Original subtitles

It has been remarked before that nothing happens

in the closed circle of the Forsyte family

without, in due course, every member getting to hear of it.

The account they receive may be garbled,

but once it has been sifted out and notes compared on Forsyte 'change...

it may be regarded as pretty accurate.

Now, a Forsyte doesn't give away anything for nothing,

especially his own secrets.

So where does this information come from?

Forsytes are forever asking each other this question.

Naturally, they ignore the servants,

that numerous body of trained observers

who attend to nearly every detail of their personal lives.

Keeping them warm and mobile and extremely well-fed.

And they forget, if ever they knew,

that these servants are human beings much like themselves,

with loves and hopes and fears,

and just as much relish for gossip, particularly about their masters.

How otherwise could it be known that my cousin Soames

and his beautiful wife, Irene,

after two years ardent courtship, and four of marriage,

are not exactly the most blissful couple south of the park?

"They tell me", says aunt Juley to aunt Hester...

they tell me but don't breath a word,you know what people are.

Not a word.

They say that dear Irene has asked dear Soames for a separate room.

Never.

It may be true, but it's hardly an item of news that Irene,

far less Soames, would be likely to circulate.

Being an outcast, with only a daily mrs. Hawkins,

I am immune.

But my daughter... miss June Forsyte.

Whom I haven't seen for nearly 8 years,

has now reached the interesting age of 17.

And the tongues are ready to start clacking.

Dear girl. Dear little girl.

Aunt Hester. Ah, dear.

Aunt Juley. Dear little girl.

Is she engaged or is she not engaged?

I can't seem to get a straight answer.

Then you must wait, mustn't you, dear, like the rest of us.

I do so love to see you children.

And it was good of you, June, to think of coming here this afternoon.

Particularly when everybody says you're so affair�e.

What is he like, your young man?

I don't know if I should...

June, you know we're all simply dying to hear about him.

Is he handsome?

Well... of course he is.

All young men are, unless they're positively repulsive.

Well, no,I don't think he's handsome.

I'm delighted to hear it.

Handsome men are usually slightly conceited.

He's not that either. Well, I'm disappointed.

If a man hasn't good looks... all I can say is

you won't be disappointed when you see him.

He'S... he's different.

Different? Different from what,dear, may I ask?

From the usual run.

Ah he's not glossy or smooth or flirtatious.

He's not interested in clothes

or social occasions or grand dinners or possessions and money.

Why, he once lived for a week on cocoa.

Oh, dear me, how very odd.

I hope he won't ask you to live on cocoa.

He sounds delightful, if a trifle eccentric.

He's odd. Eccentric.

Not a bit, he's just sensible and intelligent.

Now, now, now. Stop badgering the child.

What is his name, dear?

Philip, Philip Bosinney. Bosinney.

What an unusual name. Oh, I like it.

It's original. Original?

Unusual. And what is his profession?

He's an architect. Indeed.

Your great-grandfather used to employ architects sometimes.

He built a large number of houses, you know.

And very profitably too.

But June, what does uncle Jolyon say?

Has he met mr. Bosinney? Yes.

And what does he say to all this?

Nothing yet. That's why I must go soon.

Philip is seeing my grandfather this afternoon.

Mr. Bosinney, sir.

Good afternoon, sir.

Well, Bosinney, you're in excellent time.

Don't you rather approve of punctuality?

What? Yes, I do. So I should imagine.

And that being so, wouldn't it be stupid,

as well as discourteous, if I were late?

Whatever else you may be, sir, you do not strike me as being stupid.

I'm obliged to you, sir.

Will you sit down? Thank you.

Cigar? No, thank you, sir.

Cigars are not what they were, but these...

are not bad.

Now, to business. Excuse me, sir.

Yes? Will you not sit down?

I'm at a disadvantage. You're a cool customer.

Far from it.

I'm as nervous as a cat. And you know it.

This is your house, and a very grand house it is, if I may say so.

