All language subtitles for Parades.End.2012.E02.1080p.BluRay.x264-CiNEFiLE

Sylvia.

It was good of you to come yourself.

Then, you don't know.

I'm so sorry, Christopher.

There was a telegram from the office,
from Macmaster.

Your mother died yesterday.

I did not expect it quite yet.

I killed your mother.

She died of a broken heart
because I left you.

No, she didn't.

Then, it was because I asked you
to take me back.

My mother died
from a medical condition,

not a literary convention.

I suppose it's all over town
that I went off with Potty Perowne?

I told Vincent Macmaster,
no one else knows.

That was nearish, though.

Oh, Christopher.
Has it been awful for you?

It is thought that you went abroad
to look after your mother.

You'll get your own back!

Only I wish you wouldn't do it by punishing me
with your meal-sack Anglican sainthood.

Give me Father Consett any day.
He called me a harlot

and refused to shake my hand
till he confessed me.

Father Consett is here?

I showed him your telegram.

I want him to know that
your condition for taking me back

is to have your son
damned for all eternity.

If it bothers you so much...

Thank you.

I saw Gerald Drake somewhere

and I thought, "What a brute!"

How would I possibly have...

Pretty box, though.

The pictures no doubt belong
to the hotel's former existence.

Was it an abattoir?

So very sad.

In the midst of life...

Oh, here we are.
There is a night express, you're right.

Wagons-lits, dining car,

and you'll be at Groby with
a day to spare before the funeral.

A public appearance together
couldn't be more timely.

My cousin Westershire
got wind of something

and I was forced to lie to him.

As head of the family, the Duke
takes it personally when lives become untidy.

I'm not going back to Christopher

if I have to be in bed
by nine o'clock.

My own bed, I mean, of course.

This was the last place
Christianised in Europe.

The old pagan demons are still
at their work.

The sooner you're away,

the sooner you'll not have
such wicked thoughts.

They are yours, not mine.

I meant my own bed
as distinct from my husband's.

Father Consett and I
will return at leisure by road.

He has business in Berlin.

- Irish business?
- Now, why would you think that?

I will not interfere
with your social life.

But our old life, with a town house

to keep up and entertain in...

I could not accept
your generosity as before.

- I'm not going to live in Yorkshire.
- Macmaster has found a suitable flat

across the way from his rooms
in Gray's Inn.

A flat in Holborn! I couldn't have
imagined anything more humiliating!

It's supposed to be a penance,
it's not a reward.

- You mind your own business!
- Your soul is my business.

But my dear boy,

the whole world would understand

exactly what we have managed
to keep from it.

You would not be the first landowner

to give up a house in town
in protest

against the new tax.
The Duke would applaud you.

I shouldn't wonder if he lends you
the Westershire box at the opera.

I never heard such bosh!

I will be in my room praying for death,
or at least packing for it.

Would you send me your maid?

I'd better go myself.
Sylvia hit my maid with her hairbrush

and I only borrowed her,
I don't want to return her damaged.

Now then, Christopher.

Your son is Roman Catholic born,
and that's the fact of the matter.

But Michael will grow up
with my sister's children

in an Anglican parsonage,
and the facts must jostle as they may.

Slainte.

Father, your Republican friends
should know

Germany is looking for a European war
and will find a reason for one,

probably in the next two years.

Don't fill your dance card
in Berlin.

Damnable business.

Do you want a pipe?

Thank you, no.

There's a boy
I'm putting through Eton.

- Gilbert Wannop's boy.
- Oh?

For old time's sake.

Eton and then his father's old college.
Nothing in writing.

But, er...

You'll see to it
if it comes to that?

Of course, Father.

- By God, she looks like a...
- Yes, sir.

It doesn't do, stealing the show
from her mother-in-law!

The cedar will have to come down
before it knocks over the house.

Father would sooner
take down the house.

Young men and maidens have made
their marriage vows

under the Groby Tree
for longer than memory.

