All language subtitles for The.Great.S02E08.Five.Days.720p.HULU.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-TEPES[eztv.re]

I inaugurate this new salon

with the revelation
that is Shakey's paintings.

It is an act of love,
for when you look at each painting,

they shimmer with humanity.

They are a gift to us from one we lost.

Lovely speech, darling.

To remind everyone
of your greatest failure is bold.

Don't play that!

We abhor Beethoven. Hm.

Abhor, not adore.
Please don't be confused.

Something else.

Berezovsky is always good.

Mm.

Marvelous.

Thank God you're here
to guide these wayward souls.

Berezovsky. Brilliant.

How's your schnitzel?

Odd?

It's venison, not veal.

I found it odd at first,
but it grows on you.

We lose our refinements
one bad bite at a time.

Epicurus.

Is she sweating?

Ah.

- I believe so.
- Hmm.

Look at you, Marial, whisper, whisper.

Such a curious creature you are.

Judas, who got to sit at the table
for dessert.

Oh, Mother. That's not...

Anyone else would've cut your throat.

And yet here you are.

I think you've misconstrued the story.

- Do not prod the lioness.
- Really?

So, you helped push my naive daughter
into a coup attempt,

and then at the climactic moment,
just as all the plans were rolling out,

you told the Emperor,
thereby scuppering all the plans

in order to save your own neck
and be reinstated as a lady.

What did I get wrong?

Actually, a pretty good summation.

Thank you, Orlo.

And yet somehow here she sits,

with a mouthful of potato Dauphinois,

diamonds round her neck
and a whisper in her throat.

What other secrets do you carry?

None.

Everyone does their best
in times of war.

Mm, you did well not to have your head
rolling down a hill, Elizabeth.

Ah, Mother is just teasing.

Please don't explain me, darling,
it ruins the mystery.

Impossible.

Your beauty is a mystery
man can never solve,

only gaze upon it in hopes
of more revealing clues.

Oh, men are funny, aren't they?

They imagine themselves still young,
attractive, and virile

no matter what the age.

Ah! A special treat from the Americas.

Mm. CATHERINE:
A trader just brought them back.

They are called peanuts.

Mm. Marvelous.

Ah, aren't they?

I cannot stop eating them,

but then I eat dirt, flowers,

the occasional pickle
wrapped in skate wing.

Do not mind my Epicurus strangeness.

- Mm.
- But are they not great?

Mm. Indeed.

Indeed!

Huzzah!

Peanuts!

- Peanuts!
- To my mother!

Huzzah.

And how long will we have the pleasure
of your company, Joanna?

For as long as I nee...

For...

I...

Mother!

Take these.

What are they?

I can't remember
but they seem to cure almost everything.

Mm.

- Oh, Mother, are you all right?
I'm mortified.

I thought that was it
for a moment.

I thought you'd killed me.

Don't say that.

I'm sorry.

I need to rest, darling.

But there's a list...

of everyone you should kill.

Mother, they fought for me.

You don't know what they fought for.

All right, go now. Go, go.

Fuck!

Do not stare at me!

Let us go to work.
We will start with banning peanuts!

She makes me nervous.

Hmm.

She does send the Empress
into an unravel.

Mothers.

Well, thank God mine fucking died
if that is what it is.

Be wary, Marial,
of getting inside that bubble.

Remember Count Lasky.

You fucked that guy up.

I would walk in, and he'd be
fucking Mother in the face.

Later, I'd hear him working on her...
money, send Samsa away, lose weight.

I had to do something.

A boy should not see
his mother fucked in the face.

Indeed. It is scarring.

As were the 30 holes you put in him.

Unfortunately, I was all rage
and fire then.

Now, I'm fine though.

She's not herself around her mother.

She has it in for all of us.

We just need to ride her out.

She will get bored
of venison schnitzel and leave.

She is troubling, and she has a game,

more than "mother tortures daughter,"
but I cannot quite see it.

And she is turning Catherine against us,
inch by fucking inch, while we wait.

Patience, it's an underrated strategy.

So is a handful of peanuts
squashed into her big fat mouth.

I need to measure you.

- My stomach?
- Your opening.

You know it's, it's, it's, it's funny,
I was just thinking.