It's a little vieux jeu, perhaps, but that's natural.

You're the master of it, and all that implies,

while I am the humble petitioner.

Do you really need the extra authority of the hearth rug?

The added advantage, as it were, in military terms,of the high ground?

You take the offensive.

Why? Because my position is weak.

If I don't attack, I may be lost. I have no reserves.

You know what I think? What?

You're taking the wrong line. Don't be aggressive.

I'm not your enemy.

And to prove it, I'll give you a glass of my old Madeira.

My father used to swear by Madeira.

I believe he considered it the wine of the aristocracy.

He, of course,was not an aristocrat. He made money.

But he was right about Madeira.

It is the aristocrat of wines.

There.

Now we're on equal terms.

Never that.

How do you find it? Oh, it's excellent. Thank you.

Then may I continue?

Am I right in saying you met my granddaughter at

the house of your uncle, Baynes, the architect?

The alleged architect.

That is a matter of opinion.

I understand that he makes a good living out of his profession,

and that's as much, surely, as a man is expected to do.

If he's a greengrocer, yes.

You worked in his office, I believe, after qualifying.

Why did you leave?

To better myself. I beg your pardon?

My uncle's preoccupation with neo-gothic town halls was driving me slowly insane.

Indeed. I assure you.

And so I took a knapsack and I walked around Europe for six months

studying some real architecture.

Foreign stuff, eh? That won't get you far in england.

Well, that depends what you mean by far.

I mean, sir,acceptance in your profession,

and, uh, the working up of a practice.

I take that to be your intention, now that you've set up on your own.

Yes.

Well, let me give you a piece of information.

We'll not regard it as advice.

People who want things built: Houses, town halls, station hotels,

whatever you like, are the people with money.

People without money do not employ architects.

What follows from that?

That an architect must.. to the rich...

I would only suggest that he need not bite their hands off,

whatever his private feelings.

That brings me back to June.

I understand that you wish to marry her.

I do, sir.

And she, on her part... Let's leave her emotions out of it.

I've had enough of those in the past weeks.

You interest me much more, at the moment.

Why do you want to marry her?

There are two ways of answering that... unfair question.

Unfair?

Well, I can give you the conventional truth, that I'm in love with June,

all the more so because she loves me.

Because she's the only girl I've ever wanted to marry.

Because of her decency, her loyalty, her honesty.

And because I should want her for my wife if,

instead of being an heiress, she hadn't had a penny in the world.

Or I could tell you that at this stage in my career,

it would be useful for me to marry money.

At the very least,

a connection with your family could only be of advantage.

And that I persuaded your charming granddaughter

to fall in love with me simply towards that end.

Now, the point is not which story is the true one,

but which you choose to believe.

And tell me which are you most likely to believe, whatever I say?

And that's why I call it an unfair question.

I am interested in one thing only:

June's happiness and security.

And so am I. Then for once we agree.

What's your present situation?

Financially? Mm.

I have two consulting appointments at 20 pounds a year each

and a secured annuity of 150 from my father's estate.

You live on that?

At the moment, yes. You wouldn't expect June...

Oh, no, hardly.

We can't marry yet, I realize that.

But there's a commission or two in the offing...

Excuse me.

Not my way to beat about the bush.

I don't know you, and from what you've said,

I'm inclined to distrust your views.

Too up in the air for me.

But you're a clever fellow,I can see that.

And with June beside you, you may do well.

She's got a mind of her own,

and if she sets her heart on something, she'll have it.

So I agree to this engagement...

thank you.

On one condition. Whatever you say.

No talk of marriage until you can show me you're earning 400 a year.

Sir?

Ah, Parfitt. Has miss June come in yet?

I think not, sir.

Here she is now, sir.

Well, gran?

Mr. Forsyte...

has agreed to our engagement.

Oh, Phil! Oh, gran. On one condition.

What condition?

That before we marry, I must earn 400 a year.

But that's nothing.

