All language subtitles for Brideshead Revisited - S01E02 - Home and Abroad

Here we are.

Hello, darling.

I wouldn't put it past Sebastian

to have started dinner.

Thank you, Wilcox.

Well, darling,
I've collected your chum.

I thought you were dying.

I thought so too.

The pain was excruciating.

Julia,
do you think if you asked him,

Wilcox might give us
champagne tonight?

I hate champagne.

And Mr. Ryder
has already had dinner.

Mr. Ryder?

Mr. Ryder?

Charles drinks champagne
at all hours.

I believed myself
very near to heaven

during those languid days
at Brideshead.

And that gives me a craving
for champagne.

It is thus I like to remember
Sebastian as he was that summer,

when we wandered alone
through that enchanted palace.

Is the dome by Vanburgh?

It looks later.

Oh, Charles,
don't be such a tourist.

What does it matter when
it was built if it's pretty?

It's the sort of thing
that interests me.

Oh, dear.

I thought I'd cured you
of all that,

the terrible Mr. Collins.

Hmm?

Sebastian in his wheelchair

spinning down
the box-edged walks

of the kitchen gardens
in search of alpine strawberries

and warm figs,

propelling himself through
the succession of hot houses

from scent to scent
and climate to climate

to choose orchids
for our buttonholes.

It was an aesthetic education
to live within those walls.

Since the days when,
as a schoolboy,

I used to bicycle around
the neighboring parishes

rubbing brasses
and photographing fonts,

I had nursed a love
of architecture,

but my sentiments at heart
were insular and medieval.

This was my conversion
to the baroque.

Ahhhl.

Why is this house
called a castle?

'Cause it used to be one,
till they moved it.

What can you mean?

Just that.

It used to be a castle
about a mile away

down by the village.

Then when they took a fancy
to the valley,

they pulled the castle down,

carted it stone by stone
up here,

and built a new house.

I'm rather glad they did,
aren't you?

If it was mine,
I couldn't live anywhere else.

Hmm.

It isn't really mine.

I mean,
just at the moment it is,

but usually,
it's full of ravening beasts.

If only it could
be like this always,

always alone, always summer,

the fruit always ripe,

and Aloysius
always in a good temper.

Ahhl.

Charles.

Charlesl.

Aloysiusl.

How do we stop this thing?

Are you all right?

- Very funny.
- How's the ankle?

Very, very funny.

Come on.

I suppose you'll be in bed
for months now.

One day, in a cupboard,
we found a box of oil paints.

Mummy bought them these paints.

Somebody told her that you
couldn't appreciate the beauty

of the world
unless you tried to paint it.

Sebastian gave me the idea
of decorating the garden room.

She couldn't draw at all.

The colors in the tubes
were very bright,

but every time Mummy mixed them,
they came out a kind of khaki.

Be reasonable.

Well, you're ahead of me anyway.

Charles,
you do that every single time.

It's a grand room.

I knew little of oil painting

and learned its ways
as I worked.

By luck and the happy mood
of the moment,

the brush seemed to do
what was wanted of it,

and in a week, it was finished.

Not bad, Charles.

Do you think your mother
would mind?

Well, we won't know
till she sees it, will we?

One day, we went down
to the cellars with Wilcox

and saw the empty bays which had
once held a vast store of wine.

A lot of this old wine
just wants drinking up.

We should have laid down
the 18s and 20s by now.

Her ladyship says
to ask Lord Brideshead.

He says to ask his lordship.

His lordship says to ask
the lawyers.

That's how we get low.

Oh, I know there's enough
to last ten years,

but what happens then?

That's what I want to know.

Wilcox welcomed our interest.

We had bottles brought up
from every bin,

and it was during those tranquil
evenings with Sebastian

that I first made
a real acquaintance with wine.

Now,
for the fullest of appreciation,

first warm the glass gently
at a candle flame.

Fill it a third high
with Chateau Lafitte, 1899.

There.

Swirl the wine gently
round the glass.

That is a claret.

It's a burgundy.

I have a burgundy in my hand.

