All language subtitles for Mansfield.Park.1983.E02

Julia.

- Thank you, Mr Crawford.
- Good afternoon.

Miss Bertram.

- It is strange.
- Yes.

The first time I saw him
I thought him plain.

Black and plain. And yet...

He is still plain, of course, but...
But not so very plain.

- His teeth are good.
- And he is so well made.

With such a pleasing manner.

And with so much countenance
that one quite forgets.

Then, Maria, you cannot much regard it.

Being engaged to Mr Rushworth,
it cannot...

touch you as it does me.

No, indeed.

Though there is never any harm
in liking an agreeable man.

Mr Crawford, Julia,
must take care of himself.

I like your Miss Bertrams exceedingly.
They are elegant, agreeable girls.

- But you like Julia best.
- Oh, yes, yes, I like Julia best.

Do you really, Henry? For Miss Bertram
is usually thought the handsomest.

So I should suppose.
She has the advantage in every feature.

But I like Julia best.

I shall always like her best.
Mrs Grant has ordered me.

- Ho ho!
- I shall not talk to you, Henry,

I know you will like her best at last.

But don't I tell you?
I like her best at first.

And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged.
You should remember that.

Yes. And I like her the better for it.

An engaged lady is always more agreeable.

Her cares are over and she can exert
all her powers of pleasing without suspicion.

All is safe with an engaged lady.
No harm can be done.

And Mr Rushworth is a very...
good sort of young man.

She doesn't care three straws for him.
That is what you are saying.

But I don't think it.

I think too well of Miss Bertram to suppose
she would give her hand without her heart.

Mary, how shall we manage him?

We must leave him to himself. Talking
does no good. He will be taken in at last.

I wouldn't have him taken in.

Let him stand his chance and be taken in.
It will do just as well. Everybody is.

But not always in marriage, Mary.

In marriage, my dear sister, especially.

I fear you have learned
in a bad school at your uncle's house.

The admiral has spoiled you.
You are as bad as your brother.

But we shall cure them,
shan't we, Dr Grant?

Mansfield shall cure them both.

- Good morning, Miss Price.
- Miss Crawford.

I believe I begin to understand you all now
except Miss Price, your Portsmouth cousin.

There's no mystery in Fanny.
She's lived with us since she was ten.

I know the reasons for her gratitude
towards your parents, but is she out?

She dined with you at the parsonage,
which seemed like being out.

Yet she says so little,
I can scarcely suppose that she is.

My cousin is grown up. I'm afraid
the "outs" and "not outs" are beyond me.

But the distinction is generally so broad.

A girl not out has always the same sort
of dress - a close bonnet, for instance.

You may smile, but it is so, I assure you.

And very proper.
Girls should be quiet and modest.

One objects to the alteration that results
when they are introduced into company.

One doesn't like to see a girl
so immediately up to everything.

Mr Bertram, I dare say you have sometimes
met with such changes?

This is hardly fair. I see what you're at.
You're quizzing me about Miss Anderson.

No, indeed. I am quite in the dark.

But I will quiz you with pleasure
if you will tell me what about.

You carry it off very well.

It was exactly so. The Andersons
of Baker Street. You remember, Edmund?

Yes, I remember.

When Anderson first introduced me
to his family, his sister was not out.

I couldn't get her to speak to me,
though I sat an hour with her and another girl.

Lately, I saw her again. She was then out
and I did not recollect her.

She claimed me as an acquaintance.

She talked till I did not know
which way to look.

I felt I must be the jest
of the entire room.

Miss Crawford has heard the story.

And a very pretty story it is.

With more truth in it, I dare say,
than does credit to Miss Anderson.

Mothers have certainly not got
the right way of managing their daughters.

Those who show the world
what female manners should be

are doing a great deal
to set that to rights.

Oh, Miss Crawford. There's the hunter
I mean to race next week at Basingstoke.

- What do you say to him?
- Oh, I am no judge, but it looks very fine.

Will you and Mr Crawford join my party
to see me win there?

I should like to, but I don't think Henry
will be parted yet from Mansfield.

And you are to dine with us next Wednesday
to meet Mr Rushworth.

- My mother arranged it with Mrs Grant.
- Why, so she did.