You'll manage that in no time at all.

This is going to be a very short engagement.

Thank you, gran.

Thank you. You're so good to me.

Mm. That remains to be seen.

Phil, shouldn't you go home and change?

Your aunt's expecting us at 7:00.

Are you dining with mrs. Baynes tonight?

It was arranged days ago, gran.

Oh, your uncle has forgiven you? Not bad for an alleged architect.

Forgiven you for what? Well, my aunt is a charitable woman.

She thinks I need regular nourishment.

What does gran mean? Goodbye, sir.

Goodbye. And thank you again.

Don't keep her out too late. She wears herself to nothing.

He'll look after me. I'll see you to the door, phil.

That's a good boy.

Come on, then.

Are they off, then? Oh, yes, jo.

So funny and so touching.

Jolly on one side, very manly, in charge of the party,

striding along, planting his heels, you know the way he does.

And Holly, on the other side of mrs. Hawkins,

very quiet and demure,

but excited inside, you know?

Yes, I know. And mrs. Hawkins in the middle, stiff like a lamppost,

and so proud in her best hat.

It was a very ugly hat.

Maybe we should have gone too. Oh, no.

Not on mrs. Hawkins' birthday. It's her treat.

Madame Tussaud's waxworks and tea afterwards in Baker street.

We'd only spoil things for them.

Well, I hope she doesn't take them to the chamber of horrors.

Of course not. I made her promise not to.

Then she won't.

Darling, why do you persist in calling her mrs. 'Awkins,

when she has a perfectly good "h" to her name?

Because she calls herself "'awkins",

or rather, she calls her husband "mr. 'Awkins",

so that's what they're called.

What's an h, after all? - My name is Helene.No "H."

But everybody except you, my darling, calls me Helen.

There's a sort of mad logic about that, I suppose.

Oh, I like that.

You paint better and better. I do not.

I paint worse and worse. Except, well,

every now and then, I seem to catch a little something...

but mostly I despair.

Look. I'm trying to paint light in watercolor. The sky.

Now, nobody's really been able to paint skies

since the early italians, and they used tempera.

So why don't you? Because we can't afford the eggs.

Oh, Jo, I could catch as many eggs as...

No, my darling, no. I'm only joking.

No, I haven't the talent,that's why.

Jo, something's happened.

You're upset. No, not a bit.

Oh, yes. I can feel it. Tell me.

A little bit of the past has emerged,

as it will from time to time. Your father?

The morning post,four days old.

"An engagement is announced between

mr. Philip Bosinney and miss June Forsyte,

granddaughter of mr. Jolyon Forsyte."

Granddaughter.

Granddaughter. Why not daughter?

Oh, Jo, they should have told you.

They should.

Whatever's happened,she's your daughter. How can they be so cruel?

Helene, now believe me, I have no feeling for it,none at all.

My family, even June, they mean nothing.

All that's over, many, many years ago.

I have you, Jolly and little Holly and mrs. 'Awkins.

Don't laugh at me, Jo. I shall not be laughed at.

My darling, I'm trying to point out how unimportant it all is.

What else should we do but laugh?

We should be angry,

as I am,

at the way your father treats you.

I can never forgive him,

and god help me,Jo, I can never forgive myself.

I brought it myself because I wanted yours to arrive first.

That was kind,

but I'm rather cross with you, all the same.

Why? What have I done? Well, for one thing,

you've grown up all of a sudden. I couldn't help that.

No, but you might have warned me you were going to.

And now you're engaged,

to a perfectly charming young man, I'm sure.

And I haven't been allowed to meet him.

Nobody's met him yet except grandpapa.

You'd have been the first, you know you would.

I tried to arrange it several times,

but, well, Phil hates social things.

Calls at homes and things like that.

I hope he's going to appear at this one.

He will, if I have to fetch him myself.

Is it as bad as that? - Of course not.

He's really very good at it, when he likes.

He talks extremely well if he's interested.

