Original subtitles

I shall enjoy forgetting all about Barchester for a week or so.

Oh, no, Father.

What? I shall not enjoy it?

We shall all enjoy Plumstead in the company of the Grantlys

but you will not be allowed to forget Barchester.

No, I suppose not.

Bravo.

Thank you very much, Grandpapa, that was lovely.

Thank you all for being such a well-mannered audience.

It's very easy when the music is made in heaven.

- Father was right. - In what respect?

It is possible to forget Barchester.

Of course it is. I never even think of Barchester when I am here.

It must be a great relief

not to have Mr Slope pursuing you.

Mr Slope?

Oh!

Guess what I found on the doorstep?

- A baby in a laundry basket? - No.

- Good. - But very close.

- A bishop in a laundry basket? - A genuine 19th century...

Obadiah Slope.

Good afternoon.

What a pity, no laundry basket.

Miss Stanhope.

- Good afternoon, Mr Slope. - Signora...

You must come and sit here and help me win the game.

- Are you white? - Certainly not, I'm vilest black.

- But I was helping you. - Non preoccuparti.

Your mind is far away with your lady love.

Really?

Mrs Bold has fled to the Grantlys' at Plumstead.

- Poor Bertie is quite distraught. - Totally.

What is your mind preoccupied with, Mr Slope?

Problems of the diocese, as ever.

Oh, how tiresome. I was right not to go into the Church.

Mr Slope,

would you look at the board and tell me...

which is my true enemy,

the bishop or the queen?

Without question...

the queen.

That is generally the case.

- Did you know I have a new ally? - No. Who's that?

Francis Arabin.

Arabin?

He's recently taken over at Ullathorne, St Ewold.

- Is he a good man? - A fellow at Lazarus.

Late professor of poetry at Oxford.

The Oxford connection, my friend,

means additional reinforcements when we need them.

You speak of, er...

a new ally,

reinforcements.

The enemy I assume in this case is, er...

The bishop.

The bishop's wife, the bishop's chaplain.

- Who else? - I suppose nobody else.

Slope.

I've invited him for dinner this evening.

Slope?

Arabin.

May I ask you a question, my lord?

That is what I am here for, Mr Slope.

- To answer questions. - It concerns the hospital.

I had hoped for a spiritual question.

I prefer spiritual questions to the secular.

I think at heart it is a spiritual question.

Go on.

The hospital was offered to Mr Harding,

who declined, as I believe, because of a misunderstanding.

As you believe?

Whereupon it was offered to Mr Quiverful.

Who accepted.

What is the question, Mr Slope? I see no question so far.

If Mr Quiverful, for whatever reason,

were to decide that he did not want the hospital,

that would, I take it,

leave the field open again.

Naturally.

Is that the question?

Yes.

I cannot see it as a spiritual question.

And I think it most unlikely that Mr Quiverful will change his mind.

Save only that our experience in Barchester

is that the unlikely event is very often the most likely event to take place.

And you are pleased with the parsonage, Mr Arabin?

Extremely happy, but I shall be more so

when the builders have finished their work.

You ought to do something about the dining room.

The dining room? It's many years since I visited there

- but I recall a pleasant dining room. - Good heavens.

- Do you remember when your mother... - Its dimensions are 16 feet by 15.

I paced it out several times.

Ever heard of a gentleman's dining room of such proportions?

It would do very well for a round table.

Yes.

Like King Arthur.

A round table? The most abominable piece of furniture.

Fit only for dissenters and um...

calico printers

and literary lions.

And King Arthur.

But to make such an alteration,

I fear you would need to demolish practically the whole side of the house.

- Really? - It seems rather a drastic way

of achieving gentlemanly proportions.

It seemed to suit the knights.

I think that is enough about Mr Arabin's dining room, Papa.

The house certainly has a wonderful view of the country.

Indeed, yes. I can see the cathedral and the palace,

and on a clear day, I can glimpse the hospital I've heard so much about.

Oh. Oh, you have heard about the hospital, have you?

Very much so.

I shall sit at my window and fire away at our adversaries.

I shall just be able to lodge a shot in the hospital,

should the enemy gain possession of it.

And as for the palace, it is well within my range.

