Middlemarch (1994): Season 1, Episode 2 - Episode #1.2 - full transcript

Chettam:
Engaged? To Casaubon!

Good God,
it's horrible.

- It's very vexing, James.
- You've seen the man, mother.

What business has a shriveled
old bachelor like that
to marry a young girl?

- He has one foot in the grave.
- He means to take it out again,
I suppose.

Apparently, she says
he has a great soul.

A great bladder
for dried peas
to rattle in.

It does seem
most unfair.

Unfair?
Brooke ought not
to allow it.

He should insist, at least,
on its being put off –

who ever heard of Brooke
on insisting on anything
except not spending his money?



It is horrible,
Mrs. Cadwallader.

It is.

I don't think of myself –
not entirely.

I think of her.

Well, I throw her over.

There was a chance,
if she'd married you,

of her becoming a sane,
sensible woman,

but now I wish her joy
of her hair shirt.

Very perverse in her.
Very perverse indeed.

However, Chettam,
if I were a man,

I think
I should prefer Celia.

Celia?

I think you'll find
she admires you

as much as a man
expects to be admired.



Lady Chettam:
She's a sweet girl.

Very fond of geraniums,

more docile
than her sister,

though perhaps
not quite so fine
a figure.

I think
I should prefer Celia,
if I were a man.

Oh dear.

Brooke:
After you, my dear.

Here we are then.

Welcome to Lowick.

Brooke:
Thank you.

Brooke:
Well, it's a good
old house, you know?

Decent proportions.
I went into all that once –

palladio and so forth.

It's all a bit
dark and bare at present.

Bachelor's house, of course,
bachelor's house.

This is my library.

As you may well imagine,

a great deal of my time
is spent in here.

And these are my notebooks.

For my own work,

"A Key To All
Mythologies."

I think I should
begin to learn
Latin and Greek.

I could read them
aloud to you,

as Milton's daughters
did to their father.

If I remember rightly,
the young ladies
you've mentioned

regarded that exercise
in unknown tongues

as a ground of rebellion
against the poet.

Well, I hope
you don't expect me
to be rebellious, Edward.

(forced chuckle)
Latin and Greek –

I fear it might be
rather wearisome for you.

Certainly it would be
a great advantage

if you could learn to copy out
the Greek characters.

And to that end,

yes, it might be well to begin
with a little reading.

(reads in Latin)

(translates)
"Education is a possession

"which none
can take away."

It would only take
a little, you know,
a very little,

lighter colors,
perhaps.

What do you think
of duck's egg blue?

Dorothea:
Everything is just
as I would wish it.

Casaubon:
I'm delighted,
my dear Dorothea.

Now favor me
with an opinion
of the room

which I've set aside
as your boudoir.

Oh, yes!
This could make
a pretty room –

with some kind
of new hangings,

a sofa or two,
that sort of thing.

- It's rather bare now.
- Uncle, you mustn't speak
of altering anything.

Oh, well, oh.

Was this
your mother's room?

Indeed it was.

And this...

Dorothea:
...is your mother.

- And who is this?
- Her elder sister.

- The sister is pretty.
- It's an interesting face.

You never mentioned
her to me, Edward?

No. My aunt...

made an unfortunate
marriage.

I never saw her.

Shall we walk
in the garden?

Who's that youngster
sketching over there, Casaubon?

That is a young
relative of mine.

The grandson, in fact,
of the lady whose portrait
you noticed.

- My Aunt Julia.
- Oh.

- You're an artist, I see.
- No, I only sketch a little.

- There's nothing fit
to be seen there.
- Oh come now.

Allow me to introduce
my cousin Mr. Ladislaw.

Will,
this is Miss Dorothea,
Miss Celia Brooke.

- Dorothea: how do
you do, Mr. Ladislaw?
- How do you do, Miss Brooke?

- Mr. Brooke.
- This is a nice bit.

Is it not?

I did a little myself

in this way at one time,
did you know that?

Oh now, look, this...

this is what I call
a nice little thing.

Done with what we used
to call brio, hmm?

I'm no judge
of these things.

I'm never able to see
the beauty of pictures
that are much praised.

They're a language
I don't understand.

Well now, there we are.

You'll come to my house,
I hope, one day -

and I'll show you what
I've done in this line.
- Thank you.

