The Barretts of Wimpole Street

Almighty Father giver of all good gifts...

... who of thy divine providence

has provided thy unworthy servants...

... with all things necessary to their bodily sustenance,

Grant, we beseech thee, spiritual grace...

... that we may enjoy it in

quietness of spirit as proof of Thy bounty...

... and render unto Thee

most humble and hearty thank. Amen

No, my dear. We doctors can't do everything.

Oh, my dear Dr. Chambers, you've done a great deal.

Yes, but now it's your turn.

You've got to help. You've got to want to get well.

Oh, if I could, I'd be downstairs now

having dinner with pa and the others.

But if you shut a person up

in one room for years on end...

... you can't very well expect

to find her bursting with life and vigor.

Tell me, Miss Elizabeth,

have you ventured on your feet at all lately ?

No, hardly at all.

Sometimes when I'm feeling venturesome,

my maid supports me across the room.

You know, the fact is a change

from these surroundings would do you a world of good.

Italy is the place for you.

Italy...

Oh, no, doctor. This is my Italy.

Rubbish ! That's just it.

You don't want to go anywhere,

you don't want to see anybody.

Confounded, my dear.

Isn't there something you want to do ?

Yes, and I'm doing it.

I'm writing poetry.

And there are those

who think it isn't such bad poetry.

Mr. Robert Browning has sent me several kind letters of approval.

Browning ?

Never heard of him.

Oh, you will, some day.

I daresay. Well, I'm glad at least

there is something you care about.

Eve if it's only poetry ?

Yes, only don't overtax yourself.

All right. One small verse to be written

an hour after each meal with a little water.

Oh, doctor, that reminds me.

Sit down a minute.

Do you remember papa suggesting to you

that a certain kind of beer called Porter might do me good ?

Yes, and an excellent suggestion, too.

Oh, forgive me. But it was nothing of the kind.

I've had to drink it twice a day

and in consequence my life has become one long misery.

Bless my soul.

I'm not exaggerating, one long misery.

You poor little lady.

It's no use my appealing to papa

But if you did, Dr. Chambers,

suggest to him that something else might be equally beneficial...

What would you say to

a couple of glasses of hot milk as a substitute ?

I hate milk, but I'll drink it all day long

if you'll only rescue me from Porter.

Come in.

Beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth.

May I take the tray now ?

Yes, Wilson.

Well, goodbye, Miss Elizabeth.

Goodbye, doctor, and you won't forget...

Eh ?

P-O-R-T-E-R.

I'll speak to him about it now.

Oh, thank you, doctor, thank you.

Goodbye, dear. Goodbye, old man.

Good night.

Thank God, away with it !

What, miss ?

The Porter, Quick take it away

and never mention the word to me again.

Very good, miss.

Since you haven't had your Porter...

I told you never to mention the word to me again.

Now, take it away, please. Please.

Very good, Miss Ba.

Hello, dear. May we come in ?

Yes, come in.

How was dinner ? Was papa... ?

He was, and dinner was awful.

Awful awful, awful.

Oh, Ba, dear, I do hope for all our sakes

that Dr. Chambers' report of you isn't too good.

It won't be.

Oh, darling.

Forgive me, dearest.

You know I didn't mean it, don't you ?

But any good news seems to depress him so.

It isn't pa's fault, I suppose.

In his way he loves us all.

In his way...

Captain Cook ? Is he nice ?

He seems quite nice.

I can't tell, of course. He isn't allowed to call.

Do you think it's serious ?

Oh, Ba, I hope not.

Do you remember when young Mr. Paul Frey

wanted to marry her two years ago ?

The dreadful scene with papa.

He's there.

Oh, Ba, I wish you could see him.

So drawn. So soldierly.

I can imagine.

It's so mean. He'll wait there for hours.

Just hoping that I can slip out for a moment.

And so I will.

But Henrietta. Papa ?

Oh, I know.

It's dreadfully imprudent, dear. And not very ladylike.

I don't care.

I don't care ! I...

Hello, Ba dear. I've just cccome to see

how you are and to wwwish you good night.

Come in.

Come in, Henry.

Ba, my dear, how are you ?

Better, thank you.

How's our dear tonight

How's our dear Ba tonight ?

Alfred.

How are you, Ba ?

I do think you're looking a little better.

Do you think so ?

What do you say, Charles ?

What ?

Looking better. More herself.

Well, Septimus.

How's Ba tonight ?

The doctor's just been here

and I'm afraid he wasn't too pleased with you.

No ?

Not looking quite so well, is she, Albert ?

On the contrary, I think she's looking considerably better.

So does Charles. don't you, Charles ?

What ?

Come in, George.

My dear.

How's the world's greatest poetess ?

The world's greatest poetess is much better, thank you.

Hello, Flush, old chum.

Come in.

A note for Mr. George.

I wonder what's in the note.

A note ?

From the master, sir.

Thank you.

When papa starts sending out notes from his study...

... the crowds must draw. Read it for us !

Hear ye. Hear ye ! Hear ye ! This is undoubtedly a royal decree.

Given at our study at 50 Wimpole Street on this

the 19th day of November, 1845. God save papa !

What is it, George ?

You'll all be interested to learn that papa

is going to Plymouth on business this weekend...

And what ? Go on !

And that he's not expected to return for at least a fortnight.

George, will you Polk ?

Not a chance.

Well, I'll Polk.

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