All language subtitles for The Barchester Chronicles (1982) Eps 6

Praise the Lord

O, my soul

O, Lord, my God

Thou art very great

Thou art cloth�d

With honour and majesty

Thou art cloth�d

With honour and majesty

The dean has had a stroke.

A stroke?

Yes, the dean has had a stroke.

- But who is the dean?
- I see no dean, hm?

Do you keep him hidden?

Dr Trefoil has been ill for several months.

The only people to see him
have been visitors to his sickbed.

- That is why I was late today.
- Ministering to the sick, we understand.

is he very old, Dr Trefoil?

Past 70, I believe.

- Oh, very old.
- Not for Barchester.

And who will inherit the earth, Obadiah?

- I beg your pardon?
- Who will be the new dean?

Oh, it's much too early to speculate...

- indeed it should be most improper.
- Does it pay well?

Something in the order of 1,500 a year.

- And a house, presumably?
- The deanery, yes.

I've seen it. It has the most
enormous and beautiful garden.

- 15 acres.
- Ah, you've counted them already?

- I... I glimpsed it in a document.
- I shall certainly apply for the situation.

Obviously I am a little young
but I have energy and charm.

Bertie, nobody would ever
appoint you as anything.

Who makes the appointment?
The bishop. Is he of sound mind?

- Very sound.
- But weak.

- Not weak enough to give Bertie a job.
- Nobody's that weak.

Oh, what a shame.

It seems an even better sinecure
than that old hospital -

twice the money and half the work.

Mr Slope, I'm sure the bishop
will take the very best advice.

Come in.

My dear, er, to what do I owe
this unexpected pleasure?

I will tell you.

Sit down.

You will recall the last time I set foot
in this study you asked me to leave

because you had urgent business
to discuss with Mr Slope.

Did I? I... I don't recall.

You asked me to leave.

Perhaps you misheard
or-or misunderstood.

I wanted to discuss the claims
of Mr Quiverful and Mr Harding

to the wardenship of Hiram's Hospital.

Yes, now I believe
it does come back to me.

You and...

your chaplain
seem to have a curious idea

that Mr Quiverful can be overlooked,

and when I sought to clarify the matter...

you asked me to leave.

There was other
urgent diocesan business to discuss.

Have you now discussed
the other urgent diocesan business?

Well, yes, I believe that we have.

Good.

Now we will discuss the hospital.

The hospital?

You asked me to leave
and now I have returned.

Did you have a pleasant stay
at Plumstead?

- No, it was miserable.
- Oh, did it rain?

The weather was perfect.
The Grantlys were miserable.

They preach at me all the time.

Why ever should they preach at you?

Oh, they have this peculiar idea
that I intend to marry... Mr Slope.

- Surely not, Eleanor.
- Of course not!

- Why not tell them so?
- Because!

Because it is none of their business.
They will interfere so.

And not just the Grantlys,

even my father and... Mr Arabin.

Mr Arabin?

He's the new incumbent at Ullathorne.

The Reverend Francis Arabin.

Is he handsome?

I suppose yes, in a very dull Oxford way.

Well, we could polish him, make him
handsome in a shining Barchester way.

Shall we regard that as settled?

Mr Quiverful shall have the hospital.

Good.

You have been
most understanding, Bishop.

If you'll excuse me.

Thank you, my lord.

This is another sad day, father-in-law.

Yes indeed.

The dean is always so appreciative
of our music.

Oh, yes.

- I realise that he is not yet dead.
- Of course.

I fear it will not be long.

Swiftly and painlessly
is what I'm praying for.

Then there will be
the question of his successor.

Look!

Whom do you see, Mr Harding?

I see...

Mr Slope walking through
the cathedral precinct.

I see Mr Slope hurrying,

planning, pursuing an idea,
an ambition...

nay, an obsession!

"I charge thee, fling away ambition:

"by that sin fell the angels. "

Hm?

Shakespeare.

He and I both prefer music to politics.

- Slope.
- My lord.

Er, h-how is the dean?

There's no sign of amendment
to his condition.

Er, as Sir Omicron arrived yet?

He arrives this evening on the 9:15 train.

I wonder that they didn't get a special.

They say Dr Trefoil is very rich.

Yes, but neither Sir Omicron Pie

nor all the doctors in London
can help him now.

The dean is not long for this world, I fear.

I suppose not.

It would be a matter of much moment
to your lordship who is to succeed him.