But it's just that I think he believes...

perhaps he believes there are more important things than social gossip.

Yes, that's it.

That's it exactly. What things, for instance?

Well, he's an artist,

and I think artists look at everything from a special point of view.

Somehow they have to concentrate more. That's very true.

They have to know more. I mean, about the shape and essence of things.

Phil's interested,

deeply interested, in the structure of materials.

Stone and wood and glass and cement and so on.

He has to know how they can all be matched

and fitted together into...

what's the word he uses? Harmony.

A decent harmony.

Without this, he says, there can be no beauty.

I'm awfully stupid about explaining it.

No. No, go on. What else does he say?

Well, he says that if you spend a lot of time

thinking about material structures, how to create beauty in that sense,

then you begin to see that life itself, the whole of life,

ought to be built around the same idea, the beauty of harmony.

If we don't think like that,

we might as well be dinosaurs swilling about in the primeval swamp.

In fact, he says, most of us are.

He's not far wrong.

So those are the things your philip likes to talk about.

Oh, that's just a weak sort of glimmering.

When you meet him, you'll realize how feeble I am

at expressing his thoughts. I'll look forward to it.

At least it'll be a change from the chitchat at uncle Timothy'S.

That stuffy lot. And whatever the family may say,

I think you're lucky to find such a man.

I know I am.

And you love him? With all my heart and soul.

And body?

And body.

I'm glad. We've spoken a little of this before.

Well, you've had no one else.

I won't talk of my own situation.

I believe you understand something of it,though not all.

Not all, and I pray to god you never will

because to understand a life such as mine, you have to live it.

But if you have any doubt in any way,

if you feel there's the slightest chance

that you can't give yourself completely to Philip,

rejoicing in the gift, then I beg of you, June,do not marry him.

I have no doubts.

Then I'm very happy for you.

Irene... what?

Is there nothing you can do? No. No, I don't think there is.

Look.

This shall go on our chimney-piece.

You won't have to come and fetch me.

Well...

June.

Well... Soames.

I believe you're to be congratulated.

I'm sure I am. And he's an architect,they say.

Do they say he's a good one?

As to that, I wouldn't know. I've never heard of him.

You will.

You're home early, Soames. Shall I ring for tea?

Not for me, Irene, thank you. I promised grandpapa I'd be home early.

But I should like some.

Very well. Goodbye, Soames.

Goodbye.

You rang, sir?

Bilson, would you please bring mr. Forsyte some tea?

Certainly, madam. In here?

In here, Soames? Please.

Very good, sir.

What did June want?

Must everybody want something?

In my experience, they usually do.

Well, perhaps.

She came to talk to me about her lover.

I don't know what uncle Jolyon's thinking about.

The fellow has no position,no money.

He's a regular bohemian, they tell me.

Artistic.

Oh, they're all alike, these people.

No standards, no balance about them.

Well, that makes two of them.

She's just the same.

Soames, you do amuse me sometimes.

Oh you're always buying paintings.

There's at least 20 upstairs in your study,

and you spend hours looking at them.

Who do you imagine created them, the dealers you buy them from?

I buy good work because I know it will appreciate in value.

Perhaps mr. Bosinney's work will too.

But you'll wait until he's dead.

June tells me he's clever.

What does she know about anything?

I think you're seeing far too much of that young flibbertigibbet.

Where are you going?

I have things to do upstairs.

I'd prefer you to stay here.

Very well.

Oh, yes, you have plenty of time for your friends,

but when I come home, you...

"to meet mr. Philip Bosinney."

Well, we shall have to go,I suppose.

Though what the family's going to make of him, I don't know.

There must be something about the fellow,

otherwise uncle Jolyon would never...

aren't we dining with the Rogers' tonight?

Yes.

Tell Bilson I'll have tea upstairs in my study.

Well, my dear.

I hear you've added to your brood since I last saw you.

Oh, yes, indeed, uncle.