Sometimes I miss my mother.

Hmm.

Her being dead at an early age,

and sometimes I'm glad she's dead

as I have lived
my own life on my own terms.

Subtle.

What are you...?

We have some concerns.

Uh, seeing you with your mother,
you are not quite yourself.

We worry what she does to you.

You mean beside love me
beyond any human on this Earth,

care for me and my sisters
like we are precious fucking gems,

make a home for us and ignite a fire
in us to be the special ones we are?

Uh, she, she perhaps does not
understand us, is our point.

We worry she wants us dead.

Oh, she did give me a list
and you were on it.

- Oh, I'm first.
- Oh.

- Hm. Relax.
She has always wanted people dead.

For months once, she plotted
the death of our neighbor Hess,

as he had eyed Donna
in a way she found disturbing.

We would gather round
with tea and kugelhopf

and we would all have to think of ways
we could kill him and get away with it.

Fun game.

We just played chess.

She is protective of me.

Don't trouble yourselves.

Oh, Mother, are you feeling all right?

Quite fine.

I would not miss your checkup.

- Your rash is worse.
- That's interesting...

We have a small opening
of some six centimeters.

Oh, a frog?

It is well known here.

Ah, I'm so reassured.

Maybe it seems strange,
but I have become used to it.

Oh, gosh.

It's dead.

Shit!

What does that mean?
Is the baby all right?

It means you will give birth
in seven days.

I was about to say the same.

Oh, I love how you eat that.

- Oh. I...
- With sensual relish.

- Oh, just a fig.
Don't even like it actually.

Did you want something?

Yes, I did.

I was hungry.

Oh.

You have to tongue it.

Oh, uh...

Slowly.

To really release its perfumed juices.

Jesus Christ.

Ha!

Why fight it?

Your daughter?

I think you have a large appetite

that is not constrained by morality.

Moderation in all things, I always say.

You always say that?

No, first time actually.

I think we could have
a very happy family together.

Right.

A complicated version of family, but...

Well, a version where everyone
is happy and gets what they want.

Oh! There it is.

It will be intense, won't it?

You should go, I have...

soufflé class.

So handsome.

Peter the Great visited Germany once.

What a man.

You remind me of him.

Really?

Mm.

Women were weak-kneed,
and often splay-kneed.

No one has ever told me
I reminded them of him.

And Catherine likes you.

She could be a real asset to you.

You were born to rule.

I'm betting on part horse.

I'm betting on her dying.

Well, that's your heart,
not your head, Arkady.

But if she does...

Peter's on the throne, I kill Grigor.

I'm his number one.

And I kill Marial.

What? Why?

She's so fucking rude.

Two-to-one,
the Empress dies in childbirth.

Four-to-one, kid is part horse.

Eight-to-one, Vinodel kills him.

Possibly accidentally.

- So here it comes.
Do you think they'll make us godparents?

Us?

There is no us.

Ah, I keep forgetting
we're a figment of our imagination.

Exactly.

- Fuck me later?
- Love to.

Ten-to-one,
baby is tragically born with a vagina.

Four-to-one, a boy.
Twenty-to-one, part crocodile.

- Fucking hell.
- Yeah.

Avoided thinking about it, this day.

I have been trying to game it out for
weeks, every time I looked at her stomach.

Nineteen percent
of women die in childbirth.

Two-to-one seems quite good then.

Point is, if she dies, he comes back,
or Archie has some plan in the wings,

or other option, someone kills her and
Peter and tries to coup with the baby.

- The Portugal plan.
- Exactly.

Well, whoever ends up in power,
they still need an army.

But do they need you?

And what of me?

Oh, you're completely expendable.

So, every man for himself?

- Of course.
It's still Russia.

Vinodel loses tool inside Empress,
five-to-one.

For you, from Vinodel.

Take it when you wish
to quieten your libido.

Which is whenever Joanna is around.

Uh, it will have to be powerful stuff
as my libido is a fucking orchestra.

Take much then.

Do not touch that flame.

Mm.

Ah, my ears don't look like
that, fuckhead.

Hey, you ready?

Seven days, Grigor!

Seven days, I am to be a father!

I have not been this excited ever!