I am sorry, Mr Bertram,
but your splendid horse must win without me.

And I am sure he will.

But there shall not
be so much pleasure in it.

I dare say, since you are inclined
to be so gallant.

But the odds, you know, will be the same.

And now I must be satisfied
about Miss Price.

Does she go to balls? Does she dine out
everywhere, as well as at my sister's?

No... I do not think
Fanny has ever been to a ball.

No. Fanny? Never.

My mother seldom goes into company
and dines nowhere but at the parsonage

and Fanny stays with her.

Oh, then the point is clear.
Miss Price is not out.

I was at Compton. Do you know the house,
Lady Bertram? Belongs to a friend of mine.

Oh, no, Mr Rushworth.

I do not think I have ever been
as far as Compton.

Oh, no matter. You wouldn't know it.
I never saw a place so altered.

The approach now
is the finest thing you ever saw.

When I got back to Sotherton yesterday,
it looked like a prison.

Oh, for shame! A prison indeed. Sotherton
Court is the noblest old place in the world.

I must try and do something with it,
but I don't know what.

I want some friend to advise me.

Your best friend on such an occasion
would be Mr Repton.

As he has done so well by Smith at Compton.
His terms are five guineas a day.

Well, and if they were ten, I am sure
you need not regard of the expense.

I would have everything done
in the best style.

Mr Norris and I
did a vast deal at the parsonage.

You don't remember, but if Sir Thomas
were here - after all his troubles in Antigua -

he could tell you of our improvements.

If I were you, Mr Rushworth...
I would have a shrubbery.

One likes to go into a shrubbery
in the fine weather.

Do you think so, ma'am?

At Compton they've cut down two or three
old trees that grew too near the place.

It opens the prospect amazingly.

At Sotherton, Repton - or anybody of that
sort - would certainly have the avenue down.

The avenue that leads from the west front
to the top of the hill.

Cut down an avenue?
Doesn't it make you think of Cowper?

- "Ye fallen avenues, once more..."
- "I mourn your fate unmerited." Yes.

I fear the avenue
stands a bad chance, Fanny.

Sotherton is an old place, I suppose.
Is it any particular style?

Elizabethan. Heavy but respectable-looking.

I would influence Mr Rushworth,
but had I a place to new fashion,

I should not put myself in the hands
of an improver, but abide by my own blunders.

It would be delightful
to see the progress of it all.

But not to me. I should be thankful
to any Mr Repton who would undertake it.

And never look till it was complete.

Henry is different.
He loves to be doing, but not I.

Mr Bertram,
I have tidings of my harp at last.

It has been seen by some farmer

and he told the miller, who told the butcher,

and the butcher's son-in-law
left word at the shop.

You cannot conceive
what work was made in bringing it.

Not a cart nor a wagon nor anything
could be hired in the village.

I was astonished, but it seems
that haymaking must account for it.

So Henry has offered to fetch it tomorrow
in his barouche. It travels in style.

During the haymaking,
it would be hard to spare a horse.

Hmm.
Well, in London we have a maxim.

"Everything can be bought with money."

I shall understand all your ways in time.

Will you write to your brother

and tell him I shall prepare
some plaintive air against his return?

And you shall come and listen to me.

It will give me the greatest pleasure,

though I am not expecting
to write to Tom at present.

What brother would?

When they are far from their families,
they can write long letters... I believe.

Miss Price has a brother at sea.
An excellent correspondent.

At sea, has she?
In the king's service, of course?

Perhaps you know his captain?
You have a large acquaintance in the navy.

Mm. Among admirals and their flags
and bickerings and jealousies, large enough,

but very little of the lower ranks.

Certainly, at my home at my uncle's,

of admirals and rears and vices,
we saw a great deal.

Now, do not suspect me of a pun, I entreat.

It is not a favourite profession of mine,
I confess.

But Mr Crawford has done it all at his house
at Everingham, so he informs me.

If Mr Rushworth seeks advice
he should ask Mr Crawford.

Well, if Crawford's willing...

I am entirely at your service.

Why, then, we must make up a party.

I have long been wishing
to call on your mother again.

Mr Crawford might take my two nieces
with me in his barouche.