Well, shall we walk on?

Brooke:
What's that young man
going to do with himself?

Is he going to be
a painter or a poet?

He has the look of a poet.
Shelley had that look –
about the eyes.

The answer
to your question, sir,

is painfully
doubtful.

My young cousin
is many things,

but nothing
in particular.

To put it more
charitably,

he has not yet
found his vocation.

His present purpose
is to travel abroad.

To what end,
I do not know.

Culture, he says.

I've agreed
to support him
for a year or so.

He asks no more.
I shall let him
be tried

by the test
of freedom.

You must understand,
Vincy, that I stretch

my tolerance towards
you and your family

because you are
my wife's brother.

And as to your son
Frederick...

it was entirely
from worldly vanity
that you sent him

to university
and destined him
for the church.

Now you are reaping the reward
of your own folly and his.

There's no going back.

It's a good British feeling
to try to raise your family
a little.

It's a father's duty
to try to give his son
a chance in life.

If you mean us to come down
in the world, say so!

I am not at all sure
I should be befriending your son

by smoothing his way
towards the acquisition
of Featherstone's property.

If you mean
to hinder anyone

from having Molly
but saints and evangelists,

you'll have to give up
some profitable partnerships,

that's all I can say!
It's this sort of thing –

trying to play bishop
and banker everywhere –

it makes
a man's name stink!

Let me remind you, Vincy...

it was not your prudence
or judgment,

but my material help

that has enabled you to keep
your place in the trade.

You like to be master,
there's no denying that.

You're my sister's husband -
we ought to stick together.

If you won't put a stop
to this rumor about Fred,

you might as well
slander him yourself.

I consider it
unhandsome of you

to refuse to write
this letter, brother Bulstrode.

I consider it
very unhandsome.

"...and I distinctly
affirm

"that I have no
information that your son

"borrowed any money
on any property

"that might accrue to him
on Mr. Featherstone's demise."

(laughs)
Accrue, property, demise...

Fine words
for a speculated man.

Come from nowhere
that one too.

Mind you, I hear
he owns your father –

lock, stock and barrel.
Or his bank does.
(snickers)

So what do you
expect now?

A little fortune, eh?

(grumbles)

There we are.

There. And there.

And there. And –

that's all.

Well, you might show
a little gratitude.

Thank you, sir.

I'm very much
obliged to you.

Ah, I should
think you are.

(mumbling)

- Mary!
- Am I wanted?

No. I came
to see you, Mary.

What's the matter?

Oh Mary, you'll think
I'm a despicable fellow.

Uncle Featherstone just
made me a present of £100.

£100?

Yes, it was
very generous of him

and I should be grateful –
I am grateful.

I was hoping
it might be more...

because I'm in debt
for £160.

And a friend –
a very good friend -

signed a bill
of security for me,

making himself responsible
for the whole sum.

I was hoping uncle's gift
might clear it

and then I could start afresh
with a clean slate.

You see?

I confess everything
to you.

- And that makes
everything better?
- No!

I thought you looked so sad
when I came in just now.

It's a shame
you should stay here
and be bullied.

Oh, I have an easy life
in comparison to some.

I tried being a teacher,
but I wasn't fit for that.

My mind's too fond
of wandering on its own way.

I couldn't be a good clergyman
any more than you could be
a good governess.

I never said
you ought to be
a clergyman.

There are other sorts
of work, aren't there?

Oh Fred.
Why can't you just resolve

on something sensible
and stick to it?

I'll never be good
for anything, Mary, unless
I know you love me.

Me father says
an idle man ought not
to exist.

Much less,
be married.

Then what am I to do?
Blow my brains out?

No.
On the whole, I think
you'd do better

to pass
your examination.

Mr. Farebrother says
it is disgracefully easy.

Oh everything's
easy to him!

But it's not
cleverness really.
I could pass.

I'm ten times as clever
as some of the men that pass.

Oh, are you?
Then you must be
ten times as idle as they are.

If I did pass,
you wouldn't want me
to go into the church?

Fred, it shouldn't
be the question what
I want you to do.

You have a conscience
of your own; what do you
think you should do?

I know this. If you won't
give me any encouragement,
I shall just get worse.

I won't give you
any encouragement!
It would be a disgrace

if I accepted a man
who got into debt
and wouldn't work!