Ha! And I have killed many,
eaten fugu fish blindfolded,

and fucked every which way,

including once with George where I packed my
cock in ice until it was frozen and rock hard

and when I thrust it into her wet warmth,
we both came instantly,

and both agreed we saw some kind of
starburst behind our eyes in that instant.

- That's weird.
- Hm. What is?

Story didn't bother me.

Hm.

Fuck me, look at that fireplace.

Brilliant, isn't it?

- Slightly terrifying.
You don't think too much for a little kid?

For most kids certainly,
but for Paul, he will love it.

We will grill animal parts
over the open fire together

and then pull them out pretending
we are stealing them from an angry bear,

giving him an appreciation
for courage and open fire grilling.

- Huh.
- Mm.

I tell you what, Grigor,
I was born to be a father.

I feel it.

Let's go dig. It's time.

I don't want to do that.

You have to do that.

- I don't want to.
It seems fucking weird.

- Everyone does it.
Your father did it.

It's bad luck not to do it.

- Fuck!
- That's a yes!

Let's go!

So, you will be there.

I absolutely will not be.

- Is that...?
- Spectator seating.

Apparently front rows
are going for 2,000 rubles.

I'm not giving birth
while people watch on.

I know what your concern is,
but I assure you when you shit yourself,

an attendant will be standing by to whisk
it away, effortlessly, and elegantly.

Elizabeth.

Help me.

I wish I could.

It's a horror.

You must do this,
after what happened in Denmark.

Denmark?

The baby died, another was procured.

What do you mean procured?

Bought, stolen, or perhaps rented.

But the point is...

It wasn't the true heir.

Ever since then, public birth.
I'm sorry, that's the reality.

Rumors come out it's not yours, they are
hard to refute, and that catches on, and...

Opposition forces coalesce
round the idea of a fake heir.

However, the indelible imprint
of the royal cunt cannot be faked.

You will not even notice the spectators.
The pain will be blinding.

I feel better. Thank you, Vinodel.

We must have witnesses.

It will be delicately handled.

I am selling the placenta,
if anyone's interested.

Catherine, darling, what are you doing?

Working.

Oh, you should be
in confinement, resting,

directing all your focus
and energy on the baby.

That is the way our family has done it.

It is actually our ritual too.

Helpful, Orlo.

I have so much to do, Mother.

I rested for two weeks before you came,

and when you came, of course,
it being you, it was a torrid affair,

trying to get you to come into the world,

but finally you slid forth,
and I was spent,

slathered in sweat,

bleeding horribly, dizzy with pain,

my eyes flickering...

And you came out all twisted and blue...

a cord wrapped tight
round your throat, no breath.

Doctors are screaming.

I heard someone say,
"They're both going!"

And I stared at you, and we locked eyes,

and I willed you not to die
with everything I had.

Your eyes closed, your head flicked back,

and I thought for a second that was it.

And then you barked out a cough,

almost a laugh,

black stuff spewed out of your mouth,

and you burst out crying...

no, not crying, roaring.

You would live,

and I knew then that I would too,

for I could not leave you.

I would carry you on this journey,

and I swear you smiled at me,

and I wept, and I could not stop.

Gosh.

Friends...

We welcome you to the digging
of the graves.

When a man's wife is birthing,
death may come to one, or to both.

A man must prepare.

Dig their graves and sit three days
and nights pondering their possible death.

In this way, he prepares his heart
for tragedy

or to have his joy sweetened.

I bless this ground.

May it be left empty

and the sounds we hear in a few days' time

are the insane pained shrieks
of woman giving birth

to a wailing, shitting child,

gifted by God with health and wealth...

rather than the images of the dead grey
carcasses of your beloved.

Jesus. Uh, do we have to...

- Amen.
- Amen.

Begin the digging.

Uh, this whole thing is fucking macabre.

It is a time of celebration,
not depressing Russian shit like...

Okay. Fuck me.

At least sing something upbeat.

Oh, Sylvana, she needs tea hourly,
only women may visit.

A 15-minute stroll
in the fresh air once a day.

And no vexatious thoughts
or excitements.

Yes, ma'am.

Rest your child, my child.

Mm. Funny.

That's me.

Oh, and also, you'll probably tear.

So, you need to be prepared for that.

Tear? What will tear?