Edmund could go on horseback.

And, Sister, you...
Why, Fanny will stay at home with you.

As soon as Mr Rushworth's mother
is home again, we must make up a party.

- Delightful idea!
- That's a great idea.

Well, Fanny.
How do you like Miss Crawford now?

How did you like her yesterday evening?

Very well. Very much.

She entertains me. She is so pretty
that I have great pleasure in looking at her.

She has a wonderful play of feature.

But was there nothing in her conversation
that struck you as not quite right?

Yes. She should not have spoken
of her uncle as she did.

It was very wrong, very indecorous.

And ungrateful, I think. She has been living
at the admiral's house.

Yes. You know the reason she left it?

After her aunt's death?
There was some other cause?

The admiral introduced his mistress.

That's why Miss Crawford
came to live with Mrs Grant.

Though they are half-sisters,
they had not seen one another for many years.

I do not tell you to excuse her,
but only so that you may understand.

Whatever the admiral's faults, she should
remember his kindness to her brother.

They say he treats Mr Crawford
as his own son.

You would forgive anything, Fanny,
for kindness to a brother.

- No, Cousin.
- Oh!

You must allow me
to make sport of you a little.

And I do not ask you to forgive
Miss Crawford except for having a lively mind.

For there is nothing loud or coarse
about her.

She is perfectly feminine, except for
this one instance we've been speaking of.

Well, I am glad
that you saw it all as I did.

- We're agreed on that?
- Yes, Cousin.

(FANNY) To midshipman William Price
on board the Antwerp.

My dearest William, the 11th of this month
brought me your letter

and I am very much obliged to you
for filling me so long a sheet of paper.

My letter was a note compared to yours.

- My cousin Edmund...
- (GENTLE HARP MUSIC)

My cousin Edmund asks to be remembered
to you and desires his best wishes.

My uncle still on his affairs
in the West Indies,

but we are in hopes of seeing him again
before winter comes.

I keep very stout, you will rejoice to know,
and ride my cousin's mare almost every day.

Almost every day.

Why, Fanny, what are you about?

- You have been standing there an hour.
- No, ma'am, I assure you.

You were to come to turn out
my larder as soon as you were done riding.

I am sorry, Aunt Norris,
but my cousin Edmund has the mare.

He's teaching Miss Crawford to ride
and they've not returned.

If he does not come soon,
you must go without. I cannot wait all day.

Lady Bertram will require you.

You need not loiter at the window neither.
Find some employment and be useful.

I came to see for Lady Bertram's Pug,
but she's not here.

Pug! Pug?

(DOOR CLOSES)

(EDMUND) That's good. Very good!

Now rein back a little
and bring her in to me.

- (MARY LAUGHS)
- Excellent.

You manage her very well.
And only the third time in the saddle.

But see who is here. Miss Price?
I must apologise. We have been much too long.

- Oh, no.
- Is it so late, Fanny?

Miss Crawford should continue.
I'm pleased to see her ride. She does so well.

You have every reason to reproach me.
I have nothing to say for myself.

I knew it was very late
and that I was behaving extremely ill.

- Therefore you must forgive me.
- Oh, I assure you...

Selfishness must always be forgiven,
you know, for there is no hope of a cure.

- I'm sure Fanny will readily forgive you.
- Yes, indeed.

There'll be time for her to ride twice as far
as she goes. And clouds are coming up.

You have saved her from being fatigued
by the sun - as I fear you will be now.

Oh, nothing fatigues me, I assure you,
but getting off this horse.

Nothing ever fatigues me
but doing what I don't like.

Miss Price, I give way to you
with a very bad grace,

but I sincerely hope
you'll have a pleasant ride.

And I know I'll hear nothing but good
of this dear, delightful, beautiful animal.

We shall walk to the parsonage.
I promise it will be no trial if I have your arm.

- You'll see to Miss Price, Jenkins?
- Aye, sir.

(JULIA) I was sure she would ride well.
She has the make for it.

Her figure is as neat as her brother's.

(MARIA) She has the same energy
of character.

- Goodnight, Fanny.
- Goodnight.

I think good horsemanship
has a great deal to do with the mind.

(JULIA) I agree.