(crying)

Arabella, my dear!

Brooke has invited
half the town as well
as the county.

Mrs. Cadwallader:
What a to-do.

He was never one
to spend his money
like this.

That's Bulstrode
the banker.

- The new sawbones Lydgate.
- Lady Chettam: One hears
very well of him.

Mrs. Cadwallader:
Oh he's a gentleman.
he talks well.

I can remember when
medical men knew their place,
and kept it –

with the servants.
Hicks, for example.

He was coarse
and butcher-like,

- but he understood
my constitution.
- This is too much.

Brooke is asking us
to sit down with
tradespeople.

Middlemarch bagmen.

There's Vincy,
the ribbon manufacturer.

Well, I'm quite happy
to peruse his pattern book,

- but I don't want to eat
my dinner with the fellow.
- ...from Paris.

- Or his awful wife.
- It's some whim of Brooke's.
He means well enough.

I'll tell you
what he means...

He means to go into politics
and stand for Parliament.

And as a liberal,
as like as not.

That's what all this
has got up in aid of.

Toadying
to the hoi polloi.

(glass clinking)

Friends, a few brief words
on this happy occasion.

We are met together
to celebrate the betrothal

of my dear
niece Dorothea,

to my good and learned friend
the Reverend Edward Casaubon,

and to share
their happiness.

Marriage is
a joining...

a union,
a sort of closing up,
do you see?

And yet in another sense,
it's a reaching out,

an exploration,
if you will,

and so forth.

Progress, now...

that is going to happen
whether we like it or not.

And that's why
I am for it.

That's why I'm happy
to welcome

progressive men here,

men who have
the well-being

of their fellow men
at heart and the women too.

Here's Mr. Bulstrode
of the bank.

You're very welcome
to my table, sir.

and Mayor Vincy...

Who – who, uh –

excellent, yes.

And Dr. Lydgate,
who studied in Paris
and so forth.

All the new ideas
for the new hospital.

Progress, do you see?
Progress and reform,

but in a spirit
of temperance and moderation.

Let it never be said
that Brooke was not

for progress and reform.

Excellent, yes.

(guests murmuring)

Ah! I quite forgot.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I give you the toast
to the happy couple.

All:
To the happy couple.

My thanks
once again, sir.

A most delightful occasion
in every way.

You know, Casaubon,
I'm very fond
of my nieces.

Fonder than I
can say.

I've tried to do
my best for the girls

since their poor father
and mother died,

as far as a bachelor can.

Do you know,
I don't think anything

means more to me
than that they
should be happy.

I hear you intend to extend
your wedding journey
far as Rome.

I think the weather
will be mild enough.

And of course,
there are some manuscripts
in the Vatican

which will be invaluable
for my research.

And I long to see
all the antiquities in Rome.

And Edward will be able
to tell you about every
single one, I'm sure.

I shall not
detain you longer.

We shall meet
again, very soon.

I still regret
that your sister is
not to accompany us.

You will have many
lonely hours, Dorothea.

I shall feel
constrained

to make the utmost
use of my time

during our stay
in Rome.

I should feel
more at liberty

- if you had a companion.
- More at liberty?

Well, yes,
if you had a lady
as your companion,

I could put you both
under the care of a cicerone

and we would
thus achieve two purposes
in the same space of time.

You must have
misunderstood me,
Edward,

if you think
I should not value
your time.

I beg you will not
refer to this again.

Please don't be
anxious about me.

Very well, my dear.

As you wish.

(horse neighs)

(applause)

Mayor:
My lord, Lady Medlicote,

fellow citizens,
as mayor of Middlemarch,

I am pleased and honored
to welcome you here

to the dedication
of the new fever hospital,

built entirely by public
and private subscription.

And here, I might mention

the singular generosity
of Mr. Nicholas Bulstrode.

(cheering)

The medical supervision
of the new hospital

is entrusted to the care
of Dr. Lydgate

who has volunteered
his services gratis

in the furtherance
of public health

and the advance
of medical science.

- Man: Hear, hear, excellent!
- (cheering)

The spiritual welfare
of the patients

- is in the capable hands
of the Reverend Mr. Tyke.
- (applause)

- It should have been
Farebrother – damn disgrace!
- Hear, hear!

These are stirring times,
my friends.

