The Barchester Chronicles

Archdeacon Grantly:
Now for heaven's sake, don't let's have a division in the ranks, unless you wish to be ruined quietly.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
If I am to be ruined, I'd much rather be ruined quietly.

Archdeacon Grantly:
This appears to be the gist of the matter...

Bishop Grantly:
You mean to say, amongst all these documents there is a gist?

Rev. Septimus Harding:
It seems to be a very fine legal quibble.

Archdeacon Grantly:
Sir Abraham specializes in fine legal quibbles.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
I am safe because the church has more money than the reformers. And because of a fine legal quibble, I'm safe.

Archdeacon Grantly:
Yes.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
Does Sir Abraham say anything about the morality of the situation?

Archdeacon Grantly:
Certainly not! The legal profession does not concern itself with morality.

Bishop Grantly:
Our department, is it not?

Rev. Septimus Harding:
Forgive me, Bishop, Archdeacan: if the world considers me to be a thief, it is of small comfort to know that a "fine legal quibble" says that I am not! Excuse me.

[exits]

Archdeacon Grantly:
My father in law can be a very difficult person.

Bishop Grantly:
He has persistent bouts of Christianity.

Sir Abraham Haphazard:
Give up this idea, Mr. Harding. A man is never the best judge of his own position.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
A man is the best judge of his own feelings. I would rather beg than see those words written about me in the Jupiter, and know that the man who wrote those words has truth on his side. My God knows whether I love my daughter, but I would rather that she and I begged in the streets, than that she should live in comfort on money which is rightly the property of the poor! I'm sorry. And now you should know that from tomorrow, I shall no longer be Warden of Hiram's Hospital.

Sir Abraham Haphazard:
You should sleep on this, Mr. Harding. Make no hasty decisions.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
I have slept on it. I have done more than sleep upon it, I have lain awake on it, and that night after night. I found I could not sleep upon it. But now - now that I have made my decision, I think I shall sleep again. I shall sleep tonight.

Susan Grantly:
What are you going to live on?

Rev. Septimus Harding:
God that feedeth the young ravens will take care of me also.

Archdeacon Grantly:
Pish! If the ravens persisted in refusing the food prepared for them, they wouldn't be fed.

Bishop Grantly:
We need you in the town.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
Do you really think so?

Bishop Grantly:
Yes, to talk to, to take wine with.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
And to poke the fire.

[walks over to the fireplace]

Bishop Grantly:
If you would be so kind. You know, when anybody else does that, the room fills with smoke. I think it is because you are a pure man adrift among sinners. Sinners are so much easier to cope with.

Rev. Obadiah Slope:
And the bishop is generally unhappy about the state of the locks.

Archdeacon Grantly:
Locks? Specific locks, my lord, or locks in general?

Bishop Proudie:
Uh, merely one or two locks, er, on the outhouses.

Rev. Obadiah Slope:
Specifically, the coal house, the wood house, and the locks on the servants' bedrooms.

Mrs. Proudie:
Indeed, the locks in the entire building leave much to be desired.

Bishop Proudie:
Of course, a great deal depends upon a lock, but equally so, er, uh, upon the key. Well, hem, ha-hah, I always think that the fault - if fault there be - frequently lies, er, well, with the key, hmm, rather than the lock.

Bishop Proudie:
The canon-in-residence is not *in* residence.

Rev. Obadiah Slope:
I understand he is in Italy.

Bishop Proudie:
Italy?

Rev. Obadiah Slope:
On the banks of Lake Como.

Mrs. Proudie:
Whatever is a canon in residence doing on the banks of Lake Como?

Rev. Obadiah Slope:
Apparently he collects butterflies.

Mrs. Proudie:
I cannot imagine the bishop looking kindly upon a canon in residence who spends his time collecting butterflies- especially Italian butterflies.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
If there is no music, there is no mystery. If there is no mystery, there is no God. If there is no mystery, there is no faith. Have I lived for sixty years on a misunderstanding?

Eleanor Bold:
It seems a remarkable coincidence that you should return minutes after Mr. Slope's departure.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
Not at all a coincidence, my dear. I walked up and down at a safe distance until I was quite sure he had gone.

Eleanor Bold:
It is an awful lot of trouble to go to, father.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
I would do the same for Mr. Slope anytime.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
I have listened to the word of Obadiah Slope. More important, I have listened to the music of his soul, and I found the melody somewhat tasteless.

Mary Bold:
But you must consider the possibility that you misunderstand him.

Rev. Septimus Harding:
Yes. And you must consider the possibility that I understand him TOTALLY! And that is why I prefer to wait upon the bishop and his decision - which, I suppose, means Mrs. Proudie's decision.