Brideshead Revisited (1981): Season 1, Episode 1 - Et in Arcadia Ego - full transcript

Here, at the age of thirty-nine,

I began to be old.

As I lay in that dark hour,

I was aghast to realise

that something within me,
long sickening,

had quietly died.

I felt as a husband might feel,

who, in the fourth year
of his marriage,

suddenly knew he had
no longer any desire,

or tenderness, or esteem,
for a once-beloved wife.

We had been through it together,
the Army and I,



from the first importunate courtship
until now,

when nothing remained to us
except the chill bonds of law

and duty and custom.

We were leaving that day.
And I reflected that,

whatever scenes of desolation
lay ahead of us,

I never feared one
more brutal than this.

So, on this morning of our move,

I was entirely indifferent
to our destination.

I would go on with my job,

but I could bring to it
nothing more than acquiescence.

When we had marched into this camp
in the winter of 1943,

I had brought with me
a company of strong and hopeful men;

word had gone round among them
that we were at last

in transit for the Middle East.



But, as the weeks passed
and the snow began to clear,

I saw their disappointment
change to resignation.

And I, who by every precept
should have put heart into them –

how could I help them,
who could so little help myself?

- Morning, sir.
- Good morning, Sergeant Major.

- How’s the move going?
- Last stores ready for load in 1500, sir.

- Good. Has Mr Hooper appeared yet?
- Haven’t seen him at all this morning, sir.

Oh.

Has that been entered in the book?

Wind in the night, sir?

That will do.

- Morning, Hooper.
- Morning, sir.

I should like to speak to Mr Hooper,
Sergeant Major.

Very good, sir.

Where the devil have you been?
I told you to inspect the lines.

Am I late? Sorry.
Had a rush getting my gear together.

That’s what you a servant for.

Well, I suppose you’re right,
strictly speaking.

But you know how it is,
he had his own stuff to do.

The trouble with Desmond is that
if I get on the wrong side of him,

he takes it out of me in other ways.

I’m not surprised,
if you’re so familiar with him.

- Cap badge, Hooper.
- Yeah.

C.O.’s orders, all distinguishing marks
to be removed.

And what are you wearing
all that gear for, anyway?

You’re not in the advance party.

I am.

Aren’t I?

Of course you’re not,
the orders were changed.

Don’t you ever read
the company notice board?

You don’t mean
they changed it all again?

There you go.
Typical shambles.

Total inefficiency.

They couldn’t get away with it
in business, I can tell you.

Hooper, do you mind
inspecting D Squad now?

Righty-oh.

And for Christ’s sake
don’t say “righty-oh”.

Sorry. I do try to remember.
It just slips out.

- C.O. just coming up, sir.
- Thank you, Sergeant Major.

Good morning, sir.

Well, Ryder, everything
squared up here?

- Yes, I think so, sir.
- Think so? You ought to know.

Has that been entered
in barrack damages?

- Not yet, sir.
- Not yet, eh?

I wonder when it would have been,
if I hadn’t seen it.

Aha!

Just look at that!

Fine impression that gives
to the regiment taking over from us.

Don’t you know what sets
the standard of a regiment?

The way it leaves camp, Ryder.

- Yes, that’s bad, sir.
- It’s a disgrace.

See that everything here
is burned before we leave.

Very good, sir.

Sergeant Major, will you send over
to the carrier-platoon

and tell Captain Brown that the C.O.
would very much like this ditch cleared up?

Right, sir.

Remind me, Ryder,
what were you in civilian life?

I was a painter, sir.

You shouldn’t do it, sir.
You shouldn’t, really.

That’s not our rubbish.

Maybe it’s not, sir,
but you know how it is.

If you get on the wrong side
of senior officers

they take it out of you other ways.

It doesn’t make sense. That’s the
third time we’ve copped it this week.

- How is the family, by the way?
- The children are a bit difficult.

Jennifer says they always turn into
monsters the minute my leave’s over.

That young officer over there,
isn’t he one of yours?

- Yes, sir.
- What’s his name again?

- Lieutenant Hooper, sir.
- His hair needs cutting.

He’s in no shape to go to a new HQ.

I’ll tell him, sir.

That’s the sort of thing, Ryder,
that lets down the regiment.

It does, sir.
I’ll see that it’s done.

My God, the officers they send us now!

In my late regiment if a young officer
was intending to go to a new HQ like that,

the other subalterns would
bloody well have cut his hair for him!

- Would they, sir?
- I’ll tell you something, Ryder.

I do not intend to have my
professional reputation compromised

by the slack appearance
of a few temporary officers!