If Mark won't do it,
it'll have to wait for Michael, then.

Michael,
I want you to meet a new friend.

Clio.

Don't be frightened.

Come and say hello.

There, you see?

He won't bite.

- Has he stopped wetting the bed?
- Oh, yes, sir.

It just needed a little firmness.

I remember, Marchie.

Your bath, Madam.

Do you know, Evie,

there isn't a water-closet
in the whole damn house?

I got a flea in my ear.

No ashtrays either.
Master's orders!

Thank you.
Are they looking after you?

Yes'm.

Mr Jenkins the butler
chose me to sit next to him

at lunch
on account of your turn-out.

First hobble skirt at Groby!

They've only seen them
in the picture papers.

I rang down for a housemaid.

I won't have you emptying
chamber pots.

Here!

- May I speak with my wife?
- She is in her dressing room, sir.

Oh, it's all right.
You can come in here.

I'm sorry... I didn't...

Effie is waiting with her family
to go home.

You'll want to say goodbye
to Michael.

Yes. Yes, of course.

She took the towel.

Oh, go away
if you can't bear to look!

Higher than the beasts,
lower than the angels.

Stuck between the two
in our idiots' Eden!

God, I'm so bored with it all!

Guarding or granting admission
to a temple

no decent butcher would give room to
on his offal tray!

I'd rather be a cow in a field.

Ask someone to bring Michael to me,
will you, please?

I'll bring him.

You're hurting yourself
for no reason,

keeping the boy in Yorkshire.

I'm going to live chaste,
just because I want to.

It will be Swedish exercises
and occasional retreats.

Father Consett knows a convent where
you can bring your own maid.

A suite!

But darling, what does one do here,
for a whole weekend?

I don't think that's an ashtray.

No, I don't think Johnnie
would wear it.

He'd just look at me as if I'd
gone off to Maidenhead with someone

and we both knew it.

I've had some rotten times
at Maidenhead.

Evie? Would you take Mrs Pelham's
cigarette outside

- and put it somewhere?
- Yes, madam.

So she does have a name.

It was decent of you to come with me,
but, er,

I don't know why...

I don't believe my retreat can begin
until you go.

I bet you'll be on the up train tomorrow.
Not enough men here.

If there's one thing that drove me
out of London,

it's the way I can't enter a room

without all the little women
instantly cleaving to their men

as though to say, "Hands off!"

And then hating me all the more

when they realise I have no use for
their treasured rubbish.

No more he and she for me.

I owe it to myself
to be fair to Christopher.

He's up in Yorkshire again,
seeing Michael.

The move to Gray's Inn
has been a success.

He knows his stuff
with furniture and pictures.

He'll walk into a saleroom and sniff out
what everybody else has missed.

He just knows... everything!

Of course,
he wants to make me suffer.

What man wouldn't?

I will make him realise his failure

by living with him
in perfect good humour.

And then one day,
after a whisky or two...

He must want to, sometimes.

Why, you're soppy about him!

Can somebody tell me why I'm here,

watching the ruling class
in its death throes?

Where else would you be?

I would be at a lecture on "Imperialism:
the Last Stage of Capitalism"

at the Working Men's College
in Camberwell.

Since you're here,
why don't you introduce us to your friends?

Because both my friends
are at the lecture.

You should go up to the Working
Men's College in Camberwell

in September instead of Oxford.

Some of us are working to destroy
the citadels of privilege from within.

Well, that's lucky for some of us.

Oh, well done, Val!

Well done!

You beastly little show-off!

Of course,
it had to be Miss Wannop!

General.
Are we on speaking terms?

You still owe me £50 for driving
your motor into my mare last year.

Tietjens had the rig on
the wrong side of the road.

Tietjens?!

So it was him!

Driving your rig.

At daybreak.

Good morning, Lady Claudine.
Actually, it was partly the fog

and partly that your brother
didn't sound his horn.

- I was a witness.
- A witness indeed.