Mr Arabin, you are just like all the other clergymen I know,

you're always thinking of fighting one another.

Nonsense. I am a peaceful man. My dear, am I not a peaceful man?

You are not a peaceful man, Archdeacon.

Peaceful men.

We support each other as often as we fight each other.

If I fight with the bishop,

I am supporting your father and Dr Grantly.

- Must there always be fighting? - We are here to fight.

Ours is a church militant.

What is our work but fighting...

and hard fighting?

- But not with each other. - Why not?

Mrs Bold, we're around this table discussing these matters,

disagreeing with each other, but without ill feeling.

Around this table, of course there can be no ill feeling.

But in Barchester of late, there has been considerable ill feeling,

- and most of all, among clergymen. - Yes, that is true.

That's because, as I may have said before, we have a spineless bishop,

an unspeakable wife and a bestial chaplain.

Peace on earth, goodwill among men.

Peace on earth and goodwill among men are, like heaven,

promises for the future.

When that prophecy is accomplished,

there will no longer be any need for clergymen.

Oh, good morning, Mr Slope.

This is a great honour and a delight.

Do come in. We didn't expect you,

certainly not so soon after your last most welcome visit.

Are you tired after your journey? Perhaps a little refreshment?

I am sure my husband will be as delighted as I am.

Ah...

This is another unexpected surprise, Mr Slope.

I fear it might be.

I thought it right that I should put you in possession of certain facts

regarding the wardenship of the hospital.

- Facts? - Yes.

I'm obliged to you for the trouble you're taking.

It's been a troublesome matter. The bishop has hardly known how to act.

Everything I say, Mr Quiverful, must go no further.

- Of course it shall not. - Remember our last conversation?

- Yes, very well. - I told you Mr Harding had refused

- to return to the hospital? - Nothing could be clearer.

And acting on poor Mr Harding's... apparent refusal,

I suggested that you should consider taking the appointment.

I understood you to say that the bishop had authorised you to offer it to me.

Did I? Did I go as far as that?

Perhaps it may be that in my anxiety on your behalf

I did commit myself further than I should have done.

As far as my own memory serves me, I don't think I did go as far as that.

We are honourable men, we'll not quibble about trifles.

I was very concerned that you should get it

and I may have said more than was prudent.

But my wife received as distinct a promise from Mrs Proudie

as one human being can give to another.

She went to the palace. They even discussed curtains.

- Mrs Proudie? - Yes, Mrs Proudie.

If we are to rely on what passes between the ladies,

we shall be in a nest of troubles from which we shall never extricate ourselves.

Mrs Proudie is a most excellent lady -

kind-hearted, charitable, pious and in every way estimable.

- Precisely. - But my dear Mr Quiverful,

the patronage of the diocese is not in her hands.

Am I to understand, then, that I have received no promise?

If you will allow me, I will tell you exactly how the matter rests.

- I'm sure I received a promise. - You certainly did receive a promise.

- Conditional upon Mr Harding's refusal. - Oh.

You yourself declared you could accept the appointment on no other condition

than the knowledge that Mr Harding had declined it.

Yes, I did say that, certainly.

It now appears that Mr Harding did not decline it.

But surely you told me

and repeated it more than once, that he had done so in your own hearing.

- It seems I was wrong. - It seems so.

I cannot absolve myself from my share of the misunderstandings

which have bedevilled the situation. However...

However?

Do not think for a moment, Mr Quiverful, that I mean to throw you over. No.

Having held out my hand to a man in your position

with your large family and pressing claims...

My wife has told the butcher, the coal merchant...

- What has she told the tradespeople? - About our move,

our possible move to the hospital.

And as I say, having held out my hand to you,

I am not now going to draw it back again.

All I ask is that you act with me fairly and honestly.

- I always endeavour to act fairly. - As is known throughout the diocese,

and on that renowned quality, I am relying.

No one knows better than you do Mr Harding's history,

nor can better appreciate his character.

- I've said that from the beginning. - Mr Harding,

now that certain misunderstandings have been cleared up,

is desirous of returning to his old position.

But the bishop naturally feels somewhat hampered by the conversation

which took place on the matter between you and me.

