Original subtitles

Are we all agreed?

It’s impossible, John.

For the sake of the man’s reputation,

- his family... - Even if it’s true?

Especially if it’s true.

Tambourgi!

Tambourgi!

Je si hene e bukur, hene e bukur,

kjo per syte e mi!

Tambourgi!

Tambourgi!

I should rather like to explore the ridge.

It appears the temple is Doric in structure.

The poet Nestor mentions it

when he describes the journey home from Troy.

He speaks of...

Sounion, the sacred promontory of Athens.

- Have you tried the woodcock, Fletcher? - It’s all bones, milord.

If my calculations are correct, the dimensions of Sounion

are precisely the same as Hephaestion.

Possibly built by the same man.

When Greeks were men, not slaves for the Turks.

Well, I’d like to sketch it.

Later.

What is that?

By order of the governor of Athens, let us pass.

It is filth, Greek filth.

Our orders are to throw it into the sea.

I’m a peer of the realm.

Open it.

If you please, you bastard.

Open it.

Byron.

You obstructed an officer of my guard in the pursuance of his duty.

Were you an ordinary man, Lord Byron, you would not be sitting here now.

How very fortunate, then.

When I was ten, I inherited a peerage.

Have you enjoyed your time in Turkey?

I had thought myself in Greece.

To us the whole empire is Turkey, and has been for 300 years.

What is the purpose of your visit here?

Merely to observe the manner of life in the East.

I should not believe what they say, then:

that in your land true pleasure is forbidden.

Only women are allowed.

Customs vary.

So you... come here?

Tonight, your excellency,

I have come to plead for a woman’s freedom.

- Women are worthless. - Possibly so,

yet, to take a life, for an hour of lust...

She is guilty.

I’m not a brutal man, but the law of the sultan is specific.

How much would it take to make it...

less specific?

Last of the money is gone.

It’s time to go home, Hobby.

Well...

And what should we find now, and...

What should we do with our lives?

It is very unusual.

The lands of the Mediterranean, Mr Murray, are rich in mystery.

“Hints from Horace” is a pretty title,

but I confess I have reservations as to its merit.

You won’t publish it?

I regret to say that the, uh... taste of the town

has changed during your two years abroad.

You may keep the tortoise, Mr Murray.

As a small beam of sunshine in the murk of your grub street life.

Milord, are these “hints” and this creature...

the sole products of your Tour?

You have seen exotic places. Did you not write about them?

I did.

- I have another poem. - May I read it?

What is it called?

It’s called “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”.

Though I doubt it will suit.

The taste of the town being so damned modern.

- Where’re you headed? - To Newstead.

My mother claims to be unwell.

But, as I’ve never known her not to claim to be unwell,

I make no particular haste.

She will still be her usual malignant self when I get there.

Fetch the gloves.

And when, alas! our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine?

I think I should give up poetry, Fletcher. Don’t you?

Yes, milord.

Why the devil are you yawning?

It’s three o’clock in the morning, milord.

And you want to crawl back under the blankets with Mrs Fletcher, do you?

Mrs Fletcher is dead, milord.

Dead?

When?

It’s when we was on our travels, milord.

Damnit, man, you should have told me!

What about the serving girl? The young one.

- Susan, milord. - Is she married?

Susan is unattached.

I don’t suppose Susan could prepare me a plate of eggs.

She is retired to bed, milord.

But I don’t think she’s asleep.

Susan?

Betsy, your lordship.

I’m Susan.

Ah...

And I swam the Hellespont, from Sestos to Abydos!

- You swam the Hellespont? - He did. He swims like a fish.

And the women? Were they fair?

- Dark, in the main. - Dark, Scrope, and above all cheap.

It was two years of bliss. Bliss and debauchery.

- And now what? - What indeed?

At twenty-three the best of life is over, and its bitters double.

And after the East, England seems a pale imitation of life.

- Aren’t you writing? - I’ve a couple of canto’s,

concerning the adventures of one Childe Harold.

Manly specimen, rather passionate, who journeys to Greece and Albania.

Hobby may recognise a deal of it.