So was I.

A witness to what, I wouldn't know.

Do excuse me.

I've just been
complaining about you.

- Good Lord, why? What have I done?
- Your lot, I mean.

Some of us have had to rusticate
ourselves for the season.

My milliner has let go
three of her girls,

and it serves you right
if you lose the footman vote too.

Oh, Miss Wannop!
Do you know Mrs Satterthwaite?

How do you do?

- She is our friend Tietjens's mother-in-law.
- Oh, is that my fame?

You know Christopher?

Hardly, but I did meet
Mr Tietjens last year in Rye.

I haven't seen him since.

Actually, this tea is for my mother,

and I mustn't inflict myself on
Mr Waterhouse with my inferior mind

and general incapacity for
anything much except motherhood.

So, if you'll excuse me.

- That's not at all what I...
- Oh, that's my first suffragette!

Got it!
You're Tietjens's feminist!

If you're thinking of starting
something...

I've a good mind to
smack your bare bottom!

I'm sure you think of little else.

You have a nerve
showing your face here.

I know you're Tietjens's whore.
You're all gasping for it,

you militant bitches!

How dare you say something
about a man

you're not fit to serve
as a boot-boy?

About him?

Good God, the girl's in love!

I wanted to write about
the Women's Bill,

but the editor said,

"My dear Mrs Wannop,

"our readers already know that
the Lords are going to chuck it back.

"What they have no grasp of
is the Balkan crisis."

Where did you get all this from?

- Christopher Tietjens.
- Oh, you spoke to Mr Tietjens?

Is he an expert
on the Balkan situation?

- I suppose he is.
- Since his father boodled me into this job

because he had shares in the paper,

it would reflect very badly on him

if I were to make
a bish of this article.

Not to mention losing
five guineas a week.

Oh, bother it!

I meant to say that Serbia has no more right
to demand access to the sea than Berkshire.

Christopher, of course.

Well, it's men waving their spears.

As if war were only about maps.

Now, time's up.
I'm expected with Mrs Duchemin.

So it's in the box!

I don't wish to
come between a country parson,

albeit a gentleman of means,
to say the least,

and one, moreover,
with a distinguished association

- with a great university...
- Breakfast Duchemin of Cambridge!

Between even such a man,
and the organ of the parish...

- Organ?
- What?

You refer to my organ?

No.

Yes, I refer to the parish magazine.

Of course.

I think it's going to be all right.

He had a cooked breakfast,
thank God.

It's the fasting
that brings it on.

But the parish magazine is not
self-evidently

the appropriate platform
from which to condemn

restrictive female undergarments

as being a danger to
the sexual health of our women...

You think so?

It's sweet of you to come
and hold my hand.

Edith, are you sure
you're safe here?

There's nothing to be done.

- I just run a bath and think of Browning.
- Drowning?

The poet Browning,

and the Rossettis.

Mr Macmaster has taken to
coming down at the weekends

to talk to my husband about
the poets he knew in his young days.

I would like you to know
Mr Macmaster better.

He has opened worlds to me.

I have the honour
of receiving for him

on what are becoming
known as Macmaster's Fridays.

We might find a little job for you,
behind the tea-table. What do you think?

Well, I think... I think...

Vincent, Mr Macmaster,
has rooms in Gray's Inn,

right across from some
people you know, I think.

Mr and Mrs Tietjens?

Does he?

Ah, my dear.
His Grace was most complimentary

about the Lapsang Soochong.

He enjoys the aroma of smoke.

Thank you. Delightful.

I do hope your little convocation,
should I call it, was...

Oh, indeed. Yes.

Sweetness and light!

All well.

Oh, I hadn't dared hope!

What is it, dear?

Sulphur!

Can't you smell it?

Brimstone.

I smelled him out
the minute he came in.

- Who, dear?
- Beelzebub!

He thought I was taken in.

You remember Miss Wannop?

He takes a pleasing shape.