Succeed him?

Forgive my presumption, but...

No, no, no, it...

it is a matter of much moment.

It would be a great achievement
to secure the services of some person

of your own way of thinking
on doctrinal matters.

True, one would like
a good man in his place.

The party hostile to us are powerful
here in Barchester. Much too powerful.

- Yes, yes.
- Think what trouble we might have

if Dr Grantly were to get it.

I doubt the archbishop will give it
to any of that school.

Yet it is a danger.

If I might venture
to advise your lordship,

I would suggest that you should
discuss the matter with his grace

when you see him... next week. I think
you'll be seeing his grace next week.

I shall see the archbishop next week

but I'm unwilling to interfere
unless invited.

And if asked, I...

Well, I don't know whom
at this moment I-I-I should recommend.

Indeed. It... It is a little premature.

Precisely.

But I would dare venture to suggest
a very modest idea

that I have been turning over in my mind.

If poor Dr Trefoil must go,

and he is in our prayers
even at this late stage.

Indeed in all our prayers.

But if he must go...

I really do not see why
I should not hold the preferment myself.

- You?
- I understand your reaction, my lord.

"Why should Mr Slope
be dean of Barchester?"

But let me put another question,

"Why should Mr Slope
not be dean of Barchester?"

It would be my chief desire
to act in all matters

in accordance with your own views.

Such as appointment
would have the support

of an influential portion of the press.

- I have friends also in the government.
- Really?

I have had occasion to correspond with
Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin among others.

- Oh, Fitz... er...
- Whiggin.

But this is not a matter
of influence or patronage.

No?

You're guaranteeing a delightful
uniformity of opinion within Barchester.

I understand what you're saying

and I'm not without sympathy
for the suggestion

but I do not know
what I can do in the matter.

Simply mention it
to the archbishop - favourably.

- A favourable word?
- That's all I ask, nothing more.

That is little enough to ask, Mr Slope,
and you have been a good servant.

Thank you, my lord.

Er, about the hospital...

- The hospital?
- You haven't given any undertakings

- to Mr Harding about it?
- No, I have not.

Good, I have had
second thoughts on the subject.

I think it better to let Quiverful have it.

- Quiverful?
- I think that it will be better.

He has a large family
and he's very poor...

- My lord, I'm afraid...
- I shall speak to the archbishop

favourably, Mr Slope.

Well...

I suppose Mr Quiverful is...

very poor.

My feeling precisely.

Abandon Slope
all ye who enter here.

That's a good line, I'll write it down.

- It isn't very poetic.
- It needn't be.

Shakespeare slipped in
the odd piece of prose here and there.

You're much more talented
than Shakespeare.

That is true. I shall be poetical.

"Harken to the cathedral choir... "

"Sing praise to chaplain Obadiah. "

- That is slightly improper, is it not?
- I suppose it is, yes.

"Harken to the cathedral choir

"Sing praise to chaplain Obadiah. "

Sing praise to the new dean Obadiah.

But the old dean is still hanging on,
is he not? It could go on for years.

Elderly clerics are all pickled in port.

- That is extremely improper.
- I know, did I pretend otherwise?

Sing praise to prophet Obadiah.

Oh, it's such a relief
to be free of respectable people.

- Thank you.
- Was it so very tedious at Plumstead?

I was preached at from dawn till dusk.

- Clergymen do tend to preach.
- Father doesn't.

- I don't think of Father as a clergyman.
- He's the best kind.

He takes the money
and neglects his responsibilities.

And you, dear sweet Eleanor,
have discovered the true answer.

When you are feeling
preached at, come to us.

We select a poor innocent victim
like Mr Slope

and insult him in his absence.

- Ah, that will be him.
- Mr Slope?

Mm, he calls most days.
He likes to gaze at me adoringly.

I shall see him in. Bertie,
place Obadiah's throne in position.

We may all have to go
for a walk by the river

if the prophet is feeling romantic.

We will be guided by you, Mr Stanhope.

If you are guided by me,
you'll be lost forever.

Good afternoon, chaplain Slope.

We are writing a tragical drama in verse

with yourself as the doomed hero
and star-crossed lover.

- We must hide all these.
- Why? It's too late!

- Good afternoon.
- Enter a handsome and poetical vicar

who has left his white charger outside,
presumably.

Don't be an idiot, Bertie!
Mr Arabin, I think you've met everybody,

except Miss Bold.