Does he sigh a lot and mope after girls?

Does he have a limp, by any chance?

My God, it does me good to see you.

Thank you for coming all this way.

I bring bad news.

Matthews is dead.

He dived into the Cam and was caught in a bed of weeds.

But Charlie Matthews was a fine swimmer.

Well, he drowned. At least, that’s the Cambridge version.

- Suicide? - He was an atheist, a republican,

and something too fond of small boys.

What future had he? Here?

Let us just say that he drowned in the Cam.

- To the dead. - The dead.

The dead.

And now what’s left to live for?

Well, I have my dice and cards, you your... scribbling.

I wish often that I were a gambler.

Win or lose, you feel something.

But I feel nothing. And I am sunk as a poet.

Hobhouse has his politics.

Hobhouse, as we all know, is a fool.

- And what’s wrong with politics? - Nothing wrong with them, Hobby,

provided that you remember they are a futile pursuit.

I addressed the House of Lords the other day,

rather a finely-wrought speech, as a matter of fact,

but one which made bugger-all difference to anything.

You don’t make a difference in a day.

- And your theme, George? - Well, do you see...

The learned Fletcher informed me

that the machines in Nottingham are putting our stocking-weavers out of work.

The men are rampaging at night, smashing the new equipment.

The government wants to make this “frame-breaking” a capital offence.

Well, we cannot have the wanton destruction of private property, can we?

Yes, but they are starving, don’t you see?

They’re starving.

It is a disgrace to a civilised country!

I have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of Turkey,

but never, even under that most despotic government,

did I behold such wretchedness as I have seen since my return!

And how will your lordships implement this bill?

Erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scarecrows?

Bravo!

Oratory of the old school!

I must be good at something, mustn’t I, Scrope?

Are you familiar with the doctrine of predestination, Fletcher?

- Not as to the detail, milord. - Well, I am.

Wouldn’t expect no less, milord.

My mother made it very clear:

we are the damned of Aberdeen.

Put Mr Davies in his bed.

Gently, man!

I owe him 4,800 pounds.

Tambourgi!

Tambourgi!

Lord Holland’s compliments to Lord Byron.

Hobby!

- Solved the Irish question yet? - Working on it, George.

What the deuce is going on? Half of London has left its card.

I woke one morning to find myself famous.

Famous? For what?

For Childe Harold, the gloomy little ponce.

- Murray published it. - And it sold?

It sold out. In three days.

One is very much in demand.

I search in vain for its appeal.

I mean, it reads like a... a map of the Mediterranean,

larded with gods and heroes from a schoolboy’s grammar.

And the half-rhymes! Oh, and the dedications!

Horrors.

Lord Byron!

And captain Hobhouse!

Lord Byron?

Will you take tea?

I assure you, I have seen mankind in various countries,

and I find them all equally despicable.

If anything, the balance is slightly in favour of the Turks.

But they are not Christian.

Oh, dear...

Your friend is much in demand, captain.

So it appears, Lady Melbourne.

I will have nothing to do with your immortality.

Are we not miserable enough in this life

without the absurdity of speculating upon another?

Besides, if we are meant to live forever,

why do we bother to die at all?

Then are you a Platonist, Lord Byron?

- I am nothing at all. - You must be something.

Just a poor poet.

And how did you learn to be that?

For a man to become a poet

he must be in love.

Or miserable.

Which are you?

Now Harold felt himself at length alone,

And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu:

Now he adventured on a shore unknown,

Which all admire, but many dread to view:

His breast was armed ’gainst fate, his wants were few:

Peril he sought not, but ne’er shrank to meet:

The scene was savage, but the scene was new;

This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet,

Beat back keen winter’s blast; and welcomed summer’s heat.

It is splendidly written.

But all of society is asking: is it you, enjoying these adventures?

I have done some odd things in my time.

They say at Cambridge you procured a bear.

Oh, my bear was adorable.

But what did you intend to do with the creature?

I intended it to sit for a fellowship.

But the dons disagreed.

I thought the bear had a good chance, myself.

I will take no mutton, thank you.