Let's see, there's val, Isobel...

no, Imogen. And...?

And Maud. That's a fine old english name.

Dartie, you must be proud of your wife. Certainly, sir.

We're very proud of each other. Well,the more the merrier.

As the bookie said...where's June? - Oh, yes,she's over there.

I'm looking forward so much to meeting mr. Bosinney.

Come along, Monty.

Mr. And mrs. Tweetyman.

The old boy seems to think we're running a stud, what?

Monty, sh!

June!

winifred and Monty. How nice.

Philip, this is my cousin winifred Dartie and her husband, Monty

At last, mr. Bosinney.

June's been keeping you very dark.

What nonsense. And I can't say I blame her.

You are different.

Is that a compliment? - What else?

June, dear, I must ask...

you keen on racing?

Racing what?

Miss Forsyte.

Ann, my dear.

Jolyon. You were able to come.

Miss Hester Forsyte.

- Mrs. Small. - Don't wait for Juley.

She always lags behind. Parfitt.

Madam? - Parfitt, come here.

Parfitt, look. A strange cat.

How could you permit such a thing?

Shoo. Shoo. It doesn't budge.

Excuse me, madam. That is a hat,not a cat.

Rubbish, man.

Oh. Is it?

But who would come calling in a hat like that?

Mr. Bosinney, madam.

Mr...? Oh. Extraordinary.

So you're off to wales for a whole month

to stay with your aunts, I believe, mr. Bosinney.

Yes, my mother's sisters.

Ah. You'll get a lot of rain down there, I shouldn't wonder.

Your grandfather is going to miss you, June. Yes..

Oh. Oh, thank you very much. Thank you.

And how are you, uncle James?

Poorly, thank you. This isn't real old worcester.

Now, that set I gave your mother when she married was the genuine thing.

It'll keep it's price.

I'll see you when I come back.

Yes, dear. Philip?

Everybody's been most kind, coming to congratulate her.

She ought to be very happy.

I can't say. That young Bosinney's a pauper.

When Winifred married Dartie, I made him bring every penny into settlement.

Good thing too. They'd have nothing by now.

Yes, but James...

well, I couldn't help it if Irene had no money.

Soames would have her.

In my opinion, it's just as well as it is.

She won't get any ideas in her head.

A soft hat?

You must be mistaken. No, I assure you.

You thought it was a cat? - Really, Juley.

It quite put me about. A soft hat.

Very haughty. The wild buccaneer.

Buccaneer.

The very name for him. Le mot juste.

George, dear, I don't know what we'd do without you.

Nor do I, quite frankly.

Come and meet millie.

He's an odd-looking devil, isn't he?

Like a half-tamed leopard.

I shouldn't be surprised if he made a bolt for it.

I don't see Timothy.

Wouldn't he come? - No, dear, no.

He didn't think it wise. Why not?

All these people, such a crush.

You never know, do you?

And Timothy, so liable to catch things.

I can't afford to take the care of myself that he does.

Hester? - Excuse me, dear.

Yes, Juley? - Well, nick?

How are you? - I'm bad.

Been bad all week. The doctor can't tell why.

He's a clever fellow, or I shouldn't have him.

But all I get are bills. Doctors?

They tell you anything.

I've had all the doctors in London one time or another.

They can't help you.

There's Swithin now. There he is,bigger than ever.

They can't get his weight down. Look at him.

Well, how are you?

Yes, how are you?

We were just saying, you don't get any thinner. Thinner?

I'm in good case.

Not one of your thread papers like James there.

I'm very well in myself,

but my nerves are out of order and I worry too much.

I shall have to go to bath.

I've tried Harrogate. That's no good.

What I need... you all talk to much about your ailments. Now, look at us.

For our ages, we're probably the healthiest men in England.

Excuse me.

Steady, Monty. It shows.

What? - Oh, yeah.

All the same, there is something about her.

There is, indeed.

"I'm beautiful, but don't touch."

Irresistible.

