for The.Crown.S01E09.eng

If your sweetheart

Sends a letter

Of goodbye

It's no secret

You feel better...

- Lord Porchester?
- This way, madam.

At the end of the bar.

- Hello.
- Hello, Porchey.

- You found the place all right?
- The taxi driver did, yes.

Of course. Wonderful.

Lord Porchester.

Ladies...

Is it just me,
or is this place faintly ridiculous?

Two of my great hates in life,
fine dining and central London.

I just thought it's the kind
of special-occasion place one came

if one had a special question to ask.

At this moment, I wish I were a poet,
not a horse breeder.

Will you marry me?

Oh, Porchey.

- That sounds like a "no."
- No, it's not a "no."

No, no, no, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no, no, no.

- That's 12 "no's."
- I would love to.

On one condition.

That you don't still hold a torch for her.

Who?

Oh.

Her.

I know how close you were
and how close your families still are.

It's true. She and I, we are close.

I was close to her father.
I am close to her sister.

Our families are close.

In many ways,
and I speak as a breeder myself,

- it would have been a good match.
- Perfect match.

I won't deny it.

Except for the fact it was never
on the cards.

For her, there was only ever Philip.

Oh, oh, oh!

And for you?

There's only you.

Lilibet?

Right you are, Jock. Yes, I'll let him know.

Thank you.

I'm sure he'll be delighted.

Bye.

Are you winning?

Uh...

No.

There was one brief, tantalizing moment
when I thought I had it.

I moved in for the kill.

But then one wrong brushstroke,
and it got away once again.

I've just been talking to Jock
about your 80th birthday.

Ugh. Don't mention it.

Because it happens on the same day
as the opening of Parliament,

they've decided to combine events

and hold a reception in your honor
at the Great Hall.

Oh, that's very nice.

Oh, and it's going to be Graham Sutherland.

- Who?
- The painter.

- To paint your portrait.
- What portrait?

It's the official portrait commissioned
by both Houses.

It's your present.

Sutherland?

- Never heard of him.
- He's got quite the reputation.

He's a Modernist.

Not sure I can trust a Modernist
with an English name.

Give me a German Modernist or an Italian.

They're the ones
who have to start all over again.

Whatever would an Englishman
want to change?

It's grand to be home again
after so long an absence.

The, uh, surgeon who operated on me
told me yesterday that all was well.

I'll need to have a further period
of convalescence, put on some weight.

There is nothing else to worry about.

As I said, it's, uh, grand to be home again.

I look forward to being back at work
just as soon as possible.

Thank you.

- You have any idea when, sir?
- Thank you.

- Hello?
- Porchey.

I hope I'm not disturbing.

- Goodness.
- Am I disturbing?

- No.
- Good.

It's Aureole.
I think we're making a mistake.

I think we should lead from the start.

And I think you're wrong.

But we both know
he doesn't hold up naturally.

We tried holding him up
against Darius before, and Darius won.

That was the Guineas, which is a mile.

This is the King George. A mile and a half.

What will we do
if he plays up before the race?

He always plays up. That's who he is.

You don't seem the slightest bit worried.

Anything else?

Well, can I just say one more time,
for the record,

I think we should start fast,
and run at a good clip.

Noted.

I am right sometimes, you know.

Even you said yourself
that I have good instincts.

You do.

And I might well live to regret it.

That, and a good many other things.

Oh, dear. Such as?

Good night.

Mr. Sutherland, Prime Minister.

- Good morning.
- How do you do?

- Good morning, hello. How do you do?
- Good morning.

- How do you do, sir? It's an honor.
- No, no. The honor is mine.

So, where do you want me?

So, will we be engaged in flattery
or reality?

Are you going to paint me
as a cherub or a bulldog?

I imagine there are a great number
of Mr. Churchills.

Yes, indeed there are.

Well, as you search for him,

perhaps I can implore you
not to feel the need to be too accurate.

Why? Accuracy is truth.

No. For accuracy, we have the camera.

Painting is the higher art.

I paint a bit myself, you know.

Yes, sir, I know.