- Will you take fish? - Not fish, no.

Then what may I offer you?

I eat only potatoes.

Mashed in a little vinegar, if they could manage that.

And a glass of soda water.

You are vain, I think.

I detest fat.

My mother was fat.

I fear for you, Byron.

You have leapt to a sudden celebrity.

Your youth, your looks, your wanderings in Greece

combine to make you a prize, a trophy.

- But be cautious. - In what respect cautious?

In respect of falling in love.

Oh, I fall in love before breakfast.

I fall in love with my dogs.

Nevertheless...

Certain things are allowed, certain things are not.

Usually go for the latter.

Usually so do I.

My dear Lady Melbourne,

were there fewer years between us...

Were there fewer years between us,

dinner would have ended long ago.

Fletcher!

Hock and soda!

And a plate of meat!

Milord, the post.

And milord, ehm...

There’s a naked lady in the bedroom.

I’ll have it in a minute.

- Good evening, Miss Milbanke. - Do you not dance, Lord Byron?

Does it look like I do? This new music is monstrous.

Oh, I understand.

May I inquire what you are writing now?

No, you may not.

I have a black soul, Miss Milbanke, I had rather not risk its corrupting you.

If you could endeavour to control your natural sarcasm, milord,

I daresay I should judge you quite sincere.

You are too good for me, Miss Milbanke; I am dreadfully perverted.

The newsletters have it in black and white.

I do not read the newspapers.

And I do not think you are such a dangerous person.

Your excellent poem proves you can feel nobly,

but for some reason you discourage your own good nature.

I think you play a part for the ladies, if the truth be known.

- What is it prompts such frankness? - My Christian duty, merely.

If I could persuade you to look inside yourself, perhaps...

Do you think that there is one person here who’d dare to do that?

I have some friends desire your acquaintance.

This is Miss Milbanke’s first season.

She seeks a husband.

Could she not find one in Jane Austen?

My niece is a most intelligent young woman.

She stands to inherit.

And her figure is, I would say, passable.

She is perfect.

I’d like her more were she a little... less perfect.

I am sure you know Tom Moore, also a poet?

- No, I don’t. Hello. - Tom Moore.

Oh, have you met my daughter-in-law, Lady Caroline?

I’d leave it go, milord. Plenty more where that one come from.

It was a snub, Fletcher.

Every other woman in London wants to know me.

A rose in March.

How unusual.

I am told your Ladyship likes everything that is new and rare...

for a moment.

You have the face of an angel.

Bad angel.

- Why did you run away? - I saw you whispering with my cousin.

I was jealous.

I deny whispering with your cousin.

- Who is your cousin? - Annabella Milbanke.

You and she were stationed in a corner.

Discussing the purification of my soul, if I recall.

You’ve never discussed that with me.

Lady Caroline, I’ve only this minute met you.

That’s no excuse.

Are we to be lovers?

I said, “are we to be lovers?”

- Are you mad? - I don’t know.

Are you?

- Do you keep abreast of the latest stuff? - Why, yes!

Whenever I hear of a good new book, I rush out and buy an old one.

Hello, Tom.

I hope you don’t mind I’ve brought a guest.

Mr Murray you know...

and uhm, this is a fellow scribbler – Rodgers;

Lord Byron.

We are all somewhat in awe of you, milord.

You have found that rare treasure –

your own voice.

By accident, I assure you.

I don’t think “Childe Harold” my very best work.

I rather like “Hints from Horace”.

We meet every Thursday.

- I and my most famous authors. - Well, we were your most famous authors;

some upstart has come and knocked us off our perch.

Go...

Thank you.

- Well done. - Well done.

- Well done. - Well done.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Thank you.

Goodnight.

Caro!

I want you.

If you’re seen, you’re ruined.

I don’t care.

Well, seduce me, then.

I dare you.

You know what I do to boys with tight little arses, don’t you?

Good morning, Miss Milbanke.

You are leaving Lady Caroline’s very early, Lord Byron.

I hope she has not been rude. She can be, you know.

I’m just on my way to discuss with her

some mathematical problems I’ve been attempting.