Miss Mary Bold, Mr Arabin.

Delighted to meet you, Miss Bold.

Mrs Bold, Signora Neroni,

Mr Stanhope.

Mr Arabin, we've prepared a throne
especially for you.

Thank you.

We have been writing a tragical drama
this afternoon, Mr Arabin.

What have you been up to?

I have been visiting all my friends
in Barchester,

inviting them to a garden party.

- Are we all invited?
- Of course.

- You have a garden?
- Not my garden, Miss Stanhope.

It is the Thornes of Ullathorne.

- Heavens, the Thornes of Ullathorne!
- They usually...

The finest tailors
in the northern hemisphere.

Mr Thorne is my local squire.
Miss Thorne is his sister.

And I understand the garden party
is an annual event.

Will my friend the bishop be there?

He and Mrs Proudie are invited,

though he is away at the moment
visiting the archbishop.

An archbishop is even bigger
than a bishop, isn't it?

- Very much so.
- And... the bishop's chaplain?

- Mr Slope?
- Yes.

An invitation will be sent to Mr Slope.

Forgive my being inquisitive,

but Mr Slope
has so many admirers in Barchester.

- Really?
- Hm.

Though it would be tactless
of me to mention them by name.

Oh!

Ah, thank you, Joseph.

You seem a little tired, my dear.

A- A little, er, from the journey.

How is the dean?

- Still alive.
- Oh, I see!

But there are no signs of improvement.

Oh, then I shall call
at the deanery tomorrow.

Not tomorrow. Have you forgotten?

We are going to the party at Ullathorne
and we must be there by 12.

Oh, then I-I shall call the... the next day.

Ah, hm...

Did the... archbishop
mention the subject?

Er, subject?

Filling the dean's place when he dies.

Oh, it... it was mentioned,
just mentioned.

What did you say about it
when it was mentioned, Bishop?

I said that I thought that if, er...

that is, should... should the dean die,
er, I, er...

to tell you the truth,
I scarcely remember what I said.

Oh. I am told...

Mr Slope has ambitions
to be the new dean.

Yes, he indicated to me that he had been
turning the idea over in his mind.

What does the archbishop
say about that?

Did you mention it to the archbishop?

Well, my dear, on the one hand it seemed
to me very arrogant of Mr Slope...

Arrogant in the extreme.

On the other, I, er...

I did, er, promise to...

speak to his grace on the subject.

And you did?

W- Well, I... I promised.

You don't mean to tell me that you...
supported this preposterous idea?

It is preposterous,
as you properly observed.

Yet you spoke to the archbishop
and gave it your support.

No, no, not support, no, just
a brief reference en passant, no more.

What did the archbishop say
to this... brief reference?

Er, h-h-he didn't say anything.
He just bowed and rubbed his hands

and started talking
about something else.

I am astonished.

No, no, the archbishop
frequently bows, rubs his hands...

Astonished that you even
mentioned Slope to the archbishop.

How can you think it -
that creature dean of Barchester?

He'll be looking for a bishopric next.

A man that hardly knows
who his own father was.

A man that I found without bread
to his mouth or a coat to his back.

Dean of Barchester indeed, I'll dean him.

It seems to me, my dear,

that you and Mr Slope do not get on
quite so well as you used to.

"Get on"?!

It seemed to me that you would be more
comfortable if he was out of the palace,

so that by easing the way
towards this new appointment,

he would cease to be my chaplain,
he would no longer be here and...

a- and, you might, er, be pleased.

Pleased!

To have a creature like that converted
into a dean at 15 hundred a year?

12, I believe.

I would be very pleased to be rid of him.
The man has grown mad with arrogance.

You are quite right, Bishop.
Slope must leave.

He makes trouble among the clergy,

behaves as if he himself
were as good as the bishop.

Yes, he must leave the palace
but not go into the deanery.

No, no, no, of course not.

But we-we-we
must consider appearances.

I don't want to consider appearances.
I want Mr Slope to appear what he is -

a false, designing, mean, intriguing man.

Behaves in a most disgraceful way
with that lame Italian woman.

That family is a disgrace to Barchester.

Slope is a disgrace to Barchester.

But we'll have his gown
stripped off his back,

instead of placing a dean's hat
on his head, oh, yes.

Tea, Bishop?

Tomorrow, my dear old friend,

we must all put on our best clothes
and go down to Ullathorne.

Miss Thorne is giving another
of her celebrated garden parties.