And I never let accuracy get in the way
of truth if I don't want it to.

If I see some landscape I like,

and I wish
there wasn't a factory in the background,

I leave the factory out.

So, Mr. Sutherland, tell me, I'm fascinated.

What is your process?

First, I shall take some photographs,

they'll be useful as reference
when I get back to the studio.

Then I shall do some charcoal sketches,
studies of the head, hands,

and then I'll work those sketches up.

The actual painting up will be done
in my studio at home.

- Um, is this... Do you mind if I...
- Perfectly all right. Carry on.

Well, what pose are you thinking of?

Seated.

I could try standing.

It might be more commanding, dynamic.

It might make me look younger.

I thought the painting was supposed
to celebrate reaching a certain age.

Fourscore years, Winston.

I think seated is more senatorial.

"Senatorial."

What nonsense.

Yes, I agree.

Cigar or no cigar?

No cigar.

- Garter robes or no garter robes?
- No finery.

No grandiosity.

Dressed merely as a parliamentarian.

How prosaic.

I liked him.

Yes, I could tell.

You were smitten,
blushing like a little girl.

Well, he is rather a wow.

A "wow"?

Tall and handsome, saturnine.

- He's bit of a Heathcliff.
- He wants total control.

Well, any artist worth anything
would insist on that.

- You don't really want a flatterer.
- Yes, I do.

No, you don't.
Besides, it's manifestly clear he's a fan.

No, don't be silly.
You can smell the socialism on him.

Even the socialists acknowledge
you saved the country.

Through gritted teeth.

I have the protective instincts
of a loving wife,

and I can tell you
this one is not an assassin.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Look! Look at this!

It's Aureole,
the Queen's Aureole, the Queen's horse,

followed by Vamos and Darius...

Isn't he marvelous?

Isn't he clever?

You were absolutely... No.

No, he won.

You were absolutely right.

- He's so clever!
- I know. I know.

- What a champion.
- What a champion.

- Good boy.
- Hello.

I remember getting the phone call
from your father when he was born.

By Hyperion, out of Angelola.

Yes, we gave him his first milk.
Do you remember?

Watching him grow up, everyone thought
his elder brother would be the star.

Your clever papa
always had an instinct for this one.

- He's the underdog.
- And he backed him.

- And an underdog became a star.
- Yes, and his favorite horse.

So, what's next for our champion?

Well, we have received an invitation
to the Laurel International.

- America?
- Yes, next month.

He's what, four?

Already at the older end of the spectrum.

If you were asking my opinion...

That is why I asked you here today.

My honest advice,

I'd consider retiring him now.

At the top of his game.

The best middle-distance horse in Europe,
with a sky-high market value.

Let him earn you
some proper money as a stud.

Hmm.

I'm surprised to hear you turn down
the opportunity of going to America.

Why?

Well, that's where your girlfriend's from,
isn't it?

Fiancée.

Fiancée?

Goodness.

Who is she?

Money, I hope.
So you can keep up the stables.

- Actually, she's a Portsmouth.
- Oh, dear. So, no money.

Some money, but horse mad.

Well, she'd have to be.

You'd approve, I think.

- Well, can I meet her?
- If you promise you won't scare her.

- Why would I scare her?
- You're the Queen.

- Only some of the time.
- All the time.

And that makes you terrifying.

And she's heard a lot about you.

- From whom?
- From me.

Some of it nice, too.

Oh...

The one you let get away.

- What?
- He's always carried a torch for you.

Porchey? Utter nonsense.

He told me himself.

One night while in his cups.

That doesn't count.

When a man's had a drink,
that's when the truth comes out.

No. That's when the nonsense comes out.

Besides, we have interests in common.

Horses aren't an interest to you.
They're a passion.

A passion your husband doesn't share.

He has other passions.

So I hear.

- Sir.
- Good morning.

The Foreign Secretary is here, sir.
Shall I show him in?

No.

Not here.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

As apposite as ever.

I didn't mean it like that.

There's ugliness in the air, Anthony.

I have nothing of beauty to say.

Then say what you must.
Deposit your ugliness and go.