My sisters have a plan
to go to Mansfield Common.

- Do you mean to ride tomorrow, Fanny?
- No, not if you want the mare.

It's not for myself,

but if you are inclined to stay at home,
Miss Crawford would be glad to have her.

Mrs Grant has been telling her of the views
from the common and she has a desire to go.

- But any morning will do.
- I shall not ride tomorrow, certainly.

I've been out very often lately.

- You're sure?
- Yes.

I can easily walk if I want exercise
and I'd rather stay at home.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight, Fanny, and thank you.

Pug?

Pug?

Come back here.

Are you in the flower bed again?

Pug.

I shan't stir for you in such heat.

You naughty dog,

Where is he gone, Fanny?

Shall I bring fresh tea, Mr Bertram?

- No, thank you. I took tea at the parsonage.
- Very good, sir.

(SNORING)

I've been discussing with Dr and Mrs Grant
the arrangements for our trip to Sotherton.

There is one alteration,
which I trust you'll approve.

But all the arrangements are done. I made them
with Mrs Rushworth when she called.

Indeed, ma'am, this is a matter
that I agreed with Mrs Rushworth herself

when I showed her to her carriage.

Where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?

She was here a moment ago.

Yes, I'm here!

Why, what a foolish trick, Fanny,
to be idling upon a sofa.

If you have no work of your own,
I can supply you from the poor basket.

You must think of other people.
It is shocking to be always lolling upon a sofa.

I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as little
upon the sofa as anyone in the house.

That's very true.

Fanny, have you the headache?
I think you do.

- It's nothing.
- How long have you had it?

- It's nothing but the heat.
- Did you go out in the sun?

Why, to be sure. Would you have her
stay in on such a fine day?

We were all out. Even your mother.

Why, yes, indeed, Edmund.

I was out above an hour in the flower garden
while Fanny cut the roses.

It was shady enough in the alcove,
but I quite dreaded coming home.

Perhaps, Sister, she might try
some of your aromatic vinegar. Mine is at home.

She has had it, Mrs Norris, ever since
she came back from your house a second time.

Has she been twice to your house, ma'am?
In such heat. No wonder her head aches.

Fanny, take this to bed with you
and drink it before you sleep.

- I hope tomorrow you'll be well.
- I thank you, Cousin.

Indeed... I'm not very well.

- Goodnight, ma'am.
- Goodnight.

- Pray excuse me.
- Goodnight, Fanny.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight, Fanny.

(DOOR CLOSES)

I am to blame.

Upon my word, ma'am, this has been
a very ill-managed business.

I am sure I do not know how it might have
been better done. Unless I had gone myself.

When the roses were gathered,
your aunt wished to have them.

Were there so many
that Fanny must go twice?

No, but they were put into the spare room
in the White House to dry

and Fanny forgot to lock the door
and bring the key.

So she was obliged to go again.

It is not above a quarter of a mile.

How often do I pace it myself?
Three times a day and in all weathers too.

I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am.

If Fanny would be regular in her exercise,
she would not be knocked up so soon.

Between ourselves, Edmund,
it was cutting the roses

and dawdling about in the flower garden
that did the mischief.

It was as much as I could bear myself.

Sitting and calling to Pug
was almost too much for me.

We are agreed, at least, that Fanny
must have proper exercise in future.

And so she shall.

And next Friday she is to join the party
to go to Sotherton.

- No, not Fanny.
- If it's agreed.

But your mother is not to go, Edmund.
Who will stay with Lady Bertram?

Oh, yes, Edmund, I... Fanny must stay with me.
I cannot do without Fanny.

Indeed, ma'am, so I understood.

That is why I have asked Mrs Grant
to spend the day with you.

Fanny has a desire to see Sotherton
and you will be glad to give her the pleasure now.

Why, yes, I shall be very glad.

It is always a pleasure
to be with Mrs Grant.

If your aunt sees no objection.

Very well, very well,
just as you choose.

Settle it your own way.
I am sure I do not care about it.

- There is room in the carriage?
- In Mr Crawford's barouche? Certainly.

It holds four very well without the box,
on which one may go with Mr Crawford.

There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing
unpleasant in going on the barouche box?