Shhh! Rest.

Are you really not ever
going to stop singing?

It's bad luck.

He looks funny.

Shh! Alyosha, sing.

The ground is like rock!

Ohh!

Oh, fuck.

Shut the fuck up, you little shit!

Fuck you.

Crownless eunuch.

Oh, shit. Peter, no.

Ignore him.
He's just going through a phase.

Lobcocked fuckhead.

I will dig you a new arsehole,
you little shit!

Alyosha, go back to the palace!

Come here, you little...

Stop!

Please.

Are you going to shoot me?

- I'm not sure what's going to happen.
It's a confusing situation.

But you hit him, I think I might,
so everyone just stop, please.

Alyosha, go home.

Okay.

- Have a drink.
- Yeah.

Oh, for fuck sakes, must you?

I have no shovel now.
We should probably call it a day.

We have many shovels.

This is interminable.

I enjoy your company also.

I cannot just sit here.

I understand Mother's point,
but I must run Russia.

She just doesn't understand you.

In the way, say, I do.

Do not speak ill of her
or you will be dead.

I am joking.

Right.

Your mother is here
with ladies to entertain you.

I was raised in love and joy,
that is how all children should be raised.

Indeed.

And high expectations, of course,
are also important.

My mother cultivated
a dream in us and for us.

Your mother is a legend.

No one has married daughters more well.

And soon Louis of France
for your youngest is the rumor.

- Oh, no, unfo...
- Indeed.

It is exciting.

Oh, hello.

I heard you'd banished everyone.

They were fucking annoying.

That's funny.

I keep wanting to give up,
but Peter the Great did it for me.

I know. I helped him.

You did?

I did.

Yeah, that's enough. That's...

The secret is... not to overdo it.

It seems fucked up, this,
depressing at a time of joy.

Yeah, I thought so too when I did it,
but then I had to use them.

Right. Shit.

- Just the thought of her and Paul.
- Yeah.

Anything can happen.

- Yeah.
- I was very sure I was going to be a great dad,

and then earlier today I was going
to beat a kid to death with a shovel.

Kids are annoying.

Are you close to your kids?

I was away a lot.

Maybe I should apologize to Alyosha.

Alyosha.

That kid's a fucking monster.

Still, it would be a different thing.

No one ever apologized to me,

and as I'm writing a new chapter,
perhaps apologizing should be in it.

Back to work.

Children are such a solace.

So true.

When you look at your husband
and you hate him,

you remind yourself
he gave you your child.

And try to forget he also gave you
syphilis, ran your fortune down,

and smells like cheese-covered wet dog.

Why do you stay if you're unhappy?

- Married is for life in Russia.
We cannot leave, or we leave with nothing.

Which is why
I've always avoided marriage.

- Your father dies though? What then?
You're fucked.

Ladies, you may all go, but I thank you
for the insight into your lives.

It has inspired me.

- Why are you getting up?
- I need paper.

Darling, what are you doing?

- She has that look.
What do you need?

I will set up in here.

Marial, get me the current legal codes
regarding women and...

What are you talking about?

- Think of it!
A woman with the right to divorce a man.

Think of the freedom that would give women
who suffer violence, drunkenness,

men rutting on them while sweating
and smelling of cheese.

It would change the very dynamics
between men and women.

Also, women as property, that must stop.

- Oh!
- You must stop this.

It is a delirium.

Is that not exciting?

To change the systems women live by,
take power from men, and give it to us.

It is easy to take power from men,
and sometimes they even enjoy it,

but what you must not do is advertise
about it, for then their fists come out.

Must you always bite off
more than you can chew?

Wouldn't you have liked
to be freer in your life?

No.

Oh, what now?

The Ottomans have sent a message.

Stand back.

I suspect it's full of poisonous bees.

We should all be wearing hoods.

- Is this really necessary?
- Well, at least stand back.

Candles! How beautiful.

"Empress Catherine",

"I accept your invitation to discuss the
way forward."

"These candles are a token of our esteem
and that when our differences are melted

by the warmth of discourse, we will be
left with nothing but precious jewels."

Oh, that is poetic.

It worked, your way.

Anyone in the room may congratulate me
on my diplomatic victory!

Huzzah!