I have more important things to do.

Very well.

At some point,

every leader must ask himself

whether by staying in office,

he is giving to the country
or taking from it.

Helping or harming.

And I would suggest that, for some time now,

you have been taking and harming.

And therefore I come to you,

in the name of the party and of the country,

for the very last time, Winston,

- to bid you to stand down.
- I will in good time. The right time.

The right time was nine years ago
when you lost us the election.

And I have since avenged that defeat
by winning us the last election.

I won us that, Winston! I won that!

People voted Conservative
in the clear expectation

- that you would give way to me.
- That is such rubbish!

They voted Conservative
because they couldn't stomach socialism!

Inflation is out of control.

And with every misjudgment,
with every miscalculation,

with every utterance you make,

that appetite to return
to the left is growing!

Be careful, Anthony,

too much excitement is not good
for one so soon after an operation.

Spoken by a man who
only two months ago was effectively dead.

- Which makes two of us.
- I have recovered.

That's not what I hear.

I hear you are a shadow of your former self.

That when you walk,
the pills rattle around inside of you!

I have something
that you will never see again.

- A clean bill of health.
- Stalin said the same.

He died groveling on the floor!

Mr. Sutherland is here.

- Hello, Anthony.
- Anthony was just leaving.

Hello, Clemmie.

Yes, I was, uh,

just leaving.

Here we are.

Morning.

- Morning.
- Sir, this is my wife, Kathleen.

She assists me sometime.

I hope you don't mind.

Over here.

- What's that you're using?
- Pencil.

Yeah, but which kind?

4B or 6B or something. Not sure.

It's a 6B.

- And on what paper?
- Drawing paper.

I favor heavyweight cotton,
cold-pressed, deckle-edged.

Sized with gelatin.

How many paintings does your husband
complete in a year, Mrs. Sutherland?

- Over here.
- Three or four.

Would you care to guess
how many I average?

Ten?

- Fifteen?
- Sixty.

Oh.

Of course, I'm just a hobbyist,
an enthusiast.

Not a major artist like your husband.

Taking his time.

Over here.

I did a little reading about you,
Mr. Sutherland,

after our last session.

- Did you?
- Yeah. Quite interesting.

From what I read, this is all very new to you,
this portraiture.

I don't think anyone starts out
wanting to be a portraitist.

Yeah.

But in your search for your métier,
you've tried a bit of everything.

That's true.

I came to painting quite late.

But now that you've found it,
you'll never leave it, yes?

Yeah. I quite understand.

How is it, Mrs. Sutherland?

It has truth.

- Am I to be allowed a peek?
- No.

Well, why not? I could give you advice.

After all, I know this face
better than you do.

If you've made the neck too thick
or the arms too long, I can tell you.

I find, in general, people have
very little understanding of who they are.

One has to turn a blind eye to so much
of oneself in order to get through life.

And you see it as your responsibility
to bring all that out into the open?

Certainly. The good as well as the bad.

Just concentrate on the good,
and all will be well.

You're not just painting me, you know.

You're painting

the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom
of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,

and everything that great office represents.

Democracy, freedom,

the highest ideals of government
and leadership.

Just remember that.

- Yes?
- Lord Porchester, Your Majesty.

- Thank you.
- Plug in.

- Porchey?
- What a palaver.

- What is?
- Getting through to you.

I picked up the phone to you just after
9:00 this morning. It's now gone midday.

Oh, don't exaggerate.

But, yes, I know,
it is infuriating. Fire away.

You asked me to come up with some figures
for you with regard to Aureole.

Although I'm numerically dyslexic,

runs in the family I'm afraid,
like the high forehead,

I have done the sums.

See if this helps you with your decision.

In the course of his lifetime as a racehorse,
Aureole has made you just over £40,000.

Goodness.

But if you were to put him out to stud,
he could make you far more.

He's a recognized champion,
with a top-notch pedigree.

You could stand him at Wolferton Stud
for top dollar.

Well, that's a decision then.

Good.

And in the meantime,
I'll ask if I can get you a direct line.

- To you?
- Yes, to me. Why?