Unpleasant? I believe it would be
generally thought the favourite seat.

Then there can be no harm
in Fanny using it.

Fanny?!

I do not think it will be Fanny.

No, indeed. I believe Miss Crawford
will choose the box herself.

Yes, most probably.

Do you see now, Miss Crawford?
Is not this the finest view?

- What do you say, Miss Price?
- It is most beautiful.

Such a fine burst of country.

I wish you had my seat,
but I dare say you would not take it.

Let me press you ever so much.
Mr Crawford, isn't it a charming view?

It is.

And yet I find it always a shade more charming
to my left than to my right.

Oh, no, indeed.
I'm sure it is quite the reverse.

We come next to the village.
This is the last hill.

Your brother should have gained on us
by now and yet I don't see him.

- Yes, there he is!
- There he is!

We shall come soon to the house -
one of the finest places in the country.

Though I am sure Mr Rushworth,
with Mr Crawford's advice, will make it finer.

- Mrs Norris, had you a pleasant journey?
- I assure you.

Miss Crawford, I'm glad you are come.

Mama, here is Miss Bertram.

My dear, welcome to Sotherton.

These windows have an eastern aspect,
from which one sees the avenue -

thought to have been planted by our ancestor,
James Turnbull Rushworth...

- James Turnbull Rushworth.
...whose portrait in oils is here.

He defended his sovereign
at the battle of Edgehill,

as a consequence of which
he lost his life... from a severe chill.

- The result of unaccustomed exposure.
- (MR RUSHWORTH) Severe chill.

This gallery leads to the family chapel,

which we ought to enter from above
and look down upon,

but as we are quite amongst friends,
I will take you this way, if you will excuse me.

(MR RUSHWORTH)
Shouldn't we enter from above?

- That's Great-Aunt Agatha.
- This way.

This way.

This chapel was fitted up, as you see it,
in the time of James II.

Before that, as I understand it,
the pews were only wainscot.

It is a handsome chapel.

Prayers were read in it
both night and morning

by the domestic chaplain
within the memory of many.

But the late Mr Rushworth left it off.

There is some reason to believe
that the linings and cushions of the pulpit

and the family seat were only purple cloth,
but that is not quite so.

Every generation has its own improvements.

But what a pity it was left off.

There's something in a chapel and a chaplain
so much in character with a great house.

A whole family assembled
for prayer is very fine.

Very fine indeed to force the housemaids
and footmen to say their prayers twice a day?

That is hardly Fanny's idea.

If the master and mistress do not attend
themselves, there is no good in the custom.

But can you not imagine
with what unwilling feelings

the former belles of the house of Rushworth
repaired to this chapel? Hm?

The young Misses This-And-That
starched up into seeming piety,

but with their heads
full of something different,

especially if the chaplain
were not worth looking at.

In those days, I fancy, parsons were
even more inferior to what they are now.

Look at Mr Rushworth and Maria
standing side by side.

Exactly as if the ceremony
was about to be performed.

Haven't they completely the air of it?

I do not like to see Miss Bertram
so near the altar.

So, Mr Crawford, will you give me away?

Hmm? What? What's that you say?
Who's to give whom away?

I'm afraid I should do it very awkwardly.

Upon my word, it really is a pity.

If we had but a proper licence, nothing
in the world could be more snug and pleasant.

My dear Edmund, you might
perform the ceremony directly.

What a pity that you are not yet ordained.
Mr Rushworth and Maria are quite ready.

Ordained? What, are you to be a clergyman?

Yes. I shall take orders
soon after my father's return.

Oh...

If I had known this before, I would have
spoken of the cloth with more respect.

Mr Rushworth, the air in here oppresses me.

Would you persuade your mother
to lead us out of doors?

We have spent time enough.

If we're too long going over the house,
we shan't have time for what's to be done.

It's... past two,
then we're to dine at five.

Ah, Mr Crawford, I mean to show you
the west front. I want your opinion.

Excuse me.

Ah... Miss Bertram,
pray tell your aunt where we are gone.

Excuse me.

(RUSHWORTH TALKS INDISTINCTLY)

Come down here.
We'll see it much better from down here.

I do beg your pardon, Maria.
All those trees simply obscure the view.