- Corporal Deakin.
- Yes, sir.

- Get a pair of scissors!
- Very good, sir.

- Lieutenant James!
- Sir?

Cut that man’s hair for him.

Sir?

I said, cut that man’s hair for him!

I’m sorry, sir,
I don’t quite understand.

- Is that an order, sir?
- It is your commander officer’s wish

and that’s the best
kind of order I know.

Go on. Get him tidied up!

We’re going to tidy you up a bit.
Sit down, Mr Hooper.

- Your scissors, sir.
- Give them to lieutenant James.

Can’t you understand an order?
Get on with it!

Go on, start cutting it.

Carry on. Keep at it.
Cut it!

Company call!

Company slope arms!

Company will move
to the left in threes!

Left turn!

Company, by the left,
quick march!

Right, left, right, left!

- I’m sorry about your hair, Hooper.
- Oh, that’s all right.

It’s not the sort of thing
that used to happen in this regiment.

No hard feelings.
I can take a bit of sport.

I say, any idea
where we’re off to?

None.

Do you think it’s the real thing?

No.

- Just another flap?
- Yes.

Everyone’s been saying we’re for it.

I don’t know what to think, really,
it happens so often.

I wouldn’t argue with that.
Three times in the last six months.

Seems so silly somehow,
all this drill and training

- if we never go into action.
- I shouldn’t worry, Hooper.

There’ll be plenty
for everyone in time.

Oh, I don’t want much, you know.
Just enough to say I’ve been in it.

What the hell is going on?

We are being sprayed
by liquid mustard gas.

It’s the C.O.’s drill.

Hooper, will you see
that the windows are shut?

Check there are no casualties.

And write me a short situation report.

C Company is to drive on a bit, sir.

Take the right fork.
You’ll see a dump post on the road.

- Thank you, Sergeant.
- Morning, Ryder, can I have a lift?

- Of course.
- It’s not a bad camp, apparently.

Big private house
with two or three lakes.

Looks as if we might get
some duck if we’re lucky.

- In the back, Hooper.
- Morning, Hooper.

Right, you lot, get it moving!

Morning, sir.

Does anyone know where we are?

Not officially, sir, but I did hear
someone mention the name of the house.

It’s a place called ’Brideshead’.
You can see it from over there.

Huge great barrack of a place.

- Thank you, Sergeant. Carry on.
- Thank you, sir.

Right, you lot, at the double!
Come on!

It was as though someone
had switched off the wireless,

and a voice that had been bawling
in my ears incessantly, fatuously,

for days beyond number,
had been suddenly cut short.

An immense silence followed,

Empty at first, but gradually
filled with a multitude of sweet,

natural, and long forgotten sounds:

for he had spoken a name
that was so familiar to me,

a conjuror’s name of such ancient power,
that, at its mere sound,

the phantoms of those haunted late years
began to take flight.

- Where are you off to, Hooper?
- B Company relieved us.

I’ve just sent the chaps off
to get cleaned up.

- Good.
- Brigade HQ are coming here next week.

Just had a snoop ’round the house.
Very ornate, I’d call it.

And a queer thing, there’s a sort of
R.C. Church attached to it.

I looked in and there was
a kind of service going on –

just a padre and one old man.
I felt very awkward.

More in your line than mine.

There’s a frightful, great
fountain thing, too, out the back.

All rocks and carved old men
with trumpets.

You never saw such a thing.

Yes, Hooper, I did.

I’ve been here before.

Oh well, you know all about it, then.

I’ll just go and get myself cleaned up.

See you, Ryder.

I had been there before;
I knew all about it;

first with Sebastian more than twenty
years ago on a cloudless day in June.

That day, too, I had come
not knowing my destination.

Oxford, in those days,
was still a city of aquatint.

When the chestnut was in flower

and the bells rang out high and clear
over her gables and cupolas,

she exhaled the soft airs
of centuries of youth.

It was this cloistral hush
that gave our laughter its resonance

and carried it still, joyously,
over the intervening clamour.

It was Eights Week. Here, discordantly,
came a rabble of womankind.

Echoes of the intruders
penetrated every corner,

and my own college was no exception.

We were giving a ball.

- Morning, Lunt.
- Morning, Mr Ryder.

Thank you.

Gentlemen who haven’t got ladies
are asked to eat out

as far as possible
in the next few days.

- Will you be lunching in?
- No, Lunt.

To give the servants
a chance, they say.

What a chance!

I’ve got to buy a pincushion
for the ladies’ cloakroom.