We shall all smile sweetly at each other

without quite remembering the names
of the people we are talking to.

Dr Grantly is taking Dr Gwynne...

the master of Lazarus College, Oxford,

with whom he hopes
to intimidate the bishop

on a number of diocesan matters,

including that of Hiram's Hospital.

Oh, dear me.

How trivial!

How tedious it all is.

Do you suppose
the good Lord really cares

who is to be
the warden of Hiram's Hospital?

Yes, of course He does.

He does care.

But I imagine His way of caring
is rather more commendable

than that of our good friends
in Barchester.

I remember...

how, when we were all much younger,

we used to look forward
to the Ullathorne garden party.

'Do you remember Miss Thorne's
obsession with medieval sideshows?

'How we young clerics used
to dare each other to attempt them?

'Oh, my friend, the bumps and bruises...

'and fractures of years ago!

'But we forget the pain

'as the years pass by. '

Oh, yes...

we forget the pain.

Sleeping.

Good.

"Knit up the ravelled sleeve... "

Forget the pain, old friend.

God bless you.

- Good morning.
- Ah, good morning, Wilfred.

Is everything in good order?

Yes, Mr Plomacy
has done a fine job as usual.

- Thank you, madam.
- Well done, Plomacy.

Thank you, sir.

What's it in aid of?
I forgot the chap's name.

Arabin, the Reverend Francis Arabin.

- Is he one of the Uphill Stanton Arabins?
- Well, I don't know.

Would I have time for breakfast
before the Assyrians bear down?

If you don't take too long, dear.

How would I ever organise
a garden party without you?

That's easy to answer -
you wouldn't have a garden party.

- Thank you, Mr Plomacy.
- Thank you, madam.

Mr Harding, did your daughter
not travel with you?

No, I came from Plumstead
with the Grantlys.

- She's travelling from Barchester.
- On her own?

- With the Stanhopes, I believe.
- Ah. The Stanhopes.

Harry Greenacre!
Has anybody seen Harry Greenacre?

- Looking for somebody, Mr Plomacy?
- Yeah, I'm looking for you.

- We want you to start the quintain.
- Kill meself, more like.

- Not if you're careful.
- I might kill myself.

- If you do it, they'll all follow.
- No, not me.

I ain't never been careful in my life.

You wait there. I'll see if I can find myself
a nice little horse.

How utterly
and unspeakably dreadful.

Is that...?
Yes.

That object is Obadiah Slope.

Right.
So if I strike it smack in the middle,

the sack won't hit me. Is that right?

That's right.

Whatever you do... whatever you do,
just keep going.

I shall keep going, Mr Plomacy,
don't you worry about that.

Come on, you lot, give a man a bit of air.

Give him air.

God for Harry, England and St George!

I think Harry Greenacre's dead.

Oh, no!

The Stanhope carriage
was obliged to come twice.

It has now gone back for the signora.

Our party consisted of Dr Stanhope
and Charlotte and myself

- and Mr Slope.
- I see.

You were travelling with the Grantlys.

I had no idea
Mr Slope was coming with us.

I didn't want to travel with him.
He's the most odious man I've ever met.

Is he?!

Is he, really?

Of course he is, you think so yourself.

Darling girl...

you've lifted such a weight
from my mind.

Surely, Father, you didn't think...

Alas... my dear,

I did think...

Well, only for a moment.

Oh, Father, Mr Slope is the last man
I should want to travel with.

Is he?

I wonder,

who would be the first?

You would be.

Quiet, quiet!
This is an important announcement.

- Harry Greenacre is not dead.
- Oh!

But he's very nearly dead.

That presumably is the signora.

She certainly fits
the description we were given.

Ah, Bishop.

Dr Grantly, my wife
was anxious for me to meet...

but I am sure that I can meet them later.

Yes, I'm sure you can.

Meet Dr Gwynne,
master of Lazarus College, Oxford.

- A great pleasure.
- As it is for me, my lord.

And, er, how are things at Oxford?

We dream our dreams, Bishop.

Much more to the point,
how is everything in Barchester?

We have it every year.
You weren't here last year.

- Miss Thorne?
- We missed you... Excuse me.

- Have you seen the bishop?
- Not since you arrived, Mrs Proudie.

How absurd. Fancy losing a husband!
Especially a bishop.

Alas, I've never had a husband,
only a brother.

And I fear I might be losing him.