You didn't
have you just poured this?

- I have claret in my hand.
- This is burgundy.

This is burgundy.
I know this is burgundy.

Yes. This was claret.

The glass that I opportun-

Inopportunately dropped out
of my hand,

this legless glass.

This is my glass.

Charles, have another biscuit
and try again.

No, this is claret.

This is a king of clarets.

It was a brother,
definitely a brother.

Go in there.

Up to the light.

Under the nose.

Breathe.

It's like a flute...

by still water.

Ought we to be drunk
every night?

Yes, I think we should.

Yes, I think we should too.

On Sundays, a neighboring priest
called to say Mass.

Sebastian's faith was an enigma
to me at the time

but not one that I felt
particularly concerned to solve.

I took it as a foible,
like his teddy bear.

He's such an old bore,
Father Phipps.

He kept me back half an hour
after Mass

talking about cricket.

Do you want some cold coffee?

Yes, please.

It's so difficult
being a Catholic.

Does it make much difference
to you?

Of course, all the time.

Well, I can't say
I've noticed it.

Are you struggling
against temptation?

You don't seem to be
much more virtuous than me.

My dear Charles,
I'm much, much wickeder.

Well, then.

Who was it used to pray, "Oh,
God, make me good but not yet?"

I don't know.
You, I should think.

Here.

I do... all the time.

But it's not to do that.

Good Lord,
another naughty scoutmaster.

I suppose they try

and make you believe
lots of nonsense.

Is it nonsense?

I wish it were.

It sometimes seems
particularly sensible to me.

My dear Sebastian, you can't
seriously believe it all.

Can't I?

No, I mean about Christmas

and the star and the ox
and the ass and the three kings.

Oh, yes, I believe all that.
It's a lovely idea.

But you can't believe things
because they're lovely ideas.

Well, I do.

That's how I believe.

Do you believe in prayer?

Oh, Charles, don't be a bore.

I'm trying to read about
this woman in Hull

who's using an instrument.

You started it.
I was just getting interested.

Well,
I'll never mention it again.

But he did ten days later,

when our peace was disturbed

on the occasion
of the annual agricultural fair.

The house, which seemed to have
slept during the past weeks,

awoke to a flurry of activity,
and Brideshead,

Sebastian's elder brother,
came down to preside.

Queer fellow, my brother.

Now he's here, I think we should
stay out of the way.

He's in his element today.

He's a very big part
of the agricultural show.

He looks normal enough to me.

Oh, but he's not.

If you only knew.

He's much the craziest of us,

only it never comes out at all.

He's all twisted inside.

He wanted to be a priest,
you know.

I didn't.

I think he still does.

He nearly became a Jesuit.

It was awful for Mummy.

She couldn't exactly
try and stop him,

but, of course, it was
the last thing she wanted.

I mean, imagine what people
would have said.

"The eldest son."

it's not even as if it were me.

Oh.

And poor Papa.

The Church had been
enough trouble to him

without that happening.

I wonder if I'd have been like
that if I'd gone to Stoneyhurst.

I should have gone,

but Papa went abroad
before I was old enough.

The first thing he insisted upon
was my going to Eton.

Has your father
given up religion?

Well, he's had to, in a way.

He only took it up
when he married Mummy.

When he went off,

he left it behind...

with the rest of us.

You must meet him.

He's a very nice man.

Now, don't look down, Charles.

So, you see, we're a mixed
family religiously.

Brideshead and Cordelia
are both fervent Catholics.

He's miserable.
She's bird-happy.

Julia and I
are both semi-heathens.

I'm happy.

I rather think Julia isn't.

Mummy is popularly believed
to be a saint,

and Papa is excommunicated.

I wouldn't know which of them
were happy.

Anyway, however you look at it,

happiness doesn't seem to have
much to do with it,

and that's all I want.

I wish I liked Catholics more.

They seem just like
everyone else.

My dear Charles,
that's exactly what they're not,

particularly in this country,
where they're so few.

I mean, it's not just
they're a clique.

Everything they think
is important is different

from other people.