Uncle Jolyon, I'm so sorry we're late.

Soames had work at his office. Never mind.

Always a pleasure to see you.

Ah, Soames. Nose down to business?

Shouldn't I? - What? Oh,

but don't deprive your pretty wife of her pleasures.

Come. She's a good-looking woman.

I'm told they don't get on. She'd no money.

What was her father? - A professor,I believe.

No money in that.

They say her mother's father was cement.

But he went bankrupt.

Soames had better watch her. There's a foreign look about her.

I call her distinguished.

I'm sorry for James.

He's had trouble with Dartie.

The fellow went a bear on oil and couldn't settle.

James had to pay.

A capital figure. Yes, she's a good-looking woman.

Soames, dear.

I haven't seen you for an age.

Well, what do you think of the engagement?

They're well-suited. I think he's intelligent.

Romantic too. Those bones.So fine drawn.

They tell me he's occasionally short of food.

Soames.

Have you heard George's nickname for him?

No. No? "The wild buccaneer".

I wonder what June will think of that.

Oh, she'll tame him. I know he'll miss me, Phil.

He's bound to.

But after all, it's just as well for him to get used to being...

what are you looking at? - Who is that?

Where? - Irene!

Irene! Excuse me, please.

Irene, where have you been? - We've been waiting for you for ages.

You're so late.

I didn't hear Parfitt announce you.

We were too late, I think, even for even that.

Now, phil. Irene is my greatest chum.

So you'd better be good friends, you two.

I resign.

Another game? - Revanche?

Why not? - Jo, I'm sorry to interrupt,

but have you got time? - Eh... oh, lord, no.

You'll have to excuse me, doctor,

I promised to meet this art dealer chap, Eberhardt, at the club.

Are we getting known?

A one-man show, perhaps? - I shouldn't think so.

I should think so. Look here.

This is important. And look at me, I'm in on the ground floor.

I am the possessor of an original, signed, hand-painted Forsyte watercolor.

I'll walk down the road with you. Thank you.

Shan't be a moment.

I'll just run up and say good night to the children.

Well, dear lady,

and how are you keeping? - Oh, splendidly,thank you.

No more of these bad headaches?

No...

not very often. But you still get them?

Occasionally.

Those tablets I gave you,any good?

Yes, but...

ah, but they leave you depressed, eh?

How did you know?

Well, they sometimes have that effect.

Dr. Dewar.

Is there anything wrong with me?

No. I think you're a perfectly normal, healthy young woman.

Normal?

Mm-hm. Am I?

At one moment, I'm like a bird,

high in the air, full of gaiety and laughter.

Life is wonderful.

And the next second, like that...

I'm raging. Raging?

Oh, yes. Raging about something quite trivial.

Or I'm sunk so low in spirit that I wish to die.

Is that normal?

It'S... it's not uncommon.

To this extent?

Well, we all feel the same way to some extent.

It's a matter of temperament.

Now you, maybe you feel things more deeply than others.

That's why your heights are sublime

and your depths... I know...

all about my depths.

You worry too much, and it's a strain on your nerves.

And as I've said, not an uncommon condition.

Doctors haven't got a name for it.

some likely lad invents one and makes a name for himself.

So what am I to do? - You must try to be calm.

Very well, doctor.

I shall try to be calm.

Isn't that the hotch-potch club?

That's right, sir.

Pull over there and stop.

Right you are, guv'n

These are very difficult times.

It's good of you to see me.

I shall wait till I hear from you, then.

Good night, sir.

Good evening.

Sir?

Mr. Jolyon Forsyte is still a member of this club?

Yes, sir. In the club now.

What name, sir? - His father.

Very good, sir. If you'll just...

why, there he is, sir.

How are you, my boy?

How are you, father?

Just thought I'd drop in.

Very good of you.

I've got a cab outside.

If you're going my way, I'll give you a lift.

Thank you.

You're looking well, father.

Middling, thanks. Middling.