What do they want with dancing?
I don’t see the reason in it.

There’s never been dancing before
in Eights Week.

As if the teas and the river
weren’t enough!

If you ask me, sir,
it’s all on account of the war.

It couldn’t have happened
but for that.

Now, wine in the evening
or one or two gentlemen for luncheon,

I can see the reasoning.
But not dancing.

It came in with them
back from the war.

They were too old and they didn’t know
and they wouldn’t learn. Take my word.

And there’s some that goes dancing
with the town at the Masonic –

but the proctor will have them,
you’ll see.

Ah, here’s Lord Sebastian.

Well, I mustn’t stand here talking,
not with pincushions to get.

Morning, Lunt.

Charles, what in the world’s
happening at your college?

Is there a circus?
I’ve seen everything except elephants.

I must say the whole of Oxford
is becoming very peculiar suddenly.

Last night it was
pullulating with women.

You’re to come away with me at once,
out of danger.

I’ve a motor-car outside,
a basket of strawberries

and a bottle of Château Peyraguey –

which isn’t a wine you’ve ever tasted,
so don’t pretend.

It’s heaven with strawberries.

I shall go and get my things.

And bring some money
in case we see anything we want to buy.

Yes.

“Does anyone feel the same emotion
for a butterfly or a flower

“as he feels
for a cathedral or a picture?”

Yes. I do.

Ready?

Yes.

It’s over there.

- Isn’t it early?
- Yes!

The women are still doing whatever
women do before they come downstairs.

Sloth has undone them.
We’re away.

- Where are we going?
- To see a friend.

Now, take care of Aloysius.
Make sure he isn’t sick.

Where did you get the car?

Property of a very gloomy man
called... Hardcastle.

Do please return the bits to him
if I kill myself.

I’m not very good at driving.

- God bless Hardcastle!
- Whoever he may be!

He was supposed
to be coming with us.

Well, I did tell him ten o’clock,
and when he was still in bed at eight,

I thought, “Well, he’s not very eager.
Much kinder to go without him.”

It’s a pity neither of us can sing.

It was about eleven when Sebastian,
without warning,

turned the car into a cart track
and stopped.

We ate the strawberries
and drank the wine.

As Sebastian promised,
they were delicious together.

The fumes of the sweet golden wine

seemed to lift us
a finger’s breadth above the turf

and hold us suspended.

Just the place to bury a crock of gold.

I should like to bury something precious

in every place that I’ve been happy.

So when I’m old and
ugly and miserable

I could come back and dig it up
and remember.

This was my third term at University,

but I date my Oxford life
from my first meeting with Sebastian,

which had happened, by chance,
in the middle of the term before.

We were in different colleges
and came from different schools;

so I might well have spent my three
or four years in the University

and never have met him,

but for the chance of his getting drunk
one evening in my college

and of my having ground floor rooms
in the front quadrangle.

I had been warned of the dangers
of these rooms by my cousin Jasper,

who alone, when I first came up,
thought me a subject for detailed guidance.

- So, what are you reading?
- History.

Oh, that’s a perfectly
respectable school.

The very worst is English Literature.
The next worst is Modern Greats.

Now, you want either a first or a fourth.
There is no value in anything between.

Time spent on a good second
is time thrown away.

Now, you should go
to the very best lectures –

Arkwright on Demosthenes
for instance –

irrespective of whether they are
in your school or not.

Clothes.
Dress as you do in a country house.

Never wear a tweed jacket and
flannel trousers – always wear a suit.

And go to a London tailor;
you get better cut and longer credit.

Good afternoon, sir.

Don’t treat dons like schoolmasters;
treat them as you would the vicar at home.

Clubs. Join the Carlton now and the Grid
at the beginning of your second year.

If you want to run for the Union
– it’s not a bad idea –

make your reputation outside first
at the Chatham or the Canning.

Oh, and keep clear of Boar’s Hill.

- Good afternoon, Ryder.
- Hello.

And friends.

Charles, do watch the people
you make friends with.

You’ll find you spend your second year
getting rid of the undesirable ones

you made in your first.

Oh, and beware of Anglo-Catholics –

they’re all sodomites
with unpleasant accents.

In fact, steer clear of all religious
groups; they do nothing but harm.

I say, was this here when you arrived?

No, it’s mine.

I put it up.

It’s Van Gogh.

Really?

This is very pretty.

Well, I must be off.
I’ve got a JCR meeting at half past.

Oh, by the way, one last point.
Change your rooms.

But I was lucky to get them.

Ground floor rooms on the front quad,
terribly dangerous.