I mean,
they try and cover it up,

but it comes out all the time.

So, you see, it's difficult
for semi-heathens,

like Julia and me.

Sebastianl.

Sebastianl.

God, that sounds like
my sister, Cordelia.

Cover yourself up.

Where are you?

Go away, Cordelia.

We're not decent.

Yes, you are.

I guessed you were here.

You didn't know I was about,
did you?

I came down with Bridey.

I stopped off
to see Francis Xavier.

He's my pig.

And then I had lunch
with Colonel Fender

and then on to the show.

Francis Xavier
got a special mention,

but that beast Randal got first

with a very
mangy-looking animal.

Darling Sebastian.

It is lovely to see you.

How's your poor foot?

Say "how do you do"
to Mr. Ryder.

Sorry. How do you do?

I am sorry about your pig.

They're all getting
pretty boozy down there,

so I came away.

I say, who's been painting
the Garden Hall?

I went in to get
a shooting stick and saw it.

Be careful what you say.
It's Mr. Ryder.

But it's lovely.

I say, did you really?

You are clever.

Oh,
why don't you both come down?

There's nobody about.

Bridey's bound to bring
the judges in.

No, no, he won't.

I heard him make arrangements
not to.

He's very sour today.

He didn't want me to have dinner
with you, but I fixed that.

Oh, do come on.

I'll be in the nursery
when you're fit to be seen.

We were a somber little party
that evening.

Brideshead was only three years
older than Sebastian and I,

but he seemed
of another generation.

I hope Sebastian
is seeing to the wine.

Wilcox is apt to be rather
grudging when he's on his own.

He's treated us very liberally.

I'm delighted to hear it.

You're fond of wine?

Very.

I wish I were.

It's such a bond with other men.

At Oxford, I tried to get drunk
once or twice.

But I didn't enjoy it.

Beer and whisky I find
even less appetizing.

Events like today's show are
in consequence a torment to me.

I like wine.

My sister Cordelia's last report

said that she was not only
the worst girl in the school

but the worst
there had ever been

in the memory of the oldest nun.

That's because
the Reverend Mother said

that if I didn't
keep my room tidy,

Our Lady would be very grieved,

and I told her
that our Blessed Lady

didn't give two hoots
whether I kept my gym shoes

on the left or the right
of my dancing shoes.

Reverend Mother was livid.

Cordelia,
Our Lady cares about obedience.

Bridey, don't be so pious.

We've an atheist in our midst.

Agnostic.

Really?

What were the...

entries like this year?

Were you pleased?

No, the standard
was remarkably low,

not a decent animal
to chose between.

If I'd had my way, no prizes
would have been awarded.

It would have served
Randal right.

Cordelia.

By the way, did I tell you
I'd seen the Bishop of London?

No, Bridey, you didn't.

He wants to close the chapel.

He couldn't.

Do you think Mummy
would let him?

There are so few of us.

It isn't as though
we're old Catholics

with everyone on the estate
coming to Mass.

Does that mean we're going
to have to drive miles

on winter mornings?

We must have
the Blessed Sacraments here.

I like popping in
at odd times, so does Mummy.

So do I, but it'll have to go
sooner or later.

Perhaps after Mummy's time.

No, thank you.

The point is

whether it wouldn't be better
to let it go now.

You're an artist, Ryder.

What do you think of it
aesthetically?

I think it's beautiful.

Is it good art?

Well, I don't quite know
what you mean.

Oh, Bridey,
stop being so Jesuitical.

I'm sorry; I thought it was
an interesting point.

Well, if you'll excuse me.

I must take Sebastian away
for half an hour.

There are some family matters
to deal with.

It's time you were in bed,
Cordelia.

Must digest first.

I'm not used to gorging
like this at night.

I'll talk to Charles.

Charles?

Charles?

Mr. Ryder to you, child.

Send her to bed if she's a bore.

Are you really an agnostic?

Does your family always talk
about religion all the time?

Not all the time.

It's a subject that comes up
naturally, doesn't it?

Does it?

It never has with me before.

Then perhaps you are
an agnostic.