That's the avenue I was telling you of,
Mr Crawford. Thank you.

Now, Repton, I'm sure,
would advise having all the trees down...

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

So, you are to be a clergyman, Mr Bertram.

This is rather a surprise to me.

Why should it surprise you?

You must suppose me to be designed
for a profession

and I am not a lawyer, soldier or sailor.

Yes, but why a clergyman?

What is to be done in the Church?

Men love to distinguish themselves
and a clergyman is nothing.

Nothing?

Well, it is true that a clergyman
cannot be high in fashion,

but I cannot call it nothing to have charge
of all that is most important to mankind.

No one can call that nothing.

You can assign greater consequence
to clergymen than I am used to hear.

One scarcely sees a clergyman
out of his pulpit.

You are speaking of London.
I am speaking of the nation at large.

I imagine the metropolis
is a pretty fair sample of the rest.

It isn't there that the influence of the clergy
is felt. They are lost in the crowd.

It is not in preaching only
that a clergyman will be useful

if his parish is small enough
to make it possible.

Oh, yes, that's true.

There. You have convinced
Miss Price already.

I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too.

I do not think you ever will.

I am just as much surprised as I was at first
that you intend to take holy orders.

You really are fit for something better.

Do change your mind.
It is not too late. Go into the law.

- No, I might just as easily...
- Open this gate.

Since it is plainly locked...
were you about to tell me?

No. There is no wit in my nature.
You need not forestall me.

But it is true, the gate is locked.

I wonder that I should feel tired
from only walking in this wood, and yet...

My dear Fanny,
how thoughtless I have been.

- Miss Crawford, will you take an arm?
- Though I am not at all tired.

You scarcely touch me. At Oxford, I often
supported a man for the length of a street.

You are only a fly in comparison.

And I really am not tired,
which I almost wonder at.

We must have walked
at least a mile in this wood.

No, not half a mile.

Oh, you don't consider
how we have wound about.

The wood must be half a mile long
if you could see the end of it.

But we have.

Before we left that first great path,

we looked down the whole vista
and it could not have been more that a furlong.

Oh, I know nothing of your furlongs.

I say we have walked a mile,

and I am not in the least surprised
Miss Price should be tired.

There is nothing so fatiguing
as what we have been doing this morning -

seeing a great house,
dawdling from one room to another.

It is generally allowed
to be the greatest bore

and Miss Price has found it so,
though she does not know it.

I shall soon be rested. To sit in a wood
is the most perfect refreshment.

Ah, but I cannot sit, I must move.
Resting fatigues me.

I must go and look at that vista again.

You will convince yourself that it cannot be
half a mile long or half half a mile.

It is an immense distance.
I shall see that with a glance.

Will you stay, Fanny?
We shall be gone only a few moments.

If we do not wind about too far.

Yes, I'm quite content.

Keep in the shade. We shall return.

We have been walking a quarter of an hour
and have we been walking four miles an hour?

Don't attack me with your watch.
A watch is either too fast or too slow.

I cannot be dictated to by a watch.

(MISS CRAWFORD CHUCKLES)

(RUSTLING)

(HENRY) But I think I saw a knoll,
just now, through the trees.

We might view what I propose.

Yes, we shall see it all from the park.
Now, here is Fanny.

- Miss Price, I declare.
- What do you do alone?

I am waiting for Miss Crawford and my cousin
Edmund. They left me here to rest a little.

- This gate is locked. Have you the key?
- The key?

Oh, hang it.

I ought to have that key about me.
Um... I had a mind to.

I was very near thinking
whether I shouldn't bring that key.

I shall never come thus far again
unless I have it.

- But now you do not have it?
- No.

Then it must be fetched.

We cannot take in the aspect of Mr Crawford's
improvements without the key.

True.

I must go for it.

I shall.

It is a long way to the house, you know,
but I shall make haste for it.

I knew I should have brought that key.

It is the best we can do...
since we have come so far.

Though, to tell the truth, I do not think
I shall ever see Sotherton again

with so much pleasure as I do now.

Some of this year's changes
will hardly improve it for me.

If other people think it improved, I have
no doubt you will. You are a man of the world.