I've been to the opera.

Alone? - Yes. June is away on a visit.

She's engaged to be married. Did you know?

Yes, I read it in the paper.

She's far too young, but they're...

what was the opera? Mozart?

No, one of those new fangled german pantomimes.

You don't care for wagner, do you?

Bombastic chap.

And the singers. Wretched, poor things.

I remember when you used to come down from Cambridge,

and I'd take you...

Fidelio,

The barber of seville. We had some real music in those days.

There's no opera now.

Perhaps it's us, father, not the music.

Us? Well, me, you mean.

Perhaps you're right.

Old age is a damnable thing, Jo.

You lose the flavor of things.

I still kept my palate,thank God.

Yes, the finest palate in London.

That's just what old Nick Treffry

used to say in the old days, when we started in the tea business.

"With your palate, my boy", he said,

"we'll make our fortunes." And we did.

Father... what does June look like now?

She's a little thing.

They say she's like me. That's nonsense.

More like your mother. Same eyes and hair.

Pretty?

Not bad-looking.

Regular Forsyte chin.

I shall miss her here when she's gone.

She must be all wrapped up in him.

What will you do with yourself? - Do with myself?

How should I know?

Jo, I should like to hear

what sort of water you're in.

I suppose you're in debt.

No. No, I'm not in debt.

No, I shouldn't have mentioned it, I...

will you come in for a minute?

No, father, you must excuse me.

My wife is expecting me home.

Yes, well...

No, take the cab on.

And Jo... take care of yourself.

Good night, sir.

Good night.

Here. That's for you.

Oh, thank you, guv'nor. Drive on.

Right. Giddap, there!

That's a very pretty gown.

The color suits you.

Yes?

Here. I got you this to go with it.

Thank you.It's beautiful.

Please wear it tonight.

I already... I'd...

I'd prefer you to wear this one.

If you wish it.

May I?

Is there nothing, nothing at all?

Nothing.

Whatever you do, whatever you give me,

nothing.

I'm sorry.

Sorry?

Oh, you're a fine sort of wife.

It's time we were leaving.

My uncle Swithin doesn't like waiting for his dinner.

Yes, now...

Jolyon drinks a glass. Not more than two.

James can't take his wine these days, never could for that matter.

Soames, careful chap.

Emily, Winifred, Bosinney.

Can't tell.

Too dry for poor Hester. She's got no palate.

June, she's young.

Mrs. Soames.

Two glasses, perhaps, but she'll appreciate it.

Myself, well...

Dartie? He'll drink whatever you give him.

Adolf? Sir?

Put in another bottle. Yes, sir.

And Adolf... the least touch of the west india when you come to the ham.

Very good, sir.

Thank you.

I suppose Ann doesn't come down in the mornings these days.

No. But she's still very spry.

Just a little, thank you.

She's 88 next year, you know.

She's getting very shaky.

And so will you be, soon.

None of us are getting any younger, you know.

Well, what do you think of Swithin's mutton? Southdown, isn't it?

Southdown's all right for a leg or a shoulder, but for a saddle, give me Dartmoor.

So you always say. I'll stick to welsh.

Always have, always will.

Nicholas says there's no flavor to that.

And Nicholas,he buys New zealand.

Says there's nothing like it.

He's right. I've tasted it.

Your uncle Roger swears by german.

Oh, I know. We dined there the other night,

and he showed us the butcher's bill to prove it.

I don't know what all the fuss is about.

One piece of mutton's the same as any other.

Don't you think it's extraordinary?

What?

Why, only the other sunday,

and you should have been in church, Soames.

Mr. Scoles was so witty in his sermon, so sarcastic.

He said, "what shall it profit a man

if he gain his own soul and lose his property?"

He said that was the motto of the middle class.

What do you suppose he meant?

How should I know?

Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

I heard such an amusing story yesterday about your little valerius.

Oh, not Valerius, aunt Juley, if you don't mind.