I'll pray for you.

Thank you.

I'm sure it's more
than I deserve.

Oh, I've got harder cases
than you.

I've got Lloyd George,
the Kaiser,

and Olive Banks.

Who's she?

She got bunked last term
from the convent.

The Reverend Mother
found something

that she'd been writing.

If you weren't an agnostic,

I should ask you
for five shillings

to buy a black goddaughter.

Nothing would surprise me
about your religion.

It's a new thing
that a priest started last term.

You send five bob
to some nuns in Africa,

and they christen a baby
and name her after you.

I've got six black Cordelias.

Isn't that lovely?

That night, I began to realize

how little I really knew
of Sebastian

and to understand why he had
always sought to keep me apart

from the rest of his life.

He was like a friend made
on board ship on the high seas.

Now we had come
to his home port.

Sorry I've been ignoring you.

Bridey's got all these papers
he wants me to take to Papa.

It's all right.

I had a nice talk with Cordelia.

She's going to pray for me.

She made a novena for her pig.

Now, come on. We must pack.

I've decided you'd better come
to Venice with me.

But that's absurd.
I haven't got any money.

I've thought of that.

We live off Papa
when we're there.

The lawyers pay my fare
plus first class and a sleeper.

We can both travel third
for that.

You see, it's fixed.

But I haven't got any clothes
for Venice.

Oh, Charles.

And so Sebastian and I
came to Venice.

We had traveled on the long,
cheap route by boat and train

on wooden seats in hot carriages
filled with peasants

and the smell of garlic
as the sun mounted higher

and the country began to glow
with heat.

You've been here before?

No.

I came once from the sea.

This is the way to arrive.

Hello, Plender.

Hello, milord. How are you?

Very well, thank you.

Mr. Ryder.

- How do you do, sir?
- How do you do?

We expected you
on the morning express.

His lordship thought you must
have looked up the train wrong.

Ah, well, we came third.

His lordship said to tell you
that he was at the Lido.

Did he?

Presto, Maria.

Si, si.

This is your room, milord,
the one you had before.

Right, thank you.

Mr. Ryder, you're next door.

Scuse.

Mosquitoes.

Mostica, not now.

Make hot wash.

If I may, sir.

It's this Venetian plumbing,
milord.

It's not to be trusted.

I'll get some hot water presto.

Presto, Maria.

It's a bit bleak.

Bleak?

Come here.

Now, look at that.

I don't think
you could call it bleak.

Hot wash.

Not so hot wash.

Better look respectable
to meet Papa.

Plender, is my father alone?

- At the moment, milord, yes.
- Good.

Charles,
we needn't dress for dinner.

Darling Papa.

Goodness,
how young you're looking.

This is Charles, Papa.

Charles, don't you think
my father very handsome?

How do you do?

How do you do, sir?

Whoever looked up your train
made a betise.

There's no such one.

We came on it.

You can't have done.

Only a slow train
from Milan at that time.

I've just been to the Lido.

I've taken to playing tennis
there with a professional

in the early part
of the evening.

It's the only time of day
when it's not too hot.

How very energetic of you, Papa.

I hope you boys
will be comfortable.

My room's wonderful.

This house was built for
the comfort of one person only.

I am that person,
I have a room this size

and a very splendid
dressing room besides.

And Cara has taken possession
of the only other suitable room.

- How is she?
- Cara?

Oh, she's gone to visit
some Americans

at a villa on the Brenta Canal.

She'll be back with us tomorrow.

So what shall we do tonight,
Papa?

Oh, we could go to the Luna,

though it's getting very filled
up with English people now.

Would it be too dull
to stay here?

Cara is bound to want
to go out tomorrow.

No, no. That would be lovely.

Well, we dine at 8:00.

We could go out
and have a drink first.

I had been full of curiosity
to meet Lord Marchmain.

When I did so,

I was first struck
by his normality,

which, as I saw more of him,
I found to be studied.

It was as though he were
conscious of a Byronic aura

which he considered to be
in bad taste

and was at pains to suppress.