Not quite so much as might be good for me.

My feelings are not as free
as one may find with men of the world.

You seemed to enjoy your drive here.
You and Julia were laughing the whole way.

Were we? I don't recollect.
But your sister loves to laugh.

- You think her more light-hearted than I am?
- More easily amused, perhaps.

By nature I believe I am as lively
as Julia... but I have more to think of now.

You have, undoubtedly.

But that should not justify
a want of spirits.

You have a very smiling scene before you.

Literally, do you mean?

It's true the sun is shining,

but this iron gate
gives me a feeling of restraint.

"I cannot get out"...as the starling said.

Mr Rushworth is so long fetching this key.

And you could not go
without Mr Rushworth's authority.

Or... I think you might, with little difficulty,
pass through the gate here.

With my assistance.

If you could allow yourself
to think it not prohibited.

Prohibited? Nonsense.
I certainly can get in here and I will.

Mr Rushworth will be back.
We shall not be out of sight.

Or if we are, Miss Price will tell him
he may find us near that knoll.

- Oh, no, Mr Crawford...
- By the grove of oak.

You will hurt yourself, Miss Bertram.
You will hurt yourself against those spikes.

- You will tear your dress!
- Thank you, Fanny, but I am alive and well.

- And your dress too.
- Indeed. Goodbye, Fanny.

You may tell Mr Rushworth
where we are gone.

It is wrong.

She should have stayed.

- Oh.
- Heyday!

What's this? I thought that Maria
and Mr Crawford were with you.

And Mr Rushworth too. But Mr Rushworth
is gone to fetch the key to the gate.

And instead of waiting, Miss Bertram
and Mr Crawford have climbed through the gap

and now they are gone.

A pretty trick, upon my word!

I cannot see them anywhere,
but they cannot be far off.

And I think I am equal to as much as Maria,
even without help.

But, Julia, Mr Rushworth will be here
in a moment with the key.

- Do wait for Mr Rushworth.
- Not I. I have had enough of the family.

Why, child, I have but this moment
escaped from his horrible mother

while you were sitting here so happy.

It might have been as well
if you had been in my place,

but you always contrive
to keep out of these scrapes.

But didn't you see Mr Rushworth?

Yes, I saw him! He was posting away
as if upon life and death.

He scarcely had time to tell me
of his errand and where you were.

It's a pity he should have so much trouble
for nothing.

That is Miss Maria's concern.
I'm not obliged to punish myself for her sins.

The mother I could not get away from as long
as my tiresome aunt was prancing about,

but the son I can avoid.

(FOOTSTEPS)

(PANTING)

- What?
- Mr Rushworth.

- Yes?
- I fear they are gone.

Gone?!

Maria and Mr Crawford?

Yes. Into the park.

- But I brought the key.
- They climbed... round the gate.

- There's a little space, you see.
- What?

Damn it! Climbed, did they?

Yes, indeed.

Good Lord.

They desired me to say...

My cousin Maria charged me to say

you would find them at the knoll
or thereabouts.

Oh, did she?

I do not believe I shall go any further.

I see nothing of them.

By the time I get there,
they may be gone somewhere else.

I've had walking enough.

I'm very sorry.

It was... unlucky.

I think they might as well
have stayed for me.

Miss Bertram thought you would follow her.

I shouldn't have had to follow her
if she had stayed.

Tell me, Miss Price...

Are you such a great admirer
of this Mr Crawford as some people are?

For my part, I can see nothing in him.

I do not think him at all handsome.

Handsome?!
He is not five foot nine.

I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't
more than five foot eight.

He's a very ill-looking fellow.

In my opinion,
these Crawfords are no addition at all.

We did very well without them.

If I'd made any difficulty about fetching
the key, there might be some excuse, but...

I went the very moment she wanted it.

When people are waiting,
they are bad judges of time.

It is a pity you should not join them.

They expected a better view of the house
and how it may be improved.

And nothing of that sort
may be settled without you.

Well...

if you really think I had better go...

It would be foolish
to bring the key for nothing.

I think you should.

Aye. Very well.

Do you stay for Mr Bertram
and Miss Crawford?

Yes, I do.

Oh.

Well, Fanny,
this has been a fine day for you.

