All language subtitles for Byron (2003), part 1.eng

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!