Now, let us fashion a response
and find ourselves a meeting ground.

Also, Orlo, I'm writing a new legal code
for women in Russia.

Oh, okay.

Mother, I have had
a massive diplomatic victory.

I'm thrilled.

Bring me my dead grandchild
when it falls out of you.

Let me talk to her.

So, you know, it's a tense time.

I have a child coming,

this grave digging is fucked up,
and I lashed out at you

when you were a prick.
For that I'm sorry.

That's okay.

Dad always says,
"Alyosha, you can be a real prick."

Well, you can.

The Prince and I are talking.

Jesus Christ.

So, apology accepted?

Sure.

You're a bad man and I respect that.

- I'm not a bad...
- I'm bored now.

Okay, just fuck off.

That went great.

You think?

Very moving.

It works, you know.

You look at this
and you can't but think of them dying.

I can't lose them.

You won't.

And even if you do...

You have a ball sack
full of prospective children.

Exactly.

And if she dies,
you just start again, clean slate.

In some ways, that's the best option.

You come back to being Emperor.

Get that Spanish princess who gave you a
hand job under the table at the winter ball.

- She was nice!
- So nice.

I want them!

Oooh!

I don't want anything else,
you barren-hearted fuckheads.

- Just trying to...
- Fuck off, both of you!

And sorry, I shouldn't have...

Fuck!

For you.

Oh.

Tacky but amusing.

You have come to game me.

Please begin,
I'm fascinated with how you go about it.

There is no game here.

I love and believe
in your daughter, that is all.

She is the best thing
to happen to Russia.

Well, that makes us enemies,

because Russia is the worst thing
to happen to her.

- You are protective, you worry on her.
I understand, but you do not need to.

- Are you a mother?
- I am.

Was. I...
He died.

Oh, so, technically not.

I suppose not.

But once you are, you are forever.

How did he die?

He drowned at six.

Careless to lose one
when you only have one.

I did feel like that after.

How free I'd let him run.

You have kept
your four daughters safe...

and mostly married.

Who a woman marries defines her life,
only kings for mine.

I decided on that early.

But I will never believe
you wish to help my daughter

because you helped her to the throne
and put her under threat.

Even now, could Peter not make
some of these decisions while she births?

You say you care for her
and yet you enable her delusional nature.

Men will crush her if she takes
their power.

I understand you are upset.

As a mother,

when you see your child
is heading down the path to ruin,

and perhaps you feel
you cannot stop them,

that is a horror.

Are you all right?

Yes. I...

I just had a, uh, sudden flash of my son

running down the path to the lake
and disappearing amongst the trees.

Gosh.

- My dear woman.
- I'm sorry.

I'm fine, I...

I might just go lie down for a minute.

- You okay?
- I am working.

I have to.

I know you do. You are you.

There's something inevitable
about me even to myself.

Is Mother all right?

Your mother loves you.

As do I.

But I see the woman, and your mother
can't help but see the child.

She worries you can't do this.

No, not at all.

She worries I will be killed
in the process, or Russia cannot change.

She has told me of my brilliance
from the day I was born.

Oh, I must have misheard her.

Ah, here you are.

What can we do?

You need to rest,
but you need to be you too.

Thank you.

Eh...

I do love hunting.

Indeed. Me too.

The stalking of prey,

the thrilling anxiety
as you see what it is that you want

and you move in for it,

and the dizzying rush
at the inescapable takedown.

Indeed.

An apt description.
Well, ma...

Bang.

Fucking hell.

What tree are you imagining us against?

Oh, uh, the birch.

Yeah.

Hmm.

But I have the graves to dig.

Responsibilities.

So weird, you Russians.

Hm.

Well, I'll be waiting.

Thank you.

Hello, Paul.

Mama.

Darling.

I'm scared.

Oh.

I know.

And you should be.

I haven't thought about being a mother.

This child.

I have my country, how will I?

And they have odds
on me dying in the hall.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Can I sleep with you?

Of course.

Mm.

Think about our home, hm?

And our lovely house.

I miss my room some days.

How it looks over the orchard,
and when it would blossom.

When the blossoms came this year,

I stood in your room,

holding one of your teddies

and cried like a baby at how I missed you.

Don't leave.

I won't.

Not until you are safe.