Was there anyone else
you wanted to speak to here?

- No.
- Good.

What is it, "top dollar"? I need numbers.

- £400.
- A pop? A shot?

Sorry, I'm trying to find a less onomatopoeic
expression for what is alternative...

- I know what it is.
- A shag.

A cover.

- A "cover"?
- Yes, that's the correct term for...

- A horse hump?
- Yes.

So, what might you earn then
over the course of the year?

Well, in one year alone,
Aureole might cover 40 mares,

making about £16,000.

Good for him.

In the course of his lifetime as a stud,

he might sire 500 to 600 foals,

making me over £200,000.

- Creating an entire generation of offspring.
- Yes.

Father to all the foals in our stables
and any other stable that could afford him.

Yes.

I see. So, in time, every horse out there

could somehow be related to Aureole.

Yes, I suppose so.

Like old man Carnarvon.

Who?

Your friend Porchey's father.

- Porchey?
- No, like I said, his father.

Yes, they're both called Porchey.

Wasn't that the rumor?

- What rumor?
- Well, that he'd had so many affairs

an entire generation of
British aristocrats was related to him.

An illegitimate Porchey
in every great house in the land.

High foreheads everywhere.

- And numerical dyslexia.
- What?

- Nothing.
- What?

Nothing!

Michael!

Dear boy!

- Good night.
- Good night.

Let me have a look at you.

- Marvelous.
- Shall we?

- Come on. You look beautiful.
- Mmm-hmm.

Yes. Fine.

- How is he?
- Not too bad, sir. This way.

- Morning.
- Morning.

- No wife this time?
- No.

I asked her not to come.

Since this is to be our final session,

I wanted us to be all alone.

In silence preferably.

Yes. Yes.

I'll be a good boy.

I quite understand
the need for concentration,

but painting a picture is like fighting
a battle.

A bloody battle.

In the gladiatorial fight to the death,

the artist either wins or loses.

- Are you winning?
- I hope so.

Do you think I'll like it?

I think that's possibly too much to ask for.

But I do take comfort from the fact

that your own work is so honest
and revealing.

Oh.

Thank you for the compliment.

Well, are there any works
that you're referring to in particular?

I was thinking especially
of the goldfish pond here at Chartwell.

The pond? Why the pond? It's just a pond.

It's very much more than that

as borne out by the fact that
you've returned to it again and again.

More than 20 times.

Well, yes,
because it's such a technical challenge.

It eludes me.

Well, perhaps you elude yourself, sir.

That's why it's more revealing
than a self-portrait.

Oh, that's nonsense.

It's the water, the play of light.

The trickery.

The fish down below.

I think all our work
is unintentionally revealing,

and I find it especially so with your pond.

Beneath the tranquility and the elegance
and the light playing on the surface,

I saw honesty and pain, terrible pain.

The framing itself indicated to me

that you wanted us to see something

beneath all the muted colors,
deep down in the water.

Terrible despair.

Hiding like a leviathan, like a sea monster.

You saw all that?

Yes, I did.

Perhaps that says more about you than me.

Mmm-hmm.

Perhaps.

May I ask you a question, Mr. Sutherland?

Mmm.

It's about one of your paintings.

The one you call Pastoral.

With all that gnarled and twisted wood,

those great ugly dabs of black.

I found something malevolent in it.

Where did that come from?

Well, that's very perceptive. That was...

That was a very dark time. My...

My son, John, passed away,
aged two months.

Oh, my. I am sorry.

Yes. Thank you.

- You have five, yes?
- Four.

Marigold was the fifth.

She left us at age two years, nine months.
Septicemia.

I'm so sorry. I had no idea.

Oh...

We settled on the name Marigold
on account of her wonderful golden curls.

The most extraordinary color.

Regretfully, but though perhaps mercifully,

I was not present when she died.

When I came home, Clemmie

roared like a wounded animal.

We bought Chartwell
a year after Marigold died.

That was when I put in the...

The pond.

Here.

Thank you.

Well, thank you.

A pleasure.

I look forward to seeing it.

...a portrait by artist Graham Sutherland...