- Change is in the air.
- Hear, hear!

Mayor:
And I for one
am proud to see our town

so far advanced in reforms

- as to make life
better for us all.
- (cheering)

Brooke:
A better life
for everyone, well said.

- And now –
- Hear, hear!

Yes, yes,
well said, Vincy.

Progress and reform –
the advance of science.
Excellent.

New ideas about
ventilation and diet.

Mr. Brooke, if you
wouldn't mind?

I do beg your pardon,
Lady Medlicote.

(cheering, applause)

(church bells tolling)

(speaking Italian)

Vendor:
Si, señora.

Are you sure
you have time?

My dear,
I am deeply mindful
that my studies

have caused me
to neglect you
these past few weeks.

I've set aside today
for –

- (clamoring)
- Not today.

Not today.

This site
is regarded by many
as one of the finest

the continent
has to offer.

Indeed,
I believe Rome is one
among several cities

to which
an extreme hyperbole
has been applied.

"See Rome and die."

In your case,
I would propose
an emendation

and say, "See Rome
as a bride and...

live thenceforth
as a happy wife."

I thought now
you might like to visit

the Palazzo
Doria Pamphili.

Dorothea:
Would you like
to see it?

It is highly esteemed
by the cognoscenti.

Well yes,
but do you care
about it?

I'm ready to go
if you wish it.

- Are you not tired, Edward?
- My dear, as I have said,

I have set aside today
for your diversion.

Fatigue is neither
here nor there.

I wish you did not feel
that I need diversions.

Why, I love to visit
the antiquities,
of course,

but only if you
enjoy it too.

I would be far happier
if you would let me

help you with your research
for the book.

Most persons
think it worthwhile

to visit the Palazzo
Doria Pamphili.

Casaubon:
The great family
which created the collection

reached its zenith
in the 17th century,

when one of the sons
was elected

to the chair
of St. Peter

as Innocent X.

The god Apollo,
or Phoebus.

I suspect
of the Augustan Period.

The cult of Apollo
is, of course, linked
to that of Bacchus,

and inspired
the appalling excesses

of the bacchanalian
revels.

Note how the male
and female principles
are combined.

The ancients believed
that this combination...

served as
an inspiration

to the arts
and music.

Look at this, Edward.

A common theme
in fourth century
Athenian sculpture,

Cupid and Venus.

Almost certainly
an inferior copy

of a Greek original.

Perhaps we've seen
enough for one day.

Shall we go?

It occurs to me,
we are very near
the Capitoline Library.

I wonder if you
might allow me

half an hour to consult
some documents there?

Of course.

Why didn't you
say so before?

Well, there's much here
of great interest for you.

A half an hour then.

Come look
at this woman, quick.

Beautiful.

I should like
to paint her
as the Madonna.

Good God.

Do you know her?

I do.

She's married
to my cousin.

She's married?
But I saw her

with some old
geistlicher.

Who is he?
Whe father?
The uncle?

Will:
That's her husband.

Introduce her
to me, Ladislaw.
I must paint her.

Confound you, Naumann.

I don't know what I shall do.
I'm not so brazen as you.

Dorothea:
Are you going to the library
again today, Edward?

Edward: Yes.

I hope when we get back
to Lowick, I can be
more useful to you

and be able
to enter a little more
into what interests you.

Doubtless, my dear.

Carp is willfully
irresponsibly mistaken

on the Etruscan fish deities
and the world shall know it.

Isn't it time now to do
what you used to speak of?

- What?
- Well, your notebooks.

Isn't it time
to make up your mind what
part of them you will use

and begin
to write your book?

Begin to make
your vast knowledge
useful to the world?

I can do anything –

write to your dictation,

or copy and extract,
what you like.

But surely, Edward,
it must be time

to expose your great theory
to the judgment of your
fellow scholars.

My love, I think
you may rely upon me

to know the times
and the seasons, the different
stages of a work

which is not to be measured
by the superficial judgment
of ignorant onlookers –

My judgment was of –

It had been
easy for me to gain
some temporary effect,

but it is ever the trial
of the scrupulous explorer

to be saluted
by the impatient scorn
of chatterers

who attempt only
the smallest achievement,

being indeed
equipped for no other.

My judgment was a very
superficial one, Edward.

What else could it be?