Losing a brother?

This is a very handsome house.

Yes. Yes, it is rather.

Then houses, like domestic animals,
do tend to resemble their owners.

You mean
you consider me handsome too?

Let me tell you about the Signora Neroni.

She has only one leg.

Only one leg?

That is to say only one
that is still capable of serving as a leg.

- Unfortunate creature!
- Not at all.

She systematically
destroys the moral fibre

of every decent gentleman
she encounters.

Fortunately, Wilfred has
very little moral fibre to destroy.

Mrs Proudie, let me show you
our medieval sideshows.

I do like to maintain the old traditions.

To be sure, we await
your decision, my lord.

I understand your concern about
the warden's position at the hospital

and about the dean's successor.

Oxford would appreciate
some indication of your intentions.

I have had discussions with the
archbishop - in confidence, of course.

I am the most discreet man
in Barchester, my lord.

The likelihood is that the hospital
will go to... Quiverful.

- Quiverful?!
- Quiverful?

A nincompoop with 14 children.

And the new dean?

I have given the archbishop five names.

You will not, of course,
expect me to disclose those names.

- No, of course not.
- Quite unthinkable.

Is one of them Slope?!

You underestimate me, Dr Grantly.

Mr Harding?

Signora.

Will you stay and talk to me?
I've been totally deserted.

I was having delightful conversation
with Mr Thorne,

but his sister arrived with an emergency.

Do you imagine Mr Thorne
is any good at emergencies?

Not exceedingly, no.

How refreshing to talk to a man
who is contented

and who is not frightened of me.

I suppose I am as contented
as any man has any right to be

and I'm certainly not frightened of you.

You see, I remember you
as a spotty little girl

who was always falling in the lily-pond.

Here you are, sirrah. Here's a message
for the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Just do it, you idiot!

- Ooh!
- Bertie!

Do forgive me, madam.

You want to be more careful!

It's all right. I didn't hit...

Erm, do take this for your good lady.

I'm sorry I frightened her.

This is wonderful.

Peasants are so much more fun
than respectable people.

May I speak with you, Mrs Bold?

If you wish.

Mr Arabin.

Signora!

You've not spoken to me all day.

Why are you here, Mr Arabin?

Why should I not be here?

A bachelor like you should be
talking to young ladies in shady bowers,

earning your cold chicken
and champagne.

I am not skilled at the social graces
required on this kind of occasion.

Something ails you.

Truly, nothing ails me.

Miss Thorne tells me the party
was given expressly in your honour.

And yet you're the only dull man present.

May I escort you to the tent?

There's champagne and cold chicken.

Thank you,
I am neither thirsty nor hungry.

We could look at the sideshows.

I am happy to look at them
from a distance, Mr Slope.

I believe there is a very fine
formal garden at the side of the house.

Oh.

Why do you let the Slopes of this world
outdistance you?

Is not the blood in your veins
as warm as his?

Doesn't your pulse beat as fast?

Has not God made you a man
to do a man's work?

Aye, and take a man's wages also.

The good things in life
are worth winning.

We've been looking for you.

We want to talk about
your travel arrangements.

- Travel arrangements?
- When we return to Barchester.

Under no circumstances
must you travel with Mr Slope.

Will you please leave me alone?

Mr Harding's daughter.

A very unstable family altogether,
very unstable.

Mr Harding, unstable?!

But cunningly concealed.

That was wonderful.
I shall have to become a musician.

- Champagne?
- Of course.

And then?

- You haven't forgotten?
- No, I have to propose to Mrs Bold.

Good.

You must permit me
to attend you, Mrs Bold.

It is my special wish to be alone.

Do not ask me to leave

until I have spoken the words
with which my heart is full.

There are things, Mrs Bold,

which a man cannot
well say before a crowd,

which perhaps cannot well be said
before anybody or at any time

and which indeed a man may well
find it... impossible to utter.

It is such things as these...
that I now wish to say to you.

Please, be as brief as possible, sir.

Must it be brief? I had hoped...

Hope for nothing, sir,
as far as I am concerned.

I do not know and need not know
what hope you mean.

Our acquaintance is very slight
and shall probably remain so.

Pray...

pray let that be enough.

This is cruel and unchristian, too.

The most humble among us
must be permitted to hope.

Beautiful woman, you cannot pretend
to be ignorant that I adore you.

Yes, Eleanor, yes.

I love you with the truest affection
which a man can bear to a woman.