I’ve seen men ruined.
People start dropping in.

They leave their gowns here
and pick them up on their way to hall.

Then you’ll start giving them sherry.
Before you know where you are

you’ll have opened a free bar
to all the undesirables in the college.

I do not know that I ever, consciously,
followed any of this advice.

I certainly never changed my rooms –

there were gillyflowers
growing below the windows

which on summer evenings
filled them with fragrance.

But that’s the complete fallacy of modern
aesthetics, Charles. Can’t you see?

You mean, the whole argument of
Significant Form stands or falls by volume?

Precisely.

If you allow Cézanne to represent a third
dimension in his two-dimensional canvas,

then you must allow Landseer
his gleam of loyalty in the spaniel’s eye.

My earliest friends were Collins,
a Wykehamist and an embryo don,

a man of solid reading
and childlike humour,

and a small circle
of college intellectuals,

who maintained
a middle course of culture

between the flamboyant “aesthetes”
and the proletarian scholars.

It was by this circle that I found
myself adopted during my first term;

they provided the kind of company
I had enjoyed in the sixth form at school,

and for which the sixth form
had prepared me;

but even in the earliest days, when the
whole business of living at Oxford,

with rooms of my own
and my own cheque book,

was a source of excitement,

I felt at heart that this was not all
which Oxford had to offer.

I knew Sebastian by sight long before
I met him. That was unavoidable,

for, from his first week, he was
the most conspicuous man of his year

by reason of his beauty,
which was arresting,

and his eccentricities of behaviour,
which seemed to know no bounds.

My first sight of him
was in the door of Germer’s,

and, on that occasion,
I was struck less by his looks

than by the fact that he was carrying
a large teddy-bear.

Sheer exhibitionism.

That was Lord Sebastian Flyte.
A most amusing young gentleman.

Apparently.

This way, sir.

He’s the Marquis of Marchmain’s
second boy.

His brother, the Earl of Brideshead,
went down last term.

Now, he was very different,
quite like an old man.

What do you suppose
Lord Sebastian wanted?

A hair brush for his teddy-bear;
it had to have very stiff bristles,

not, Lord Sebastian said,
to brush him with,

but to threaten him with a spanking
when he was sulky.

He bought a very nice one
with an ivory back.

He’s going to have
“Aloysius” engraved on it –

that’s the teddy-bear’s name.

The barber, who, in his time,
had had ample chance

to tire of undergraduate fantasy,
was plainly captivated by him.

I, however, remained censorious.

My dear.

And subsequent glimpses of him
did not soften me,

although Collins,
who was reading Freud,

had a number of technical terms
to cover everything.

Nor, when at last we met,
were the circumstances propitious.

Once we reduce chance
to a mathematical formula,

we may subject it
to the rules of probability.

And, indeed, we rob chance itself,
therefore of the element of chance,

which, if you see what I mean,

must seem a solution
of quite impregnable logic.

- Oh, very good.
- An excellent paper.

Thank you very much.

There was a question?

I wanted simply to ask
if the laws of mathematics

- can be understood by reason...
- I think I can anticipate your question.

If the possibility exists, that chance
itself exists in a rational universe,

then the workings of chance
must be explained by rational processes.

If we believe that God created
this rational world,

then it is perfectly possible
to believe that...

Who are those awful people?

And what are they doing in there?

Looks like a bloody
prayer meeting to me.

Look, if God is ultimately responsible
for formulating Newton’s Law of Gravity,

may He not, so runs my argument,
fulfill His purpose

by using the infinite instances
which we call “chance”?

Shouldn’t we say then,
that chance is the very basic principle

of our life in this rational universe?

All right, old bat.

I trust that you will forgive my friend.

The wines were too various.

It was neither the quality nor the quantity
that was at fault. It was the mixture.

Grasp that and you have
the very root of the matter.

To understand all is to forgive all.

Yes.

A couple of jugs of mulled claret
and this has to happen.

You couldn’t even get
to the window, could you?

Them that can’t keep it down
are better without it.

It wasn’t one of my party.
It was someone from out of college.

Yes, well, it’s just as nasty
to clear up, whoever it was.

- There’s five shillings on the sideboard.
- So I saw and thank you.

But I’d rather not have the money
and not have the mess in the morning.

With the restoration of the Monarch

the Age of Puritanism
was finally vanquished.

I took my gown and left him to his task.

In those days,
I still frequented the lecture-room.

And female players,
hitherto unknown,

appeared upon the English stage
for the first time

in the history of English drama.

There was an air of relaxation
in the land again.