I have just been telling Miss Wannop
about Mr Macmaster's circle

of beautiful intellects,
all devoted to the higher things...

But I was ready for him!

Beauty, truth, the shepherd's pipe,
the gem-like flame,

the wine-dark sea...

Lord, your servant slept
when your handmaiden

was taken into bondage with a corset,
but he wakes now!

The beautiful soul, souls,

in harmony with our little
gathering of the finer minds,

quite the finest really,
the very best young writers, artists...

And cast out the Devil's new contraption,
the brassiere!

And all the swaddling and strapping
that constricts the freely-flowing

and God-glorifying bounty
of belly and breast!

Of airy buttock...

Why, Mr Duchemin,
you are one of us!

All we new women are united
against the corset,

it is the very devil!

You must write an article
for our paper.

How splendid.

Sylvia, good morning!

- Merry Christmas!
- Merry Christmas, General.

You don't know my ADC,
Major Perowne.

Of course I do.
Merry Christmas, Potty.

Potty? You've been keeping
that one under your hat, Peter!

- Merry Christmas.
- Look here,

I want to talk to that husband of yours,
where is he?

- What has he done?
- Never you mind.

But you can tell him the War Office

wants the entire Department
of Statistics lined up and shot.

He's in Yorkshire over the New Year,
with his sister's family.

- Happy New Year!
- Happy New Year.

- Happy New Year, Marchant.
- Happy New Year.

- Happy New Year.
- Happy New Year...

- Happy New Year, Marchant.
- Happy New Year.

Well, it's up the stairs
to Bedfordshire for me.

- Good night, sir.
- Good night, Marchie. You'll look in on Michael?

I go back to town tomorrow
to face the warmongers.

Are they after your blood?

No-one was counting in
the cost of losing our export trade

to the Continent.

Do you think there will be a war?

If Germany puts it off much longer,
Russia will have enough railway

to put her army
on the frontier in 20 days.

So the Germans are in a panic,

it will take them twice
that long to beat France

and they don't want to be
fighting on two fronts.

Goodness.

- The things you chaps in London know!
- Mmm.

- Would you like me to come and tuck you up?
- No, thank you very much.

- It's only for a minute.
- No, Brownlie.

- Dash it, Sylvia.
- Happy New Year.

Darling?

Christopher?

I hope you had a lovely evening, madam.
Happy New Year.

What are you doing, waiting up?
Go to bed.

Well, now you're here...

Votes for women!

Votes for women! Votes for women!

- Stand up for your rights!
- You can't do that here, lady!

Be off with you now.

- It's open to the public and we are the public!
- No, you don't!

No, nobody gets through! No.

What are you all gawping at?

Do you think that is all
women are good for?

Hey! What do you think
you are doing?!

There's no need to manhandle me!

Put it down!

There you are at last, Brownlie.

Dash it, Sylvia, I don't know what you mean.
I've been waiting ages.

- I said let's meet at the Ritz.
- Well, it's near the Ritz.

Don't sulk
or I'll be sorry I came at all.

What shall I look at?

I don't much care for any of them.

They're well past, if you ask me.

Past Impressionism.
You see, they're called Past Impressionists.

You stay with the banking, Brownlie,
that's what I advise.

Aren't they?

I might buy one
to annoy Christopher.

I'm all for that.

I'll buy it for you,

if you stop being so cruel to me.

Yes.

Where did you find this?

In Dover Street.

I've no doubt it's young Tom Girtin

on one of his topographical tours
in the 1790s.

You must have it in your bedroom.

- Now I'm hurt.
- Oh?

No, no, I like it very much.

The breakfast room, then.

Yes... perhaps.

I'll leave it for you.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight.

You would marry Mrs Duchemin,
of course, if she were free.

Yes.

- Why doesn't she have her husband certified?
- Well, she's loyal.

Do you find that contradictory?

No, I don't. But, no disrespect,
surely a better reason

is the Lunacy Commissioners
would hold the purse strings.