Next to my hopes of heaven
are my hopes of possessing you.

How sweet to walk to heaven
with you by my side,

with you for my guide, dearest Eleanor.

Shall we walk that sweet path together?

My name, Mr Slope, is Mrs Bold.

But, Eleanor!

Will it not be pleasant to walk
hand in hand through this mortal valley

till hereafter we shall dwell together
at the foot of His throne?

No, Mr Slope, it will not be pleasant.

Sweetest angel, be not so cold.

Ooh!

Charlotte!

Oh, Charlotte,
I'm so glad to have found you.

That is a good joke. Bertie and I
have been looking for you everywhere.

He has been longing to talk to you.

He's probably hanging himself now.

- Oh, Charlotte...
- Eleanor, whatever is the matter?

Tell me.

Charlotte, it wasn't at all amusing.
I'm deeply ashamed.

Oh, never, never be ashamed. Be proud!
Come, my dear, I must find Bertie.

You mustn't tell Bertie,
you mustn't tell anybody.

No, no, no, I just have to find him.

And am I to understand that as a result
of your conversations with the bishop,

Oxford and Barchester
are now in complete accord?

In matters of forthcoming appointments,

I think we are unlikely to quarrel,
Mrs Proudie.

Excellent.

Quarrels are so demeaning, are they not?

- May I be permitted to intrude?
- What is it, Mr Slope?

Dr Gwynne, if I'm not mistaken.

I am Dr Gwynne.

My lord, pray do me the honour
of introducing me to Dr Gwynne.

My chaplain, Dr Gwynne,
my present chaplain, Mr Slope.

Is something wrong with your ear,
Mr Slope?

My ear?

Ah, I might have guessed.
Bertie, where have you been?

Here for the most part,
with my good friend Harry Greenacre.

He died earlier today.

Yes, I died performing valiant feats.

That's how I got
this bandage on me head.

My sister Charlotte.
My good friend Mrs Bold,

the valiant Greenacre...

a yeoman peasant and a brave man.

Bertie, Eleanor requires your protection
while I see to the carriages.

I assume you can protect yourself,
Mr Greenacre?

Bless you, ma'am,
a dead man needs no protection.

...next year.
- I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

Safe home. See you next year.

Oh, yes.

Thank you, driver.

Goodbye, goodbye.

Thank you, driver, off we go.

Goodbye.

Have you...
enjoyed your day, Mr Harding?

I will not lie to you, Mr Arabin,

I have not enjoyed myself
nearly as much

as I would have done
when I was your age.

Have you enjoyed the day?

Less than I would have wished.

Mr Harding!

May I have a brief word with you?

I've had a wonderful day.

I have shot arrows...

and played music
and drunk champagne...

A perfect farewell to Barchester.

- Are you leaving?
- Mm.

My family has the old-fashioned notion
that I should earn a living.

I have often wondered why you
do not exert yourself more, Mr Stanhope.

- It is impertinent of me to say so.
- No, no, not so.

I am touched by your interest
in so idle a scamp.

You're not a scamp.

Although you are perhaps idle.

Why can't you settle to work
in Barchester?

And make busts and portraits
of the bishop and clergy?

Really, Mrs Bold,
have a thought for my sanity.

No.

In Barchester, there is
only one fitting subject for my art.

What is that?

The lady I am presently walking with
through a country garden.

That is nonsense.

Ah, nonsense.

I see.

and that being so,

and please don't be angry
with me, Mrs Bold...

if you will not consent to model for me,

that would seem to indicate

that my other request
will be equally unacceptable.

Your other request?

I have neither the ambition of a Slope,
nor the integrity of an Arabin

but I'm more amusing
than the two of them put together.

- You mean...
- Yes, Mrs Bold...

I mean.

And you will be even more angry
if I tell you it was Charlotte's idea.

- You may tell Charlotte...
- What?

Tell her... you almost received
the same reply as Mr Slope...

- but my pride got the better of me.
- Ah.

I don't understand
but I will pass on the message.

I assume
you are rejecting my... proposal?

I am, kindly I hope.

With more sweetness and grace
than I deserve.

You're a wise woman, Mrs Bold.

And you've made the right decision.

I know.

Something wrong, Father?

The dean died this afternoon.

The bishop just gave me the news.

I'm sorry.

Are you returning to Barchester?

A carriage is on its way.

May I travel with you?

You always travel with me, my dear.

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