You have shown me
these notebooks.

You have often
spoken about them.

You have often said
they need to be condensed.

But I have never heard you
speak of the writing that
is to be published.

And those are
very simple facts.

My judgment
went no further.

I only begged you to let me
be of some good to you.

(crowd speaking Italian,
yelling)

If you had come
a little earlier,
you would have seen him.

He goes to read in the library
of the Vatican every day.

And stays there all day?

Usually yes.

Please sit down.

- (chuckles)
- Something amuses you?

Yes, I was thinking
of when we first met
at Lowick,

the figure I cut
when you annihilated

my poor sketch
with your criticism.

Surely not,
I know nothing
of painting.

Really?

I suspected you
of knowing so much

that you knew just how to say
what was most cutting.

That was really
my ignorance.

(chuckles)

- And you've been
sketching here in Rome?
- Yes.

Then you do mean
to make painting
your profession?

Mr. Casaubon will be
so pleased you have chosen
a profession.

On the contrary,
I've quite made up my mind
against it.

- Oh.
- I have no genius
for painting.

Things don't come easily to me.
I never get them.

I have heard Mr. Casaubon
speak of your want
of patience.

Yes, I know
Mr. Casaubon's opinion.
He and I differ.

Certainly you differ.
I hadn't thought
of comparing you.

Such power of devoted labor
as Mr. Casaubon's
is not common.

Quite.

Such a pity
it should all be
thrown away –

so much English
scholarship is,

for want of knowing
what's being done by
the rest of the world.

- What do you mean?
- I merely mean

that the Germans
have taken the lead
in historical inquiries.

They've solved
most of the problems

that have bedeviled
English scholars for years.

Are you quite sure
about this?

I regret it.

Especially, of course,
because of my feelings of...

gratitude and respect
towards my cousin.

Dorothea:
All your notebooks,
all your volumes,

isn't it time now to do
what you used to speak of?

Isn't it time to make up
your mind what part of them
you will use

and begin
to write your book?

Begin to make
your vast knowledge
useful to the world?

I can do anything –

write to your dictation
or copy and extract,
what you like.

But surely, Edward,
it must be time

to expose your great theory
to the judgment of your
fellow scholars.

Isn't it time now to do
what you used to speak of?

Surely, Edward,
it must be time

to expose your great theory
to the judgment of your
fellow scholars...

Had you received him
in my absence?

He came to pay
his respects,

to express
his gratitude to you.

Doubtless.

Please, don't be angry
with me, Edward.

Mr. Ladislaw
has invited us to see

some of the studios
of the religious
painters here.

And you wish to go,
no doubt.

Only if you do.

Please, forgive me
for speaking so hastily
to you this morning.

I was wrong.

I fear I hurt you
and made the day
more burdensome to you.

I'm glad you feel that,
my dear.

But you do forgive me?

My dear Dorothea,

who with repentance
is not satisfied

is not of heaven
nor earth.

- (sobs)
- You are excited,

and I also
am feeling the...

unpleasant consequences
of too much mental
disturbance.

We shall speak
no more of it.

(whinnying loudly)

Settle it, that's it.

Come on, that's it.
Settle, there's a good boy.

- Calm him down.
- (men's voices approaching)

That's better.
Good boy, good boy.

Bambridge:
So this is Diamond.

Well, I'm very
disappointed.

Wouldn't have him
as a gift.

I wouldn't touch him
with a toasting fork.

He looks
a nasty brute
to me.

Not him, sir,
only wants riding.

Lord Medlicote's man
was looking for a gray.

Luck of the devil,
young Vincy.

Luck of old Nick.

If you can sell him
on to Lord Medlicote,
you're a made man.

- (whinnying)
- Ooh, Diamond!

Rosamond:
Steady, Fred,
be careful!

Steady, Diamond!

(grunts)
Right!

Rosamond:
Is this your
great bargain then?

Diamond!
Diamond!

I can't imagine who would
buy a brute like that.

Fred, Mary's
just been here.

- Morning, Mrs. Garth.
- You missed her. Come in.

- (kids shouting)
It's Fred!
- You go out now.

- I'll take them, mother.
- Thank you, Alfred.

- Come on.
- Go on outside.

Boy:
Oh, but we want to stay
and talk to Fred!