I will never be safe.

Not really.

Well, I am thinking of a way
that you can be.

Is it kill all my friends?

Shh!

Sleep now.

Daddy?

Oh, it's you.

Hello.

Huh.

I missed you.

Huh, that's very sweet of you to say.

Did you miss me?

It's not really me
to do that sort of thing.

I'm in-the-moment kind of man.

Don't look back, don't look forward,
kill the man in front of me,

eat the pussy in front of me,
smell the flowers in front of me.

Right.

Fair enough.

Hurtful but...
A man can only be so many things.

I was a poor father
but I was a great leader.

I wasn't a great husband,
but my wife was a bitch.

We cannot be everything
and we shouldn't try to be.

Wise words, Daddy.

It's effete to call your father "daddy"
at your age.

Always a problem
with me, isn't there?

I thought you said we are who we are.

Maybe I'm a person
who calls their father "daddy."

Huh, and loses Russia.

I don't want Russia!

I don't think I ever did.

Bullshit.

Don't explain away your failure like
a 12-year-old explains a broken toy.

If I have to come up there,
you'll be sorry.

Fuck you.

I want to be a good father unlike you,
a good husband unlike you.

I may not have been a good father to you.

Oh, oh, I did make that fucking lion
out of rubles once, that was nice of me.

I loved that.

But I built cities.

I reimagined the world
and shaped it to my imaginings

through sheer will and power.

I just don't know that I'm cut out.

Don't interrupt Daddy when he's talking.

I thought you were done.

I was pausing like the great orators do.

Note that down.

I know you, son.

I watched you grow up, I know who you are.

You're a fucking primal beast.

You love fucking, hm?

And blood sport, and friends, japes.

And in your blood
lurks the greatness of our line.

You think?

Are you ever going to tap into it?

Let the animal in your soul
have what it wants,

for in those wants are the truth
of who you are.

The rest is a spinning top
of bullshit in your brain

that lies to you
and sprays shit everywhere.

I disagree.

You do, do you? Right.

Then I'm coming up there...

and then I'm going
to beat you until you agree.

You think I'm afraid?

Oh, I think you're pissing
in your silk pants,

you fucking foppish-faced,

lobcocked, bile duct-laden,
roach-festering, shit whore cunted fuckhead.

Yes! There he is! There's my boy!

Fucking Ottomans...

This would've worked.

I saw Dad.

It was fucking Vinodel's potion.

Oh. How is he?

Seemed about the same.

He doesn't want me like this,
no one does.

And she came to me again.

I wanted to take her
in a whirl against a tree.

That's just me, Aunt.

What can I do?

She is a worry.

Ah, a strange one.

Her own daughter's husband,
and she wants us to be a family.

We can be happy together, all of us,
and I am an Emperor, born to be it.

"Take what you want,"
but it is the want that kills me.

I don't know what want to obey
and what to fucking deny.

She said, "We could be a happy family"?

And licked a fig in a way that...

Well...

I need to lie down for a bit.

Men should not be able
to put knives near our faces.

Oddly specific, but don't disagree.

Write it.

Sylvana, breakfast, I think.

Oooh!

You have the most beautiful skin.

Sitting here, I was overwhelmed
by a desire to razor it off

and make wallpaper from it.

Tea?

What're you doing here?

And where's Catherine?

Well, I was so excited
to speak to you, I could not wait.

- Well, you will wait until I dress.
I do not take guests in my bed.

Well, you do, or hope to,
as we both know,

but that is not why I'm here.

Although we could talk on that later,

as your body is Raphaelite good.

I realized what you're doing.

And what is that?

You want to transition
Catherine out and Peter in

and put your deal to get your daughter
married to Louis XIV back together,

keeping Catherine safe at the same time.

Right.

So you know.

And?

And nothing.

I will just enjoy your futile railing.

I am saving her from herself.

Someone will cut her throat!

Probably.

But she may do much before that happens.

This is Russia.

We hope for the best, expect the worst,

and don't get too exercised
about either eventuality.

Ah, hello.

I was thinking I should talk to you.

I was just leaving.

Why does everyone think
they can just walk in here?

Apologies.

Uh, clearly with this morning's
attempt on the Empress's life...

What?