- Hello.
- Hello.

- Shall we?
- Yes.

Given this is Aureole's debut,
we want to leave nothing to chance,

I've called up three different mares.

Very rarely does a forced tryst
make a fruitful tryst.

If one wants the perfect foal,

one needs to be prepared
to wait for the perfect pairing.

- Shall we?
- Come now, girl.

- Meet Neocracy.
- Ah, the Aga Khan's horse.

- Indeed.
- Yes.

Recently retired
with a good record as a winner.

Lovely temperament, too.

My only concern would be,

- is she perhaps a little too...
- Bashful?

I'm worried that if we left these two to it,
nothing would ever happen.

Which is why I've also called up
Turkish Blood.

As you can see,
an altogether different proposition.

Indeed.

Strong, willful,
with a terrific track record herself.

It really would be breeding
the best with the best.

I'm sensing a "but."

From memory, your Aureole
is something of a sensitive soul.

I'd hate him to be intimidated
or come unstuck

when faced with a fiery warrior like this.

That's very considerate of you, Porchey.

Which is why I have a good feeling
about our third candidate.

Feast your eyes on Temple Bar.

A hot thoroughbred
with a winning streak herself.

She's a little on the young side, perhaps.

- Just three.
- We don't mind that, do we?

- Immediate engagement.
- Yes.

I must say I do like this one.

It would appear the feeling is mutual.

You're lovely.

Telegrams have been pouring
into Downing Street today

to wish Sir Winston Churchill
a happy 80th birthday

on this the 30th of November.

They come from all parts of the globe.

Happy birthday, my darling old pug.

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, dear Prime Minister

Happy birthday to you

For he's a jolly good fellow
For he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow

And so say all of us

- Oh, is it time?
- It is, ma'am.

Right.

- Do sit down, Michael.
- Thank you, ma'am.

Westminster Hall, a silent
witness of nearly 1,000 years of history,

was the scene of the birthday
presentations to Sir Winston.

I am deeply honored to be here today.

No politician

has ever received such an honor before.

And I am deeply grateful.

I am aware, however,

that after having served my country

for 54 of my 80 years,

"resignation"...

...is a word that hangs in the air.

And indeed,
this is the perfect occasion for it.

The stage is set

and the audience is assembled,

all ready for a grand valediction.

There's only one problem.

The lead actor has forgotten his lines.

And instead of standing down,
he is taking an encore.

Oh, dear, he's playing with them all.

When your political colleagues
are kind enough

to present you with a portrait
by an ambitious Modernist,

one has to ask oneself,

"Is it a gift,

"or is it a curse?"

Mr. Sutherland, the artist, and I

spoke a great deal during my sittings.

I reminded him of the stakes involved.

That his portrait was notjust of me,

but of the office I represent.

Indeed, of our entire system of government.

So, at long last,

I look forward to unveiling this painting.

A fine, patriotic piece of modern art.

Why are you here?

- I understand you've rejected the painting.
- I have.

On what grounds?

That is not a painting. It's a humiliation!

"How shall I paint him today?

Ah! "Sitting on a chair, producing a stool.

"A broken, sagging, pitiful creature,
squeezing and squeezing!"

- That's not how it's being seen.
- That is how it is.

And I will not accept it.

I don't think it's wise to reject it.

It was commissioned by the members
of the joint Houses of Parliament

as a sign of respect.

Well, then they should have commissioned
an artist who is respectful,

instead of a Judas
wielding his murderous brush.

Look at it!

It is a betrayal of friendship.

And an unpatriotic, treacherous,
cowardly assault

by the individualistic left.

- As regards the friendship...
- Clearly there is none.

I accepted this commission
because I admired you

and I came through the experience
admiring you even more.

You make monsters of everyone you admire?

It's not vindictive.

It's art. It's not personal.

Well, you are a lost soul.

- A narcissist without direction or certainty.
- Please, sir.

Don't overreact. Give it time.

I showed those sketches to your wife
throughout the process.

- She remarked on how accurate they were.
- That is the whole point.

It is not a reasonably truthful image of me!