Why, I wonder,

are the ltalians always supposed
to be so good at sweets?

We had an ltalian pastry cook
at Brideshead

until my father's day.

Then we changed to an Austrian,
so much better.

Now I suppose
there's a British matron

with beefy forearms.

How do you two propose
to spend your time here,

bathing or sightseeing?

Well, I should like to do
some sightseeing.

Mm, Cara will love that.

You can't do both, you know.

Charles is very keen
on painting.

Yes?

Yes.

Any particular Venetian painter?

Bellini.

Ah, which one?

I didn't know there were two.

There are three, to be precise.

Painting then was very much
a family business.

How was England when you left?

It's been lovely this summer.

Was it?

Was it?

It's my tragedy that I abominate
the English countryside.

I suppose it's very wrong to
inherit great responsibilities

and be entirely indifferent
to them.

I am all that the socialists
would have me be

and a great stumbling block
to my own party.

However, no doubt my elder son
will change all that

if they leave him anything
to inherit.

He's rather a poppet, isn't he?

Hmm.

Don't worry.

He's really very sweet
underneath.

He does frighten me a bit.

You'll soon get used to that.

Well, shall we walk
or take a cab?

Oh, I think a cab.

Where do you want to go?

I'll show you something very,
very special.

The Bridge of Sighs, St. Marks.

Lord Marchmain's mistress
appeared the next day.

Bon giorno, Cara.

Bon giorno.

I was completely ignorant
of women

and could not with any certainty
recognize a prostitute

in the streets.

I was not, therefore,
indifferent to the fact

of living under the same roof
as an adulterous couple,

but I was old enough
to hide my interest.

Lord Marchmain's mistress,
therefore,

found me with a multitude

of conflicting expectations
about her,

all of which were,
for the moment,

disappointed by her appearance.

How lovely to see you,
Sebastian.

You must be Charles.

How do you do?

My dear.

Alex, Vittorio Corombona
has asked us to her ball.

Shall we accept?

It's very kind of her,
but as you know, I do not dance.

No, but for the boys.

It's a thing to be seen,
the Corombona Palace

lit up for a ball,

and one doesn't know
how many such balls

there will be in the future.

The boys must do as they like,
but we must refuse.

And I have asked
Mrs. Hacking Brunner

to luncheon.

She has a charming daughter.

Sebastian and his friend
will like her.

Sebastian and his friend

are more interested in Bellini
than heiresses.

Oh, but that's what
I've always wished.

I have been here more times
than I can count,

and Alex has never let me
inside San Marco, even.

Let's become tourists.

There's an extraordinary
little man,

Daisy Guzzoli's uncle.

He knows everybody.

He'll make a marvelous guide.

Mr. Charles Ryder.

Ah, and now,
off to see our works of art,

Tiepolo...

So we became tourists.

All doors were open to Cara's
little Venetian nobleman.

With him and a guidebook,
she came with us,

flagging sometimes
but never giving up.

A neat, prosaic figure amid the
immense splendors of the place.

As a child, I had no religion.

I was taken to church weekly

and at school
attended chapel daily.

But as though in compensation,

from the time I went
to my public school,

I was excused church
on the holidays.

The view implicit
in my education

was that the basic narrative
of Christianity

had long been exposed as a myth

and that opinion was now divided
as to whether

its ethical teaching
was of present value,

a division in which
the main weight went against it.

Religion was a hobby

which some people professed
and others did not.

At the best,
it was slightly ornamental.

At the worst,

it was the province of complexes
and inhibitions,

catchwords of the decade,

and of the intolerance,
hypocrisy,

and sheer stupidity
attributed to it for centuries.

No one had ever suggested to me
that these quaint observances

expressed a coherent
philosophical system

and intransigent
historical claims,

nor, had they done so,

would I have been much
interested.

My father did not go to church
except on family occasions,

and then with derision.

My mother, I think, was devout.

It once seemed odd to me
that she should have thought it

her duty to leave
my father and me

and go off with an ambulance
to Serbia

to die of exhaustion
in the snow in Bosnia.