Are you keen on mathematics, by any chance?

I am content to admire them at an incomprehensible distance.

I know that two and two make four,

and should be glad to prove it, if I could.

Though I must say, if I could get them to make five,

it would give me much greater pleasure.

Why ever would you wish to do that?

I have told you before, Miss Milbanke:

perverted.

What would it take to convince you?

You will never convince me, Lord Byron.

Good day.

Caro, are you not up?

Caro?

My coat, please.

Hello, Georgie.

Is it true, you’re famous?

Will you not come up?

To a gentleman’s apartment? Alone?

It is no impropriety, I think, for me to entertain my sister.

Just been to the bank. Nothing in it, and...

sshh, secret...

another baby due.

You’re to be an uncle again. But I don’t absolutely know how to cope.

Where’s the Colonel?

Following the horses.

He has an incurable passion for losing money,

and only returns to Six Mile Bottom when Newmarket races are one.

Don’t think I’ve made a clever match, George.

Still, on with the show, etcetera, silver linings, and all of that...

I myself am in debt to the tune of twenty-five thousand or thereabouts.

I shall have to sell Newstead.

Perhaps then I may be in the position...

Oh, I didn’t come to beg for help.

I’m a silly old goose, but I’ll manage.

Brain like boiled cabbage. But never mind...

Will you quit your damned crinkum-crankum, you lunatic?

Oh, Georgie...

How long has it been?

One hundred and thirteen thousand...

- Come on... come on... - Any advance on 113,000 guinnees

for Newstead Abbey, Nottinghamshire, with its park, grounds, and game?

I hear rumours of you and a certain lady.

Any further bids?

Gentlemen, for the last time: any further bids?

I think she’s spreading them herself.

Then I declare the lot withdrawn,

as the reserve price has not been reached.

Oh, bad luck.

Still, I’m sure some “little lamb” will console you.

Stop!

Stop!

Lord Byron does not care to waltz.

But you loved her once?

After a few days it went away.

Rather like a sore throat.

Her reputation’s pretty well shot to pieces.

- Watch out for your own. - I can’t get rid of her, Hobby.

She hangs around my neck like Coleridge’s wretched bird.

She thinks if she’s with me, she has to be outrageous.

No, well, can’t have that, can we?

Well, don’t be cross.

I know I’m a fool.

How’s the army? Fought any battles?

God, I fancy a battle.

It’s a stepping-stone, that’s all.

As soon as I inherit, I shall resign my commission

and run for Parliament.

I reckon I can get elected.

I just need to consolidate my politics.

I’ve managed to consolidate my politics into an utter detestation of all governments.

I cannot bear...

A page below with a letter for your Lordship.

Must be given personal, he says.

- Bit late for a page, isn’t it? - I’ve recently had mail from my sister.

- She may be back in town. - I’d no idea you had a sister.

Half-sister. Different mothers.

I haven’t seen her for thirteen years, until...

Caro!

- Out, Fletcher! - Get off me!

I have a gig waiting, we can elope tonight!

Elope? What a stupid idea!

Oh, are you tired of me?

Yes, I am tired of you, Caroline! Yes, I am!

- But I love you! - Get off me! Get out!

- Let me try and reason with her. - There’s no reasoning with her,

she’s insane!

Please! Please let me come in! Please!

She was never my type.

Too small and thin.

And thinks herself intellectual, having once read the preface to a novel.

William has removed her to Ireland, where she threatens to kill herself.

Or you, or both.

However nobody believes her.

Her stratagems are all too charmingly familiar.

- Now, what will you do? - I shall leave town.

Have you fallen in love?

I am quite done with falling in love.

George!

I hope you like children.

Fervent admirer of King Herod, as a matter of fact.

Five months, I think, since we’ve seen the Colonel.

How do you survive?

It’s very hard. But we bear up, somehow.

All fuddle and muddle, that’s me.

We come from a long line of financial disasters, Gus.

To be a Byron, my mother said, is to be doomed.

I’m a Byron. Am I doomed?

Come and fly the kite, uncle!