- It is, sir.
- It is not! It is cruel!

Age is cruel!

If you see decay, it's because there's decay.
If you see frailty, it's because there's frailty.

I can't be blamed for what is.

And I refuse to hide
and disguise what I see.

If you're engaged in a fight with something,
then it's not with me.

It's with your own blindness.

I think you should go.

He's right.

What?

I am that man in the painting.

Wretched and decaying.

I cannot go on.

You've said that before.

This time I mean it. I'm tired.

You've had enough?

I have, my love.

This time I really have.

Good.

Of course, I knew it was coming.

If I'm being frank, there were

one or two moments
when I might have even hoped for it, too.

Prayed, no doubt.

You really have been
the most remarkable servant to your country.

- Thank you, ma'am.
- No, Winston.

On behalf of us all, thank you.

- And you wish for Mr. Eden to take over?
- I do.

Well, that will make him happy.

For a day or two,

he might even stop cursing me.

Then he will be overwhelmed by a job
in which no man can ever succeed,

and curse me again for leaving it to him.

It might be an idea not to tell him that
before he starts.

No, ma'am.

So,

this is our last audience?

Yes.

However will I cope without you?

You will be fine, ma'am.

I have nothing more to teach you.

Which is why it's time for me to leave.

Your Majesty.

Stop.

Renaming London Airport?

I want something more personal for Winston.

What about dinner?

- Here? Or Buckingham Palace?
- No, there.

- Downing Street?
- Yes.

It would be quite the compliment.
You and Philip go there for dinner.

I'll ask Philip.

- No, you'll tell Philip.
- Mummy.

Dinner? Downing Street? Oh, God. Why not?

Is she a looker, do you think?

I mean, if I were a stallion,

would I fancy her?

Attraction isn't so much about looks

as smell.

- I see. Well, does she smell good?
- Well, we'll see, won't we?

Go on. Go on, hurry up.

Rather like us, darling,
when we were courting.

- Gently, gently, come on.
- Will you please be quiet?

- Yeah, look. Here we go!
- All right.

You all right?

- Hold her steady.
- Steady.

Stay.

Back off.

- Yes, there we go.
- Good girl.

Good boy.

Is that it?

2,000 guineas for that?

As long as he's done what he needs to do
and it bears fruit, I don't mind.

Well done, Porchey!

Yes, indeed.

Well done, Porchey.

I hear he's been given a direct line.

- Who?
- Porchey.

So he can call straight in.

I know only because I tried to get one
for Mike and was refused.

Yes.

On account of him
not being a family member.

- Porchey is like family.
- Is he?

Yes. Part of the furniture.

Well, as long as you don't sit on him
anytime soon.

- Well, that all seemed to go well.
- Yes, it did, didn't it?

You all right?

Mmm.

- Can you leave us now, please?
- Yes, ma'am.

I have nothing to hide from you.

Nothing.

Porchey is a friend.

And, yes, there are those
who would've preferred me to marry him.

Indeed, marriage with him
might have been easier.

Might have even worked better than ours.

But to everyone's regret and frustration,

the only person I have ever loved is you.

And can you honestly look me in the eye
and say the same?

Can you?

Pray silence

for Her Majesty the Queen.

"My Lords, ladies and gentlemen.

"Dear Winston and Lady Churchill.

"My confidence in Sir Anthony is complete.

"And I know he will lead the country
on to great achievements,

"but it would be useless to pretend

"that either he or any of those successors
who may one day follow him in office

"will ever, for me,

"be able to hold the place
of my first Prime Minister,

"to whom my husband and I owe so much.

"And for whose wise guidance,

"during the early years of my reign,

"I shall always be so profoundly grateful."

Hear, hear.

"I will remember you always

"for your magnanimity,

"your courage at all times.

"And for your unfailing humor

"founded in your unrivalled mastery
of the English language.

"I take comfort from the fact

"that in losing my constitutional advisor

"I gain a wise counselor

"to whom I shall look for help and support

"in the days which lie ahead.

"May there be many of them."

- May there be many of them.
- Hear, hear.

Sorry.