- Indeed, Aunt.
- Nothing but pleasure.

You ought to be obliged to your Aunt Bertram
and myself for contriving to let you go.

A pretty good day's amusement
you have had.

Yes, ma'am, I thank you.

You have done pretty well yourself, ma'am.
Your lap seems full of good things.

And this basket has been
knocking my elbow unmercifully.

My dear, it is only
a beautiful little heath

which Mrs Rushworth and her dear old gardener
insisted I must take.

But if it's in your way,
I'll have it on my lap.

Fanny, you shall have the parcel.
Take great care of it.

It is a cream cheese
just like the one we had at dinner.

Now, I can manage my basket
and the hamper very well.

- What else have you been sponging?
- Sponging, my dear?

Nothing but four of those beautiful
pheasant's eggs

which Mrs Rushworth
quite forced upon me.

I shall get your dairymaid
to set them under the first spare hen.

It will be a great delight in my lonely hours
to have some living creatures by me.

And if I have good luck,
your mother shall have some.

You will find the young people
in the drawing room.

Why, I declare, the Crawfords.

I met them in the hall and have not yet
given them our great intelligence.

We have had a letter
from poor Sir Thomas in Antigua.

- Good evening, Lady Bertram.
- Sir Thomas is well?

Ooh, I believe so.

Aunt, would you have Miss Crawford believe
there's something ill?

No, no, I assure you.
We hear nothing ill as yet.

Sir Thomas informs us
his business is so near done,

he proposes taking the September packet.

If there be no delays...
Storms or other misfortunes.

One cannot foresee all.

...Sir Thomas will be home again in November.
And dear Maria will be married.

Then it's good news indeed.

If you need more candles at the pianoforte,
Julia, I'm sure Mr Crawford will assist you.

We are to have a song.
Mr Rushworth proposed it.

Then I am sure Henry
will lend his voice as well.

Mr Bertram, Miss Price.
It is a pleasant evening.

Miss Crawford.
We have been looking at the stars.

Indeed.

How happy Mr Rushworth looks.

Your father's return will be the forerunner
of interesting events.

Miss Bertram's marriage,
your taking holy orders.

Sacrifices to the gods for a safe return.

There is no sacrifice in either case.

Maria's marriage
and my taking orders are freely chosen.

Yes, I was merely joking.

She has done no more
than many young women would do.

As for taking orders, there is a very good living,
I understand, kept for you.

True, but if the church is to be supplied,
surely her clergy must have provision.

It was you who spoke of sacrifice.

Forgive me.
I shall say no more of clergymen,

except for one who vexes me.

Henry and I were partly driven out this evening
by the behaviour of Dr Grant.

A brother-in-law who is kind to me
and I dare say preaches a good sermon,

but who, if his cook makes a blunder,
is out of humour with his excellent wife.

Tonight it was a goose
he could not get the better of

and my poor sister was forced to bear it.

- Oh, but surely...
- It goes against us, Fanny.

We cannot defend Dr Grant.

No, but we need not
give up his profession.

- Miss Crawford, we are to sing a glee.
- Shall you join us?

Yes, I come.

(EDMUND) There goes good humour,
I am sure.

How well she walks and how readily
she falls in with others' wishes.

What a pity she should be so influenced
by her uncle's worldly views.

Indeed.

But there's not a cloud tonight.

Here's harmony. Here's repose.

It leaves all painting and music behind.
Poetry can only reach for it.

When I look out on such a night as this,

I feel... there could be neither wickedness
nor sorrow in the world.

It is a lovely night. I wish everyone
could learn to see it as you do.

It was you that taught me, Cousin,
to think and to feel.

I had an apt scholar.

Look, there's Arcturus looking very bright.

Yes, yes, and the Bear.
I wish I could see Cassiopeia.

We must go out on the lawn for that.
Should you be afraid?

Not in the least.
It's so long since we've had any stargazing.

- Yes. How has that happened?
- I do not know.

- (PIANO PLAYS)
- # There is a lady... #

Wait. We'll stay till this is finished.

# Was never a face so pleased my mind

# I did not see her passing by... #

Fanny, what do you stand and stare for?
You will catch cold.

# Till I die #