- Go on.
- (kids whining)

Sit down, Fred.
Caleb will be down
directly.

Are Letty and Ben
your only pupils
now, Mrs. Garth?

I'm at a low ebb
for pupils.

But I've saved my purse
for Alfred's apprenticeship.

All of 92 pounds. He can go
to Mr. Hammer's now.

Mrs. Garth...

Caleb wants the boy
to have his chance.

He thinks he may turn out
a famous engineer.

(latch clicks)

What, Fred, my boy?

You look poorly.
Is anything the matter?

Yes, Mr. Garth.

I'm afraid you're gonna have
a rather poor opinion of me,

but I've come to tell you
that I can't keep my word.

I can't meet
Mr. Bambridge's bill
after all.

And he's demanding
immediate payment.

I've pleaded with him,
but the man is iron.

I owe 160
and all I have...

are these 50 pounds.

What do you mean?

Oh, I forgot
to tell you, Susan,

I put my name to some bills
Fred had run up with
Mr. Bambridge.

Fred was sure he'd be able
to pay them himself.

Was he?

It's come at a bad time.

I shall need everything
we have in the bank.

110 pounds.

I suppose you've asked
your father?

That would be of no use,
he wouldn't give me a penny.

It's clear
what we must do.

I shall give you
the 92 pounds I put by
for Alfred's premium.

And I'm sure Mary
will have saved 20 pounds by now

from what Mr. Featherstone
gives her.

I shall certainly pay it
all back, Mrs. Garth,
ultimately.

Yes, you will – ultimately.

But boys can't be
apprenticed ultimately.

They must be
apprenticed at 15.

It is my fault, Susan,

I had no business signing
that bill for Fred.

I suppose
you have tried –

I've tried everything,
Mr. Garth.

I had bad luck
with a horse I was selling
that turned out wrong.

I have no horse at all now.
I came on Rosy's horse.

I hate having brought
this on you.

There's no one else
I care so much for and...

and now you will always
think me a scoundrel.

Mr. Garth:
My friend, you must
ride over to Mary

and ask the child
for what money she has.

I'm sorry.

Mary:
15, 16, 17,

one, two,

three...

four.

You may tell father I have
enough to cover the rest of
your debt and 6 pounds over.

Mary, I can't bear this.

Yes you can.

I'm so very sorry.

I'm sure
you are now.

I didn't mean
any of it.

I had such
terrible luck.

But when you have
bad luck,

other people
suffer for it.

- Mary?
- (tearfully) What?

Do you hate me now?

(sniffs)
I don't think
well of you.

I don't think
I could go on living
if you hated me.

If I lose
my hope of you,

I have no hope at all.

I could never
hate you, Fred.

You were my best friend
when I was a little girl

and you've always been
good to me,

and happy to know me even when
the rest of your family
put on such airs...

but I cannot respect you.

Every chance you get
you waste.

How could I respect you?

And how could I marry a man
I can't respect?

I wish you were
a better man, Fred.

- (bangs)
- Mr. Featherstone:
Mary, where are you, Missy?

I want my chamber-pot.

What the devil
are you at, girl?

- Mother.
- Why, Fred!

You are pale.

What is it, dear?

- Whatever is the matter?
- He's drunk, mama.

I feel strange, mother,
I think you better
send for Wrench.

Oh my dear,
stay here.

Pritchard!

Pritchard.

What is it,
Dr. Wrench?

Slight derangement
is all...

I apprehend
nothing serious.

Aah!

Aah.

Ah, system needs purging,
I warrant.

Spoonful or two of
Dr. Wrench's black draft
will suffice.

We'll have you
riding to hounds again
in no time, young man.

- Good day then, ma'am.
- Good day, Dr. Wrench.

Thank you kindly.

(wind whistles)

(horse hooves clopping)

(whinnying)

- Steady, lad, hup!
- (thuds)

(hoofbeats departing)

What a mercy
Rosamond saw you
in the street.

Wrench said he
would not come again

for all it made
poor Fred worse
instead of better.

You should have
seen him
in the night –

the poor boy
didn't know
his own mother.

Is he very ill?

You were right
to call me in.

I'm afraid your son is
in the pink-skinned stage
of typhoid fever.

and unfortunately he's taken
just the wrong medicine.

Oh, doctor.

Is he – will he – ?

Fred...
oh, Fred.