But I did receive a promise.

Let me give you a personal assurance

in place of that promise.

The wardenship of this little hospital,

and it is quite a tiny hospital as hospitals go,

this is not the only thing in the bishop's gift,

nor is it by many degrees the best.

And the bishop is not one to forget anyone

whom he has once marked with approval.

Nor am I.

If you will allow me to advise you as a friend?

I should be most grateful.

Withdraw immediately from any opposition to Mr Harding's claims.

If you persist in your demand, I do not think you will succeed.

Mr Harding has all but a positive right to the place.

- To clarify what you've been saying... - I am here to help and guide.

You are not withdrawing your offer -

that is, the bishop's offer -

but are asking me to withdraw my acceptance of that offer

out of respect for Mr Harding?

Exactly that.

Yes, I see.

If you'll allow me to inform the bishop

that you will not stand in Mr Harding's way, I think I may promise you...

- Another promise? - Not to be taken as a formal promise.

- I understand. - I think I may promise you

that the bishop will not allow you to be a poorer man

than you would have been had you become warden.

Well, Mr Quiverful,

what do you say about it?

Well...

Whatever you think fit, Mr Slope.

It's a great disappointment.

A very great disappointment. I am a poor man.

I am well aware of that, Mr Quiverful. You'll not be forgotten.

You will discover that the world will be a better place

because of this conversation.

Better for you, your wife, and your beautiful children.

- And better for me and the bishop. - And for Mr Harding, I trust?

Yes, most of all for Mr Harding.

Well...

Thank you for your truly Christian

and statesman-like attitude.

And as I say...

this must go no further.

My total and absolute discretion, Mr Slope.

Agh!

Well, my dear,

it seems we're not to have the hospital after all.

What?

Er, there was a misunderstanding.

Mr Harding is to have it after all.

- It was promised to you. - Well, yes and no.

Yes, it was promised.

I've been persuaded it would be in my best interests, our best interests,

for me to withdraw my acceptance.

Mr Slope came here and he promised.

I told the butcher and the coal merchant.

We were promised. It was a promise without witnesses.

Witnesses? Do clergymen require witnesses to their words?

The promise was made in the name of the bishop.

Mr Slope assures me, and I see no reason to disbelieve him,

that it is better for me to keep on good terms with the palace

by withdrawing than to pursue the wardenship.

You are too good,

too soft, too yielding.

These men, when they want you, they use you like a cat's paw.

And when they want you no longer, they throw you away like an old shoe.

This is twice they have treated you so.

All the more reason for the bishop to feel bound to do something for me,

- something even better. - At any rate, he shall hear of it.

- And so shall she. - She?

- Mrs Proudie. - Oh, no. I don't...

If she thinks I will be quiet after all that passed between us,

- I'll make her ashamed of herself. - My dear...

What a heart she must have within her

to treat in such a way as this the father of 14 unprovided children.

I don't think Mrs Proudie has anything to do with it. Mr Slope assures me...

Don't tell me that. I know more about it than that.

Doesn't all the world know that Mrs Proudie is bishop of Barchester

and Mr Slope merely her creature?

Mr Slope in this room...

Mrs Proudie made me the promise,

just as though the gift were her own particular thing.

It was that woman sent him here today.

For some reason she wants to go back on her word.

- I'm sure you're wrong, Letitia. - Don't be so soft, Q.

Take my word, the bishop knows as much about this as...

as that fireplace.

You must go to the palace and tell him so.

Me, go to the palace?

Very well, there's only one thing to be done.

- Ah. - Concerning the hospital, my lord...

Oh, dear. I'm rather weary of that hospital.

Mr Quiverful no longer wishes to be considered as warden.

Really?

Mr Quiverful's attitude might well be a blessing in disguise.

That is certainly my view,

for what that is worth.

I receive letters almost daily from Dr Grantly

pressing Mr Harding's claims.

He seems to have recruited the dean to his cause.

Dr Trefoil has entered the lists too, has he?

Not to mention various impressive names from Oxford.

- Oxford? - Dr Gwynne, Master of Lazarus College,

and others of that formidable ilk.

Extremely formidable - Oxford.

So who knows? Perhaps we may now declare the matter to be settled?