Didn't you know? Winifred's decided to drop it, and Publius too.

So difficult for the poor boy when he goes to school.

They'd probably call him Pubby. Dear me.

So it's to be Val from now on, just plain Val.

How do you like this, my dear?

Very much. Not too dry for you, eh?

Not at all. It's perfect.

You're a woman of taste, not like...

ah...

that's a pretty thing. Now, what do you pay

for a thing like that nowadays?

I don't know. Soames gave it to me.

I dare say you're dull at home.

You come and dine with me any day you like.

I'll give you as good a bottle of wine as you'll get in london.

Thank you, uncle Swithin.

You're very kind.

Eat your strawberries, Soames. They're very good.

Do cheer up.

Is anything wrong? No, no, no.

I've been thinking. Irene's seeing far too much of June.

Oh, surely she'sa harmless little thing.

No, I don't agree.

She gets around with the wrong people.

It's not a friendship i want to encourage.

Honestly, Soames. They're cousins by marriage.

I don't see... all right. Never mind.

I'd like your opinion on something.

You want my opinion.

My dear boy, what's come over you?

That chap, Bosinney. Would you say he was reliable?

Hard to say. He's clever, modern,difficult to please.

But I'd say if he tackled anything, he'd see it through,

if only to satisfy himself. Reliable in that sense, yes.

And as a member of the family,

he wouldn't be too difficult to deal with in matters of money.

I mean, he'd probably accept a nominal fee.

Soames, tell me. No, no, no. Nothing.

I've decided nothing, yet. Soames!

And on the way back, we saw a beautiful site for a house.

Eh? Now where was that?

On the river, near Sonning.

I suppose you wouldn't know whether the land about there was freehold,

or what the price of it's likely to be? Yes. I made inquiries.

What? You're not thinking of buying land?

Of course not.

But I thought it would be a splendid place for you

or someone to build a house.

Land ought to be very dear about there.

You should go into the country, uncle James. Why don't you?

It would do you a lot of good.

Good? What's to be got out of buying land? Building houses?

I couldn't get four percent for my money.

What does that matter? You'd get fresh air.

I? What should I do with fresh air?

Everybody needs fresh air.

You don't know the value of money.

No, and I hope I never shall.

Hello. What's up?

My relations,that's all.

They make me sick.

Swithin asked me to pour out.

Cream for you, Juley? Yes, please, dear.

Four hundred pounds? You gave 400 pounds for that?

I did, but mind you, it's a regular work of art. It's a lot of money.

A lot of wasted money. I don't regret a penny of it.

That's not common english. It's genuine modern italian.

There's a great deal of work there.

The poor foreign devil who made it asked 500, so I gave him four.

Half-starved, he looked.

Artists are seedy-looking chaps. Don't know how they live.

Still, 400...

I could get eight for it today. I wouldn't give you two.

And I wouldn't give you two shilling not for that

or any other collections of bronze goddesses.

Give me the real thing any day.

What do you say, Soames?

Stucco. Stucco, indeed.

I'd like to see anything in your house half as good.

As an architect, Bosinney,

what do you think of it? Yes, Bosinney.

Let's have your opinion. The work is a remarkable one.

Remarkable for what?

For its... naivet�.

Eh?

Naivet�, hm?

Well, if you've finished, we'll join the ladies.

Did you hear the one about...? Yes, 40 years ago.

Bosinney?

Well?

If you've nothing better to do on sunday,

come down to Robin hill with me.

I'd like your opinion on a site.

Are you going to build?

I might. But don't speak of it.

I won't.

Why ask me? You could afford one of the swells.

Do you want to come or not?

Of course. Tell me, is it because I'm engaged to June?

Partly, I suppose.

That's one of the things I like about the Forsytes.

They stick together.

Robin hill, that's 12 miles.

How will your wife like being so far out?

I hope she'll approve of anything I choose to do.

I hope so too.

But then women are the devil, aren't they?

Well, I'll see you on sunday.

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