The Bishop's Wife

Hark! The herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn King

Peace on earth and mercy mild

God and sinners reconciled

Joyful, all ye nations rise

Join the triumph of the skies

With th'angelic host proclaim

Christ is born in Bethlehem

Hark! The herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn King

Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace

Hail the Sun of Righteousness

Light and life to all He brings

Ris'n with healing in His wings...

- Oh. This is very kind of you.

- It's a privilege.

- Which way are you going?

- Over there. The Mutual Building.

- My doctor is in there. I have hopes.

- Fine.

- I'm all right now.

- Good luck to you.

- Thank you. Merry Christmas to you.

- Merry Christmas.

Mother, please lift me up! Please.

All right then. Just for a minute.

Look at that doll. Look at

the funny choo-choo train.

Come on now, darling. We have to go.

Oh, my baby! Oh, my baby!

Oh, my baby. Oh, you saved her.

Oh, thank God you saved my

baby. How can I ever thank you?

- Don't try. Just don't let it happen

again. - I promise I won't.

- Remember that. Now on your way.

- Yes.

It closely resembles its noble cousin

- the California red fir.

It's botanically dissimilar.

Pay me heed, Maggenti.

This is a specimen of the white fir

- Abies concolor.

Surely you, a native

Roman, know your Latin?

You wanna buy or not?

- Well, if it isn't my dear, beautiful

Julia. - Hello, Professor.

- What are you doing in this part of town?

- Buying a Christmas tree.

- Hello, Mr Maggenti.

- Mrs Brougham.

How much do you charge

for this miserable weed?

- $1.85. - $1.85! For

this half-hearted twig?

I shall pay you ten cents a

branch or take my trade elsewhere.

- What can I do for you, Mrs Brougham?

- You can save me that tree.

- The big one right by the door.

- OK.

Every Christmas for the past 18 years,

Maggenti and I have been

re-enacting the same argument.

I didn't know you celebrated Christmas.

I thought you had no religion.

That's true, my dear, but I

like to have a Christmas tree

because it reminds me of my childhood.

I feel, for some reason, that this is a

good time of year for looking backwards.

Can you imagine me ever

having been a child?

How's Henry? I haven't

seen him for some time.

Oh, he's well, thank you.

He's terribly tired and worried.

Is he having difficulty

raising money for the cathedral?

Yes. It's slow work.

- How's your book coming?

- Oh, splendidly.

Greatest history of Rome since Gibbon.

But, of course, nobody will read it.

Now, my good man, I do not choose to

prolong this tawdry bickering any further.

All right. Ten cents a branch.

- It's $1.40.

- Very well, my venal friend.

Here is your blood money.

Mr Maggenti, will you send

the tree up on Christmas Eve?

- But I don't want my daughter to see it.

- Don't worry.

I send it when the bambino

goes to bed. Merry Christmas.

- Merry Christmas!

- Merry Christmas! Come on.

There's something I'd like you to

give Henry for his cathedral fund.

That has been my lucky piece - not that

it's brought me luck, except knowing you.

It's an old Roman coin. I picked it up

years ago in Brindisi. It has little value.

- It's a wonderful contribution.

- Nonsense.

It might be called the "widow's mite" if it

weren't for the fact that I'm not a widow.

Why, Julia, this is

no occasion for tears.

It's stopped snowing.

If only we could spend Christmas

back here where we were so happy.

- With you and all of our old friends.

- Now, now, now.

Good night, Professor. I'll

see you again very soon.

It can't be soon enough.

Good night, Julia.

Why, Professor! How fine to see you again

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