...we should start thinking about what psalms you'd
like in the inevitable possibility of her demise.

Although they will likely take her head.

Oh.

It's a thing here.

Fucking candles.

Poison.

Poor Sylvana.

I will hold my tongue as to what
we should do,

as we all know
what I think we should do.

It is an act of war.

Fuck.

Exactly! Fuckers.

They are not our friend
and have no intention to be our friend.

I don't want this.

They are still skirmishing in and out
of our territory in Reograditch.

It's brutal.

Killing, pillaging,

and they will eventually take it
if we do not respond.

It-it-it's like a pie.

You take a bite,
you want to keep taking another.

Well, the pie analogy is quite telling.

I will talk their language
until they beg to learn a new one.

Let's go fuck them up.

- War?
- I will find it unseemly if you are too happy about this.

- No.
- Velementov, these famed war plans of yours, on my desk tomorrow morning.

Plans? Right.

Hello.

Mother, I am busy, we are at war.

- How sweet.
Because you know a lot about war.

- The...
- Leave, gentlemen.

We have much to discuss.

Mother! I have a job to do!

- Are you yelling at me?
- No.

Factually incorrect.

"Yes" is the answer
to my rhetorical question.

You are undermining me
in front of my people.

You are doing that with every decision
you make, from my observation.

Taking power from men
and expecting applause.

Cluelessly heading off into war when you
wouldn't even step on an ant as a child.

- Are you yelling at me?
I mean it rhetorically...

Don't be smart with me.

I love that you took this country.

It makes me laugh
when it doesn't terrify me.

Someone tried to kill you, darling.

I'm dealing with it.

It's part of the job.

And you will die
if we don't change the game.

And we can.

- What?
- In three days' time, you will have this baby.

And there is a natural pause.

You transition out of power
and into motherhood

and Peter transitions back in.

And it can be addressed through Europe
as some strange rumor,

and I can get your sister
the French job back.

What?

It can all be just as I planned,

and you can be safe.

Darling?

You can play that boy, we both can.

Trust me.

You are staring at me blankly.

I'm just a piece
in your perfect tableau.

The maestro of marriage.

You were born to be a royal wife.

You were trained to be a royal wife.

Be one and stop this, and live.

Darling, your sisters can do it,
why can't you?

Because I am not them!

I'm better!

Oh!

Oh.

Darling.

Let's calm down.

I can see a happy ending.

You are fond of Peter.

And why not? Handsome as hell.

He's a taste one wants in one's mouth.

We can work this out, darling.

I see a happy ending.

Now, I've raised it with Peter,
and I can see a way there.

You have gone behind my back
in my own court...

to unseat me?

To save you from yourself.

You are always seeking for me
to look at reality.

Well, suddenly I am,

and it is horrifying.

You don't believe in me.

I've spent my life trying to get you to...

and you just don't.

Darling, trust me.

Your child will become your empire
as mine did me.

It won't.

- Russia is my child.
- Oh.

See? It's crazy statements like that

that make me worry
about your mental state.

Recognize who and what I am or leave.

I recognize that you are mad,
and you need help,

and I am here to give it.

Get out of my palace.

Catherine.

Get out of my country.

Go!

Chew, little cat.

Chew, chew, chew.

But I will not stick around
while you choke.

Hello.

Fine, fine.

- I give in.
- I like that in a man.

Oh!

Ah!

Ah, ah!

Ah!

Oh!

I know. Sorry, I...

Oh.

Don't worry, darling.

I'll take care of it.

Oh, fuck.

So, good news: Joanna's gone.

Gone? Left?

- Yes.
But not in a carriage.

Oh, I see.

Shame.

Mm.

What happened?

- Do you really want the details?
- Not really.

What do you need me to do?

Clean her room into an abrupt departure.

Hi.

I love that portrait.

Ah, yeah, we just need
to put his face in.

My mother left.

We fought, in the night she left.

I'm sorry.

I suddenly saw who she truly was.

We will be good parents.

Indeed.

Better than them, that's the main thing.

These are our graves?

- I buried my mother.
Seemed a wasted hole otherwise.

Right. You okay?

I don't need her anymore.

Exactly how I feel.

This next bit will be alarming.

It is to me, but...

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.

Paul?