Here we go. Right, right, give me the kite...

Yes, right. Ready? And run.

Run! Run! Run! Faster! Faster! Faster! Oh!

Nearly... Nearly...

Penny for your thoughts.

Do be more original.

I beg your pardon, Augusta.

What happened to you in London?

I was made a fool of.

You must make plans. Making plans is fun.

I want to do something with my life, and this...

isn’t it.

Of course it isn’t.

All this Thrasybulus and Thermopylae and what have you...

Why is everyone so fussed about Greece, anyway?

It’s an ideal. An ideal place.

Well, I don’t like ideals.

I like things I can see and smell and feel.

There must’ve been lots and lots of girls.

There were.

From each I took a little clipping of her hair.

From here?

From here.

Oh.

Oh aye, it’s hectic life, up London.

Never get in before three in the morning.

Three in the morning? And what about breakfast?

Well, we have breakfast after lunch.

What time do you give your husband breakfast?

I haven’t no husband.

Fletcher!

Fletcher!

Fucking books...

Carriage is ready, milord.

- Do you know how sinful this is? - Sinful? Why?

It does no harm to anyone.

It is forbidden fruit.

- I am a bad man, Augusta. - Oh, you silly goose.

We hardly know each other.

- Who is the woman? - That must remain my secret.

I don’t like secrets.

- So you say there is some danger? - Very great danger.

- Then give it up. Give it up at once. - I cannot.

- Then she must give you up. - She cannot.

Then I don’t think very highly of this person.

Lady Melbourne, it is not her fault. It is mine, my folly.

I’m a thousand times more to blame.

In my experience the man is never to blame.

When you’ve tired of these childish secrets, Byron,

come and see me.

Good evening, milord.

Miss Milbanke. Do you object if I rest here?

Not if you talk to me.

What is life for, do you think?

Tis a way to do good, to make people happy,

and to serve God.

It took me three hours to dress, this morning.

Subtract the buttoning and unbuttoning,

the sleeping and eating and swilling –

and what is left of real existence?

The summer of a dormouse.

A few minutes only, of sensation.

I do not think sensation so terribly important.

It is our only proof that we exist.

That is why we crave it.

You seem to me extremely bewildered, Lord Byron.

To a mind such as yours, Miss Milbanke,

I am sure I am quite unfathomable.

George, will you raise?

You had a winning hand, you idiot.

You had a winning hand, and you threw it away.

I’m very much afraid this weather will make it impossible for me to get home.

I shall be trapped here.

I shall burrow down like a little bunny-rabbit,

and I shall only come out for snowball fights.

Your damned crinkum-crankum.

I can’t do without it.

- I’ve been thinking... - Don’t strain yourself.

- You should marry. - Why?

- You need a wife. - Well, you’re a wife.

I’ll have you.

If you marry, you might keep this place.

What, by finding some golden dolly,

and ennobling the dirty puddle of her mercantile blood?

No. A girl of equal rank, and not in debt like us.

There is a further reason, not just the money.

I shall be having another child.

“Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth,

“and from thy face shall I be hid,

“and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth.”

You remember well.

Did you ever meet my nurse, May Gray from Aberdeen?

I believe I saw her once.

She beat scripture into me.

A few months with May Gray and you’d remember every word of it.

I’m sure she was just doing her job,

fitting you for adult life.

Yes.

I expect that’s why she used to take her clothes off,

get into my bed and make me spend in her hand.

All part of the training.

Did she?

Yes.

She’d thrash me in the daytime, and toss me off at night.

I have ever since then had a curious gloss on matters biblical.

I must have been about nine, I suppose.

You poor lamb.

I bet you were scared.

I was scared.

And I was...

thrilled.

Lady Charlotte Leveson-Gower has refused you.

Phew.

Mercer Elphinstone you will not consider.

Eats like a horse. Couldn’t afford her.

Which leaves us with Annabella Milbanke.

What?

The princess of parallelograms? She’ll want to barter for my soul!

I don’t think that would do any harm, would it?

Did you write?

Yes.

Very beautiful letter.

I neither wish you to promise or pledge yourself to anything.