Of that I am sure, my lord.

Why, Mrs Quiverful,

what a delightful surprise.

Is it decided yet when you shall move to Barchester?

Mrs Proudie, I fear we are not to move to Barchester at all.

Not at all? Whatever do you mean?

The hospital is in Barchester, you are to have the hospital,

therefore it follows that you must move to Barchester.

Oh, Mrs Proudie, it isn't for my sake, nor even Quiverful's,

it's for 14 children.

14 children.

Stop crying at once and tell me what this is all about.

You will find me very sympathetic

but I cannot stand to see a grown woman crying.

Well, Mrs Quiverful?

Mr Slope came to Puddingdale this morning

and said it was the wish of the bishop

that Mr Harding should have the hospital...

and it was a mistake my husband was made the offer.

And it would be a great favour to everybody here at the palace if he,

my husband, Mr Quiverful that is,

it would be a great favour if he withdrew his agreement to taking it.

The hospital, I mean.

And it isn't for me, Mrs Proudie.

And I respect you and the bishop

and all 14 of the children say their prayers for the bishop...

Thank you, Mrs Quiverful, this is quite enough.

It's just that a promise was made, Mrs Proudie.

A promise was most definitely made.

I was a party to that promise.

So I thought I should come and see you straightaway,

because he's good and soft, and yielding,

and does as everybody tells him, right or wrong.

Thank you.

Wait there, do not move.

I shall return very soon.

And do not cry.

You are forbidden to cry.

Oh...

Bishop...

What is this about Mr Quiverful?

Quiverful? Now, isn't that the chap at Puddingdale?

I can explain, Mrs Proudie.

I have been to Puddingdale this morning and spoken to Mr Quiverful.

He has abandoned his claim to the hospital

because he is now aware that Mr Harding is desirous to return.

Mr Quiverful has not abandoned anything.

His lordship's word has been pledged and it must be respected.

- Perhaps I ought not to interfere. - Certainly.

I thought it my duty to recommend to the bishop

that he acknowledge Mr Harding's claim.

Mr Harding ought to acknowledge his own claim.

In the interview I had with Mr Harding,

he misunderstood my intentions.

Your intentions?

The bishop's intentions.

It is not your business to have intentions.

It is not your business to conduct interviews.

It is not your business to manage this affair.

Will you answer me, sir?

Who sent you to see Mr Quiverful this morning?

Do you intend to answer me, sir?

I think it would be better for me not to answer such a question.

Did anyone send you...

sir?

Mrs Proudie,

I am quite aware how much I owe to your kindness.

I am also aware what is due by courtesy from a gentleman to a lady

but there are higher considerations.

Higher considerations?

My first duty is to his lordship.

And I can admit of no questioning but from him.

He has approved of what I have done.

You must excuse me if I say that having that approval and my own,

I want none other.

Mr Slope,

I will trouble you, if you please, to leave the apartment.

I wish to speak to my lord alone.

His lordship summoned me on most important business.

Do you bandy words with me,

you ungrateful man?

My leaving him at the present moment is,

I fear, impossible.

My lord, will you do me the favour to beg Mr Slope to leave this room?

Uh...

My lor...

Is Mr Slope to leave this room or am I?

Well, um...

My lord, I am waiting for an answer.

My dear...

Mr Slope and I are...

are very busy.

Shall I arrange for Mr Harding to visit you here at the palace

to discuss the new situation?

Er... Yes.

- If you'd be so kind. - I shall do that immediately.

If there is no other urgent tasks and business?

No, Mr Slope, thank you.

Unless you would rather communicate with Mr Harding yourself?

No, no, no. Not yet.

You must do so informally.

Immediately.

Thank you, my lord.

Your husband...

has been weak and foolish.

He's always been like that, Mrs Proudie.

Alas, there are many such husbands in the world, Mrs Quiverful.

Do you mean the lord bishop?

Certainly not.

I am astonished by your impertinence.

Forgive me, Mrs Proudie, I simply thought...

Oh, I don't know what I am thinking.

Just those 14 mouths to feed.

But why was your husband such a fool?

Why take the bait that man threw to him?

I think my husband thought...