But I later recognized
some such spirit in myself.

Later, too,
I have come to accept claims

which then, in 1923,

I never troubled to examine

and to accept the supernatural
as the real.

But I was aware of no such needs
that summer.

Some days,
life kept pace with the gondola

as we nosed through
the side canals

and the boatman uttered

his plaintive musical bird cry
of warning;

On other days
with the speed boat

bouncing over the lagoon
in a stream of sunlit foam.

Every morning after breakfast,
Sebastian, Cara and I

would leave
the palace by the street door

and wander through a maze
of bridges and squares

and alleys to Florien's
for coffee

and watched the grave crowds
crossing and recrossing

under the Campanile.

I was drowning in honey,
stingless.

The fortnight in Venice
passed quickly and sweetly,

perhaps too sweetly.

It left a confused memory
of fierce sunlight on the sands,

of cool marble interiors,

of water everywhere
lapping on smooth stone

reflected in a dapple of light
on painted ceilings,

of a night
at the Corombona Palace

such as Byron might have known.

I remember most particularly
one conversation

towards the end of my visit.

Sebastian had gone
to play tennis with his father,

and Cara at last admitted
to fatigue.

We sat in the late afternoon

at the windows overlooking
the Grand Canal.

It was the first time we had
been alone together.

I think you're very fond
of Sebastian.

Certainly.

I know of these
romantic friendships

of the English and the Germans.

They are not Latin.

I think they are very good

if they don't go on too long.

It is a kind of love
that comes to children

before they know its meaning.

In England,
it comes a little later,

when you are almost men.

I think I like that.

I think it's better
to have this first kind of love

for a boy than for a girl.

Alex, you see,
had it for a girl, his wife.

Do you think he loves me?

Really, Cara, you do ask
the most embarrassing questions.

How should I know?

I assume.

He does not,

but not the littlest piece.

But then why does he stay
with you?

Because I protect him
from Lady Marchmain.

He hates her.

But you can have no conception
how he hates her.

My friend,
he is a volcano of hate.

He can't breathe the same air
as she.

He won't set foot in England
because it's her home.

He can scarcely be happy
with Sebastian

because he's her son.

But Sebastian hates her too.

Oh, no.
I think you're wrong there.

He may not admit it to you.

He may not admit it to himself.

They are full of hate,

hate of themselves,

Alex, and his family.

And how has she deserved
all this hate?

She's done nothing
except to be loved by someone

who was not grown up.

When people hate
with all that energy,

it's something in themselves
they're hating.

Alex is hating all the illusions
of boyhood:

Innocence,

God, hope.

Sebastian is in love
with his own childhood.

That will make him very unhappy-

his teddy bear, his nanny.

And he is 19 years old.

How good it is to sit
in the shade and talk of love.

Come, let's go and meet them.

Sebastian drinks too much.

I suppose we both do.

Oh, with you, it doesn't matter.

I've watched you together.

With Sebastian, it's different.

He'll become a drunkard

if someone doesn't come
to stop him.

I have known so many.

Alex was nearly a drunkard
when I met him.

It's in the blood.

I see it in the way
Sebastian drinks.

It's not your way.

Cara.

English weather.

Well, thank God.

It's driven the English away.

It's sad for the boys' last day.

We arrived back
the day before term began.

On the way from Charring Cross,

I dropped Sebastian in front
of Marchmain House,

his family's London home
on the edge of Green Park.

Good morning.

Well, Marchers.

I won't ask you in,

'cause the place is probably
full of my family.

See you in Oxford.

Have a good journey up tomorrow.

The taxi took me all alone
to Bayswater,

where my father greeted me with
his usual air of mild regret.

Here today and gone tomorrow.

I seem to see very little
of you.

Perhaps it's dull for you here.

How else could it be otherwise?

Have you enjoyed yourself?

Very much.

I went to Venice.

Yes, yes, I suppose so.

The weather was fine?

Yes, Father.

That friend you were
so concerned about,

did he die?

No, I went to Venice with him.

I'm very thankful.

You should have written
to tell me.

I worried about him so much.