I merely wish to learn if there is a possibility...

- Good morning, Mrs Leigh. - Good morning, Fletcher.

I’ve the post, milord.

Well?

It is from Miss Milbanke.

Does she accept?

Never rains, but it pours, does it?

We are going to bake the cake, papa.

Can’t eat cake. Doctor’s orders.

- The wedding cake. - Ah! The poetic wedding cake! Splendid!

I was thinking of composing an epithalamium in his honour.

He will, no doubt, be thrilled.

Of course, it might assist me, in my labours

if I knew a little more about him.

Well, his last work, “The Corsair”,

sold ten thousand copies on the day of publication.

Won’t go short of a guinea, then.

Oh no, he won’t take payment for his verses, papa.

It is beneath a gentleman, he says.

You see, in secret he’s the zealous friend of all the finer feelings.

But in society he tries to disguise the best points of his character.

So he’s continually making the most sudden transitions

from good to evil and from evil to good.

I’ve heard him describe himself as half dust, half deity.

It’s fascinating.

But does the fellow shoot?

Miss Elphinstone.

- How is your appetite? - For what, milord?

Why, for lobster salad and champagne.

Oh, food... Who cares for food?

I had half a hope your inference was indelicate.

I fear you are too late for that.

Who is that?

Oh, that’s Shelley. Bysshe Shelley.

On the scrounge for money.

Got sent down from Oxford, apparently.

For what?

Atheism.

It is your sister, the mystery woman.

You were alone with her at Newstead.

You besieged her farm when her husband was away.

- It is your sister, Augusta Leigh. - Half-sister.

- Have you entirely lost your wits? - On the contrary. I am only...

You may not consort with your sister!

It is a thing abhorrent to persons of taste.

Standard practice in ancient Greece.

We’re not in ancient Greece, we’re in Mayfair.

What are your feelings towards Mrs Leigh at the present moment?

At the present moment half good, half diabolical.

What do you propose to do?

I propose to run off with her, abroad.

However...

my sister is not so delinquent as I. She will not abscond.

And so I am shortly to be married

to Annabella Milbanke.

I’m only doing it for the pleasure of calling you aunt.

That is not a sound basis for marriage.

- Marriage is a holy bond. - I confess I find it hard

to accept your authority on the subject, Lady Melbourne.

Good evening.

I saw Byron.

He has settled on your cousin from Yorkshire.

Good.

- Marriage will be his salvation. - Oh?

I cannot see him pulling with a woman who goes to church punctually,

understands statistics and has a rotten figure. Can you?

I thank you very much for your suggestion on religion,

but I must tell you, at the hazard of losing

whatever good opinion you have of me,

that it is a source from which I never did,

and believe I never can, derive comfort.

Why I came here, I know not.

Where I shall go, it is useless to inquire.

In the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds,

stars, systems, infinity,

why should I be anxious about an atom?

“But I will read what books you please, hear what arguments you please.

“You shall be my guide philosopher and friend.”

And does he say he loves you?

Oh, yes, he says that...

somewhere.

And when does he set out?

He will set out...

today.

Mama, he is setting out today!

Hobby, would you mind spending Christmas in Cambridge?

Cambridge?

You have no objection, have you?

But... they expect us at Seaham House.

Well, the Princess of Parallelograms can square some roots while she waits.

Gus!

Colonel Leigh.

My respects.

You’re welcome, milord.

- There is no racing, then? - At Christmas?

No-no. We husbands must return home some time.

I am on my way to get married.

Congratulations!

I must of course reform thoroughly.

I’m betrothed to such a good person, that uh...

in short: I wish I was a better.

Go to Yorkshire.

You must.

It is the purest folly.

How can I marry this girl?

I do not possess you.

I have no desire to possess you, I simply want you to be happy.

Only you make me happy.

Once knew a fellow – believe he was a vintner –

took sixteen days to travel from London to Norwich.

Ran into a party at Chelmsford, apparently, who hailed from the Low Countries.

Importunate little tramp she was, too.

And in two shakes of a lambs tail he’s on a dock at Harwich...