It is difficult to help people who will not help themselves.

Mr Quiverful, having resigned...

I fear there is little I can do to help.

But I think my husband thought

that Mr Slope was speaking on your behalf, Mrs Proudie.

If you take my meaning.

Speaking on my behalf?

And now there are 14 children and barely bread to feed them.

Barely bread, Mrs Proudie.

Your husband thought Mr Slope was speaking on my behalf?

I think that's what he thought.

I will not have it.

I will fight on, Mrs Quiverful.

'Fight the good fight against the rulers of darkness

'and against spiritual wickedness in high places. '

Obadiah,

there is a look of triumph in your eyes.

True.

Today, I have been moderately and modestly triumphant.

In love or in business?

When one is dedicated to the greater glory of mankind,

one does not separate them.

Oh, you must always separate them.

Either stick to your treasure and your city of wealth

or follow your love

like a true man...

but never attempt both.

Love...

True overpowering love must be the strongest passion a man can feel.

He must control every wish, cast aside every other pursuit.

But with me, love will never act in that way unless it be returned.

Desdemona loved and was smothered.

Ophelia loved and went mad.

Cleopatra loved and clasped a viper to her bosom.

There's no happiness in love, except at the end of an English novel.

- That is too bitter an attitude. - But in money, wealth, lands,

goods and chattels.

In them there is something tangible that can be retained and enjoyed.

I know this world's wealth will make no one happy.

What would make you happy, Obadiah?

You?

You?

The search for happiness is always in vain.

We look for happiness on earth.

We ought to be content to hope for it in heaven.

Nonsense. You preach a doctrine you know you don't believe.

You say there is no earthly happiness,

yet you long to be a bishop.

I have the natural ambition of a man.

Of course you have.

And therefore I say you don't believe the doctrine you preach.

Your wit delights in these arguments, signora, but your heart does not.

My heart? There's no such thing in my composition.

No heart? That is a heavy charge to bring against yourself.

And I cannot find you guilty.

You are in no position to give a verdict on the matter.

You have not tried me,

nor have you any intention of doing so.

You will take your vows where they will result in something far more substantial

than a love as ghost-like as mine.

Your love would satisfy the dreams of a monarch.

Or an archbishop?

Of all men, you clergymen are the most fluent with honeyed, caressing words.

But come, Mr Slope, look me in the face boldly and openly.

- Confine your boldness to your eyes, - Madeline...

Well, my name is Madeline,

but none except my own family usually call me so.

Now...

look me in the eyes,

Mr Slope.

Am I to understand that you love me?

Yes.

I love you with a love that passeth all understanding.

- Will you answer me another question? - Anything.

When are you going to marry Eleanor Bold?

Signora.

Ah, do you not admire her? The perfection of English beauty and rich.

I would have thought she was just the person to attract you.

- How can you be so cruel? - Is that cruelty? Oh, my dear friend,

it would be far more cruel if I returned your passion.

How can I love another while my heart is your own?

Love and business, Mr Slope.

Oh.

Madeline, I love only you.

Have you forgotten that there is a Signor Neroni?

- Signor Neroni? - Wretch he may be,

but supposing he were to come to Barchester,

would you introduce him to the bishop and Mrs Proudie and Mrs Bold?

Why do you ask such a question?

I see you kneeling before me kissing my hand,

and wonder about your doctrine on the matter

as a minister of the Church of England.

If I thought you retained any love for that man,

I would die before telling you how I feel.

So what do we hear you say?

That you're going to sacrifice the world for love?

Or that you're going to marry Mrs Bold?

Or is all this kneeling and kissing a falsehood?

- Are you saying my love is not real? - Of course it's not real.

Oh, but it is real.

And were you free to marry...

I would wish no higher privilege.

I am free.

Free as the wind.

Come, take me as I am, have your wish, sacrifice the whole world,

and prove yourself a free man

and a true man.

Good.

Why do you say that? Why do you laugh?

Well, now we know the truth.

Obadiah Slope will never again talk of sacrificing the world for love.

That is as it should be.

People beyond the age of one and 20 should never dream of such a thing.

We are not in our premi�re jeunesse.

If we had the dregs of any love left in us, we should husband our resources better.