Yes.

- Whereas, as things are...
- I wanted to ask your advice.

Suppose she lent me the money?
Only a thousand or two?

I want to live in a manner
worthy of Edith, naturally.

Chrissie, it's only timing.

The money will come to her in the end,
what's the difference?

None, except as to how
you are perceived as a gentleman.

Don't touch the Duchemins' money,
I'll give you what you need.

Chrissie.

It's of no consequence.

I came into some funds from my mother,
rather a lot by my standards.

- Chrissie, it would be a loan.
- I'm afraid I never loan money.

- I won't take it otherwise.
- Think of it as you wish.

Come up, I'll write you a cheque.

Thank you, Chrissie.

I'm about to be handing out
sums of money too.

Small sums from
the Royal Literary Fund.

It seems some poor beggar
has to supervise the disbursements.

And the King's Gold Stick
of the Bedchamber or some such

liked my little book on Browning.

Congratulations, you'll be
in the honours list soon enough.

Do you think so?

Oh, Chrissie, I wish
you'd come to one of my Fridays.

I wouldn't want to be rude
to your aesthetes.

You know I'm taking August
in Scotland this year?

What about you?

Sylvia's accepted to join
the Duke's house party

at his place in Northumberland.

You remember telling me once,
two years ago at Rye,

we'd be at war about the time
the grouse shooting began in 1914?

- Time's running out.
- Yes, I'm afraid so.

Make the most of Scotland.

And do be circumspect.

I know what it is that makes a man
want to go away with a woman he likes.

But that desire,
which is to be allowed to finish

his conversations with her,

must be resisted.

Oh, Chrissie.

What you know!

Opened the car door for the lady-wife...
I don't think!

Welcome!

Oh, thank you, sir.

Oh. Mr and Mrs Macmaster, is it?
Welcome.

Ah, thank you, sir.
Thank you.

Ah, you will of course let Mrs McKenzie
know if you need anything.

They know! They know!

Oh, no, they don't.

Darling...
Darling, it'll be all right.

We've dreamed of this.
To be away together.

Lock the door. Lock the door!

Darling.

Oh, no, no, don't mess up the bed!

Oh...

My love!

Are you expecting a good season?

Yes. Plenty of birds.

Ah...

Won't be long now, eh?

No good asking me.

Bertram says Asquith and Lord Grey
never discuss war in Cabinet.

Not in front of the children.

- The Cabinet talks about women.
- Women?

Oh, oh, women.

Women and Ireland.

Mother's priest has turned her
Republican.

That's just Sylvia pulling
the strings of the shower bath.

What war, Glorvina?
It isn't going to be our war.

If it had been us
and a tinpot country like Serbia,

we'd have declared war
three weeks ago.

Exactly.
What are the Austrians waiting for?

For an assurance that Russia won't
come in on the Serbian side

and Russia's waiting for an assurance that
Germany won't come in on the Austrian side.

There you are.
No stomach for a fight.

There's not going to be any war.

This isn't our own chutney!

Why are they all in...?

What's frightening them?
They're all in a... panic.

Up there, look.

It's a fish eagle.

Not even on duty.

Listen, Sylvia, they're all
living in cloud-cuckoo-land.

I want to see Michael before
we find ourselves on a train south.

A fish eagle...

What?

The Germans are itching
to get at the Russians.

France will declare war on Germany,
that's what the French-Russian Pact is for.

Then it's us.
Germany will invade through Belgium...

If you don't stop,
I'm going to jump.

Britain is committed to defend
Belgian neutrality.

That's what I'd like
to come back as.

The fish eagle.

I say.

Isn't that...?

Mrs Duchemin!

We're not leaving here together,
you oaf!

Yes, but... How...
How will you...?

Oh, Chrissie, thank God you're here!

Your telegram bounced,
I was in Yorkshire, seeing Michael.

- What's happened?
- Edith will explain on the train.