Imbecile!

It’s a very decent place.

Devilish hot.

I hear he ownes half the coal mines in Yorkshire.

Miss Milbanke.

It is a long time since we met.

At last!

Society must advance, milord, surely.

Society never advances beyond a certain point.

Look at us now, Reverend –

retrograding to the dull, stupid old system in Europe,

putting kings back on their thrones.

We ran so far and then turned back.

We ran nowhere in England, as best I may recall.

Lord Byron is a great champion of Bonaparte, Lady Milbanke.

That filthy little bandit? Impossible.

- It may be affectation, naturally. - Not at all!

Any devotion to a noble cause I admire.

Give me a republic or a despotism of one, like ancient Rome,

rather than the ridiculous muddle of two’s and three’s we have here.

It is a confounded muddle, you’re quite right.

Could never make head to tail of it myself.

Perhaps that’s why you weren’t elected, Ralph.

Fact is: riches are power

and poverty is slavery, all over the earth.

I’m not sure I can agree.

There must be a system, after all, some rise to the top.

It is natural.

As you wish.

We frequent the theatre quite a bit.

Why, a fortnight ago we saw Kean play Macbeth.

- Did you like him? - I adored him. I adore the theatre.

Annabella’s taste is somewhat less gaudy.

She has always had the very finest of everything.

She does like the old poetry, though.

You’d do a great deal worse.

She’s a most representable young person.

But too silent.

I like a woman to talk.

Or I’m left with the suspicion she’s thinking.

This is our last night together, Hobby.

Let the bride and groom come forward.

Would you please kneel?

Can you find somewhere for this?

- Why, are you coming too, are ye? - Course.

- So, what’s your name? - Ann Rood.

Rood by name and rude by nature?

Don’t be saucy, you.

The ring, please.

I now pronounce you man and wife.

You may kiss.

Well...

There we are.

- Well done, George. God bless you. - Well done, indeed!

Splendid!

May you both be content for the rest of your days.

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all of our lives –

as much as if we had never married at all.

Bye, George.

George...

George!

Excellent, excellent.

What do you think, Judith?

What have we done?

We ought never to have married.

Why?

Because I am evil.

I have done evil.

Tambourgi!

Tambourgi!

- Welcome to Halnaby, milord. - Brandy and soda.

Lady Byron, we are all so pleased to see you here.

Hello.

What did you mean when you said you had done evil?

Nothing, I was bored.

We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord.

- Our daily task is to atone. - Shall we go down to dinner?

You see, there are degrees of evil.

Some would say it was bad, for example, to eat meat on Friday’s, whereas others...

Look, it was merely a casual remark.

But what did you mean by it?

Don’t you ever say things off-the-cuff, for no particular reason?

Mama has taught me that I should first think,

and not act until I have considered the consequences of my actions.

Well, I favour acting first, and hoping the consequences fall within my budget.

Should that not be considered irresponsible?

Have you any sense of humour at all, Annabella?

My mother says I have.

- Oh, you doubt her judgement? - Absolutely not!

Lady Melbourne has many times warned me about it.

My aunt is a little more peppy than is apt for a lady of her years.

Now, I suppose that’s why we go along so well.

But when you said that we should never have married,

that you had done evil,

you implied a dreadful load of criminality weighing upon your mind.

I cannot help rehearsing those words in my head, and wondering...

Come here.

A more satisfactory day, milord.

If I might, I will offer my congratulations.

Thank you, Fletcher.

It cannot be counted an unbridled success, however,

as I have caught a cold.

What are you doing here?

- Why, I am coming to bed. - With me?

- I am your wife. - Yes, but...

surely you don’t intend to...

I never go to sleep with a woman.

Very well, good night!

Come back, please!

Come back.

You may do as you choose.

It is only, I’m a little...

inhibited.

You?

Your foot.

I do think...

if we are to spend the rest of our lives together...

There.

It isn’t so horrible, is it?

Sleep hath its own world,

A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence:

Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality,

And dreams in their development have breath,

And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.

God!

Oh, God, I’m in hell!