- But Madeline... - The world is a very nice place.

Your world at any rate.

Your future is full of fat rectories and wealthy bishoprics.

And now you've confessed it,

you would not change such a future for the smiles of a lame lady.

Don't be angry.

A clergyman should never be angry

at hearing the truth from the mouth of one of his flock.

Oh.

Tell me I'm forgiven.

What is there to forgive?

Forgive me for telling the truth.

And let us still be friends.

Twice more for true forgiveness.

Now you are free to marry sweet Eleanor Bold.

Oh, no.

That will never be.

'My dear Mrs Bold...

'I understand that I cannot at present correspond with your father,

'though I hope in time the mists of misunderstanding will clear

'and we may know each other.

'Therefore, I address myself to you,

'my dear Mrs Bold,

'to say that Mr Quiverful has today, in my presence,

'resigned any title to the wardenship of the hospital.

'Will you, with my respectful compliments,

'ask Mr Harding, who I believe is a fellow visitor with you at Plumstead,

'to call on the bishop either on Wednesday or Thursday?

'This is by the bishop's desire. '

Good heavens.

It's for Eleanor.

She is permitted to receive letters, Archdeacon.

From Mr Slope?

- Mr Slope? - I recognise his bestial handwriting.

It's very hard that such a thing should arrive under my roof.

Father-in-law, I will not be the bearer of love letters.

Eleanor is your daughter. You may do with it as you think fit.

I shall do with it as I always do with Eleanor's letters, Theophilus,

I shall give it to her.

That's right.

I am... commanded by the archdeacon to give you this.

Commanded?

The archdeacon is more accomplished at commanding than requesting.

Whoever would write to me here?

The archdeacon has his views but they are...

Mmm...

But they are none of my business.

Perhaps they are... they are none of his.

Darling, shh, shh, shh.

There.

'I hope my darling little friend Johnny is as strong as ever.

'Dear little fellow.

'Does he still continue his rude assaults

'on those beautiful, long silken dresses?

'I can assure you,

'your friends in Barchester miss you sorely,

'but it would be cruel to begrudge you your sojourn among flowers and fields.

'Pray believe me, my dear Mrs Bold,

'Yours most sincerely,

'Obadiah Slope. '

What is his letter about?

It is totally confidential.

It is on business concerning a third person.

In no way personal to yourself?

That is none of your business, Susan.

So...

A young lady receives a letter from an unmarried gentleman

and is ashamed to share the contents with her sister.

I am not ashamed but I do not choose to be cross-examined by anyone

as regards my letters.

And we do not consider Mr Slope to be a proper correspondent for you.

How can I help his having written to me?

Besides, you are all prejudiced against him

to a degree that is absurd and somewhat odious.

Odious?

I hate a religion that is so one-sided in its charity.

I'm sorry that you hate the religion you find here.

We are, after all, so many years your senior.

The archdeacon knows so much more about the world than you do

and he's most anxious to be your friend and guide in the matter.

In the matter? There is no matter.

Of course there is, Eleanor.

We all want you to relinquish Mr Slope.

No. You all want me to be as intolerant as you are.

That I shall never be.

And I do not require the archdeacon's advice as to how I should order my life.

In that case...

it is my duty to inform you that the archdeacon

considers your correspondence with Mr Slope to be disgraceful

and he cannot allow it to continue in his house.

You may tell the archdeacon that wherever I am,

I shall receive what letters I please

from whomever I please.

And if he considers me disgraceful,

then I consider him...

unmanly, inhospitable and...

bigoted!

I find the atmosphere in the room rather oppressive.

I shall take my letter and myself into the garden.

Please tell my father I would like to see him.

I have a letter I would like him to read.

The archdeacon's wife said you had something to show me.

Yes.

It's addressed to you.

But it concerns you, Father.

And there is nothing in it I wish to conceal...

despite Dr Grantly's monstrous and arrogant views on the subject.

I cannot see whether it is any business of Dr Grantly's

from whom I receive letters,

nor my sister's.

Do tell me I'm right, Father.

Thank you, my dear.

Is there nothing more to say?

I'm told by my sister that I am disgrace to civilised society

for receiving such a letter.