Dr. Lydgate,
save my boy.

Yes, he has
a strong constitution,
Mrs. Vincy.

I have every hope
of his recovery.

He must have a regular nurse
and a constant supply
of cold water.

I'll start him on opium
and alcohol immediately
to lose no time.

What a villain
Dr. Wrench is.

You mustn't blame
Dr. Wrench, Mrs. Vincy,

The symptoms yesterday
might have been disguising it.

Typhoid is difficult
to diagnose in the very
early stages.

Dr. Lydgate,
you must come again.

- You must carry on
attending Fred.
- Yes, please do.

I shall write to Dr. Wrench
and explain the circumstances.

I'm sure he won't
be offended.

It's a damned impudence!

I've attended that family
for 20 years.

And now I'm made
to read some damn
scoundrelly lecture

on symptoms and prognoses
and I don't know what.

By God,
it comes to something

when they steal your patients
from under your very nose

and give you a scolding
into the bargain.

This Lydgate's no better
than a quack in my opinion.

His fancy foreign notions
and his cant about cures -

How do we know
what his bona fides are, eh?

Do you know
what he told me,

His Majesty's coroner,
these 20 years?

That a lawyer is
no better than an old woman
at a post-mortem examination.

He thinks a doctor
should conduct it.

Wrench:
The man is an impostor.

He has degrees
from Edinburgh and Paris,
I understand, Wrench.

He's a clever fellow,
for all you don't care
for him –

Damn too clever
in my opinion, sir.

- Bulstrode's fond of him.
- (groans)

They're a pretty pair –
one all pride and principles,

the other all cant
and holiness.

- (metal clangs)
- Man: Very wobbly –

and both of them elbow-deep
in each others' pockets.

Man:
These outbreaks wouldn't
happened in the first place.

Good day,
gentlemen.

Bulstrode:
Well, gentlemen,
to business.

The house surgeon
has reported an outbreak
of intestinal ailments

amongst patients
in the upper ward...

Man:
You do me
great honor,

taking the time
to view our work here,
Mr. Casaubon.

Oh, and Mrs. Casaubon,
of course.

This has been
a most rewarding visit,
Mr. Naumann.

It's interesting to see
such a colony of artists
at work.

Yes, many of us
live here permanently.

Others such as
my friend Ladislaw

come to study
for a short while
only. Please.

Mr. Casaubon, forgive me,
but I have been looking
at you all morning.

A sketch of your head

would be invaluable.

Let me show you.

Saint Thomas Aquinas.

Perhaps it is asking
too much.

You astonish me
greatly, sir.

But if my poor physiognomy
can be of help to you
for the good doctor.

I shall be honored.

That is if the operation
is not a lengthy one

and if Mrs. Casaubon
will not object
to the delay.

Saint Thomas Aquinas,
what a happy thought.

Allow me.

Please.

(pencil scratching)

Naumann:
Come and look, Ladislaw.

I think it is perfect
so far.

The color is fine.

It will just suit you.

Oh no, they're
for my sister.

She's light-haired,
very pretty.

At least I think so.

You don't seem to care
for cameos.

No, frankly,
I don't think them
a great object in life.

I fear you're heretic
about art generally,

how is that?

I should have expected
you to be very sensitive
to the beautiful everywhere.

I should like
to make life beautiful.

I mean everybody's life.

And then all this huge
expense of art

that seems to make life
no better for the world
pains me.

The best piety
is to enjoy it

when you can.

It's naïve to try
to take care of
all the world

unless you allow yourself
to feel some delight in it.

I'm beginning to suspect you
of having some false belief
in the virtues of misery.

The work is progressing
satisfactorily?

Magnificent.

Dorothea:
Have there not been valuable
books written by scholars

who knew nothing
of these modern things?

Well, they're still used.

Why should not my husband's
be valuable like theirs?

Don't you see?
It's no use now to be
crawling a little way

after men of
the last century
correcting their mistakes.

No one cares anymore.

The focus of interest
has moved on.

How can you speak
so lightly?

If it were as you say,

what could be sadder
than so much ardent labor
all in vain?

I've made you
think ill of me?

No, I like you very much.

Please, don't mention this
to anyone again.

Promise me.

I promise.

I fear
this may be tiresome
for Mrs. Casaubon.