- I won't forget today in a hurry.
- None of us will. Haven't you heard?

We're at war with Germany.

Oh...

Oh...

The French are saying that
we're not pulling our weight.

The Prime Minister wishes
to show that,

when measured against
respective populations

of single men of fighting age
and suchlike,

that our contribution compares
very favourably with the French.

Does it?

This document lumps together
72 battalions

of Kitchener's volunteers
who aren't on the Western Front,

they're still in training
without half their kit.

That's a million men under arms
committed to the fight!

This is all about who's in control
of strategy, I suppose.

Our masters take the view
the Western Front must be under dual command,

not, repeat not,
under a single command,

which would mean French command,
obviously.

Why would it mean that, sir,
obviously?

Lord, I thought you were
supposed to be clever.

Because the French army is ten times
the size of the British army!

Because the war is being fought
on French soil, not British soil!

Because... Now look here, Tietjens.
I took you for a sound man.

This department exists to show that
just as there are different ways

to put things in words, there are
different ways to put things in numbers!

I detest and despise the work
I am asked to do in the department,

whose purpose seems to be
to turn statistics into sophistry.

- I am resigning. Good morning.
- Resigning?

- Don't you want to be a man of influence?
- No. I'd prefer to be in the trenches.

Oh, God, give me the strength
to strangle the Kaiser

- with my bare hands.
- You innocent!

It's the soldiers
who betrayed the cause.

- You are talking rubbish!
- Class traitors!

And the German socialists too!

- I can't listen to this...
- Voting for war like lickspittle lackeys.

Stop it! Stop it!

I hope they die with blood
spouting out of their lungs.

I thought you were a pacifist!

Yes, I refuse to fight,
but let the guilty get what they deserve!

You are nothing but a lily-livered
coward...

- As for you, I hope both sides rape every woman...
- What?!

Edith?

I thought of you because you're mixed in
with the kind of woman who...

What is it? What can I do?

How do you get rid of a baby?

Mr Duchemin...

Hasn't he...?

Duchemin's been in the asylum
for months and I'm caught...

by that jumped-up son of an Edinburgh fishwife
who didn't know his business better than to...

You mean Mr Macmaster?

I never dreamt.

What did you think we were doing,
comparing our beautiful souls?

Well, yes!
That is what I thought.

And... poetry!

Oh, Edith, your prince,
your chevalier!

That guttersnipe,
shooting off like a tomcat in heat.

Don't, Edith!

I know when it was.

I suppose you must.

When what was?

Valentine, you do know how babies are made,
don't you?

Of course I do!

But do-do you mean...

You mean you can...
You can do it without making a baby?

Oh, go home, you goose!

I'm sorry. Oh...

I'm so pointless.

Everything's...
Everything is so horrible.

Beastliness everywhere
and I live like an ant,

but I thought at least
there was you,

living for love.
Someone rising clear above the muck for me,

reaching for beautiful things,

loving and... being loved.

And now there's no-one left...
and nothing.

Christopher Tietjens
to see General Campion.

- This way, sir.
- Follow me, sir.

After which, the adjutant
will stand the battalion at ease

and the band will play
Land of Hope and Glory.

Sit down, Chrissie, you damned fool.

Then the adjutant will call out...

"There will be no more parades"

and "Fall out" and so on.

Try that on them.

I'm supposed to invent
a ceremonial for disbanding

- the Kitchener battalions.
- Disbanding?

Don't want them clogging up the army
when the war's over.

So don't hitch your wagon to me
if you want to see some fighting,

- you can see where my opinions have got me.
- The single command business?

- That's what did for me at the office.
- But what the hell has it got to do with you?

And now you think you'll be
some use as a soldier!

Have you told Sylvia?

Not yet. She'll say the same thing
as you, I suppose.

Well, I think you're a fool.

The office is going
to get me out anyway.

Too many black marks against me.

Go, then. Add your little bit
to the suffering,

even if it's only your own.