I would like my father's assurance that I am not a disgrace to civilised society.

You are not a disgrace to civilised society.

I would have preferred Mr Slope to communicate with me directly

regarding the hospital.

Better still, I would have liked the bishop to communicate with me on the subject.

As for the more intimate paragraphs,

they are purely the concern of the writer... and yourself.

- And no business of Dr Grantly's. - No, none.

What a pity that a man who knows so much about the world

and carries such wisdom in his head,

somehow transforms his kind intentions

to arrogance and bigotry.

Is that really how he seems to you, my dear?

Precisely that.

He told me he would like to see you...

to talk to you in his study.

If it's convenient.

- There's no need for you to go. - Oh, no.

- We can leave here tonight. - It is convenient now,

except that I shall speak to him.

Concerning...

- the letter which arrived this morning. - Oh, yes, the letter.

Susan tells me you objected to telling her what it was about.

The letter was about my father.

I couldn't show it to anyone or reveal its contents till he had seen it.

He has now seen it.

You are free to look at it, Dr Grantly.

Indeed you may wish to pass it around your family, your friends.

I am criticised for not revealing its contents.

Am I to be criticised for the opposite also?

It really is very difficult to behave properly in this house.

Eleanor, my dear...

do you think that this is a proper letter for you,

for a person in your position

to receive from Mr Slope?

Yes.

I totally disagree.

You disapprove of the reference to...

my beautiful, long silken dresses?

Yes, I certainly do.

Every women enjoys a little praise.

Every man as well, I suspect.

And because thou art virtuous, Dr Grantly,

are there to be no more cakes and ale?

There is an irreverence in your manner, Eleanor,

which I find rather disturbing.

It seems difficult to do anything that does not disturb you, Archdeacon.

You were disturbed by my letter from Mr Slope.

You are no doubt disturbed by my association with the younger Stanhopes.

You were disturbed by my marriage to John Bold.

Well, I am disturbed by your prejudice.

Prejudice?

Yes. Prejudice against anyone who does not conform

to the gospel according to the Grantlys of Plumstead.

That's not prejudice.

It is simply, my dear...

that Mr Slope is altogether beneath you.

Now if you don't believe me, ask your sister, or your father, or Mr Arabin.

You've haven't spoken to Mr Arabin about...

- I have and he agrees with me. - Agrees with you about what?

- He agrees... - How dare you be so impertinent!

He agrees with me and with Susan

that it is quite impossible for you to be received here at Plumstead...

as Mrs Slope.

In view of everything you have said,

I would rather not be received into this house as Mrs Bold.

- Well, my dear... - I shall leave first thing in the morning.

Mrs Bold.

I am Mrs Bold.

Dr Grantly tells me you're leaving Plumstead.

Since Dr Grantly tells you everything else about my life,

I'm not surprised he's told you of my departure.

I have so much enjoyed our meetings and our conversations during your stay.

But pleasant hours and pleasant days must come to an end.

It is a pity that so few of them are pleasant but if...

It seems that men and women

are determined to destroy the pleasantness of their days by their...

lack of charity.

I hope you exclude me from your strictures, Mrs Bold.

No, I do not.

I looked upon you as a friend, Mr Arabin,

only to find that you conspire against me with Dr Grantly.

Conspire? Certainly not.

Dr Grantly asked my advice and I gave it. That is all.

And you advised him that I should not associate myself with Mr Slope,

whom you have never met, I believe.

Dr Grantly's position as a man in the world

gives him a right to choose his own acquaintances

subject to certain influences.

But he has no jurisdiction over me.

I am not entirely alone.

I have a father whom I love and respect.

I need no one else to advise me.

I thought I might be able to talk to you as a friend, Mr Arabin...

but I find you are just another clergyman.

O, be joyful in the Lord

All ye lands

Serve the Lord with gladness

And come before His presence with a song

Be sure that the Lord, He is God

It is He that hath made us

And not we ourselves

We are His people

And the sheep of His pasture

O, go your way into His gates with thanksgiving

And into His courts with praise

Be thankful unto Him

And speak good of His name

For the Lord is gracious

His mercy is everlasting

And His truth endureth

From generation

To generation