I can't sleep in the night now,
because pain is worse in the dark.

It spreads into every corner,
black like ink...

Printer's ink.

Newspapers dripping hate
and lies every day.

No, don't touch me now
when it's too late!

I'm going across to tell Macmaster.

Yes, do.

You're such a paragon of honourable
behaviour, Christopher.

You're the cruellest man I know.

At times like this, one realises
no-one has ever, ever captured grief

like Michelangelo in his Pieta.

Unhappily, she looks like Stravinsky
and he like Isadora!

Miss Wannop.

Mr Tietjens.

Tietjens!

Oh, hello, Vinnie.

I forgot it was a Friday.
I had something to tell you.

People will be leaving soon.

Then I'll talk to Miss Wannop,
meanwhile.

Though she's not pleased to see me.

The war has turned her
against men as a sex!

First, you must greet Edith.

Is everything all right now?

The bishop turned out
to be a Christian.

- He knew Duchemin was a dangerous lunatic!
- Mm.

- Is your abortionist here? I'd like to kiss her.
- Ssh!

Guggums! Look who's come!

- Mrs Duchemin.
- Mr Tietjens.

Ah, Chrissie,
come and be introduced.

This is Tietjens,
the star of our department.

Actually, I share rooms
with your brother Mark.

Really?
You must be the new lodger.

Miss Wannop,

come to the fire and tell me
why you won't talk to me.

We like our tea strong.

What is that smell, do you know?

- Chinese incense sticks.
- Ah.

So those were the geniuses.

Well, who am I to judge?

That man over there isn't a genius.
His name's Ruggles.

He's something to do with
handing out honours at the Palace.

Macmaster's got his ear.

Oh, they're perfectly proper.
The only clean way.

British way.

Well, I came over to tell Macmaster
I'm joining the army.

I... hoped we respected each other.

At least I tremendously respect you,

and I hoped...
you'd respect me too.

You don't respect me?

Well, I would have liked you
to have said it.

Oh, what difference does it make when...
When there's all this pain,

this torture?

I haven't slept a whole night
since...

I believe pain and fear
must be worse at night.

Dear...

It's so queer...

My wife used almost exactly
the words you used,

not an hour ago.

She too said that
she couldn't respect me.

We have to do everything we can
not to lose our men, don't you see?

Besides, you know
you are more useful here.

They'll never have me back.

The sentimentalist
must be stoned to death.

He makes everyone uncomfortable.

You shouldn't be proud
of despising your country.

Oh, don't believe that!

I love every field and hedgerow.

The land is England,
and once it was the foundation of order,

before money took over and handed
the country over to the swindlers

and schemers.

Toryism of the pig's trough.

Then what is your Toryism?

Duty.

Duty and service to above and below.
Frugality...

Keeping your word,
honouring the past.

Looking after your people

and beggaring yourself if need be
before letting duty go hang.

If we'd stayed out of it,
I'd have gone to fight for France,

for agriculture
against industrialism,

for the 18th century against the 20th,
if you like.

Hoped you'd understand.

Oh, I understand you!

You're as innocent about yourself
as a child.

You would've thought
all the same things in the 18th century.

Of course I would,
and I would have been right!

But you do make one
collect one's thoughts.

Do you remember our ride in the mist,
what you said about me three years ago?

Well, I'm not that man now.

What? I can't remember.

I'm not an English country gentleman
who'll let the country go to hell

and never stir himself except to say,
"I told you so."

Yes. I said that.

I said you ought to be in a museum.

I think I wanted to provoke you
into...

bursting out of your glass cabinet.

Now it's a choice
between bad and worse.

Well, I have a big,
hulking body to throw into the war.

Nothing much to live for...
because...

You know what I want, I can't have.

What is it I know?

What I stand for is gone.

But to live for?

You have something to live for.
What's that?

Why didn't you kiss me then?

Why didn't you?

Fixed & Synced By MoUsTaFa ZaKi