Indeed, this novel feeling
of unaccustomed freedom

manifested itself
in a remarkable outburst

of artistic creativity.

Have you seen your room?

- Lunt, what is all this?
- The gentleman from last night, sir.

He left that note for you.

“I am very contrite.

“Aloysius won’t speak to me
until he sees I am forgiven,

“so please come to luncheon today.
Sebastian Flyte.”

A most amusing young gentleman, sir.

I am sure it’s a pleasure
to clean up after him.

I take it you’re lunching out, sir.
I told Mr Collins and Mr Partridge so –

they wanted to take their commons
in here with you.

Yes, Lunt.

Lunching out.

Oh, do take some flowers
for yourself...

and Mrs Lunt, if you’d care to.

Oh, thank you, sir.
There is no Mrs Lunt.

I went there uncertainly,
for it was foreign ground

and there was a tiny priggish
warning voice in my ear,

which, in the tones of Collins,
told me it was seemly to hold back.

But I was in search
of love in those days,

and I went full of curiosity and the
faint, unrecognised apprehension

that here, at last, I should find
that low door in the wall,

others, I knew
had found before me,

which opened on an enclosed
and enchanted garden,

which was somewhere,
not overlooked by any window,

in the heart of that grey city.

I’ve just counted them.
There are five each and two over,

so I’m having the two.

I’m unaccountably hungry today.

I placed myself unreservedly in the hands
of that obliging little chemist in the High,

and now I feel so drugged
that I’ve almost begun to believe

that the whole of yesterday evening
was a dream.

Please don’t wake me up.

Hello.

Hello.

Let’s have some champagne.

Thank you for the flowers.
My room looks like a hot house.

My beastly scout
has put Aloysius to bed

which is probably just as well since there
won’t be any plovers’ eggs for him.

D’you know, Hobson hates Aloysius.

I wish I had a scout like yours.
He was perfectly sweet to me this morning,

when some people
might have been quite strict.

Did you get home
in one piece last night?

There was the most frightful rumpus outside
my staircase. I assumed it must be you.

- Nonsense, we were quiet as mice.
- Damn close thing, though.

As each guest came into the room,
he made first for the plovers’ eggs,

then noticed Sebastian
and then myself

with a polite lack of curiosity
which seemed to say:

“We should not dream of being so offensive
as to suggest that you never met us before.”

I say, plovers’ eggs!

The first I’ve seen this year.
Where did you get them?

Mummy sends them from Brideshead.
They always lay early for her.

We were eating the Lobster Thermidor
when the last guest arrived.

My dear,
I couldn’t get away before.

I was lunching with my
p-p-preposterous tutor.

He thought it very odd
my leaving when I did.

I told him I had to change

for F-f-footer.

Come and sit down.

I’m afraid I’ve already
eaten your eggs.

Oh, I forgot,
you don’t know Charles Ryder.

Hello.

No...

Anthony Blanche.

But I have the most delicious feeling
I’m going to.

Oh, my God, Blanche!

- It’s all over the house, you know.
- What is?

My dear boy, the news that you
have finally lost your virginity,

or perhaps I should say,
mislaid it.

You put my own grand p-passion
quite in the shade.

What are you rattling on about,
you appalling dago?

If we’re going to be horrid
about my c-c-cosmopolitan upbringing,

I shall tell how you borrowed
three hundred francs

to spend a t-torrid night
with that elderly drab in Le Touquet.

It was a niggardly sum
to pay for her trouble.

And w-what a trouble.

Charles, don’t look so serious.

You don’t mean to say you let Boy
have a go at your Duchess?

My affair with the Duchess of Vincennes
was on an altogether higher plane

than any of you hobbledehoys
c-can conceive.

Do you know w-what it was
that cemented our love?

We used the same coloured varnish
for our toe-nails.

The time is now propitious,
as he guesses,

The meal is ended,
she is b-bored and tired,

Endeavours to engage her
in caresses

Which still are unreproved,
if undesired.

Flushed and decided,
he assaults at once;

Exploring hands
encounter no defence;

His vanity requires no response,

And makes a welcome of indifference.

(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all

Enacted on this same
d-divan or b-bed;

I who have sat b-by Thebes
b-below the wall

And walked among the l-l-lowest
of the dead.)

Bestows one final patronizing kiss,

And gropes his way,

finding the stairs unlit...

How I have surprised them!

All b-boatmen are Grace Darlings to me.

- Bye, old boy.
- Stump, stump, stump...

Too much, certainly.
Too much.

Now we have to cope
with these terrible stairs.

Something will have to be done
about that damn nancy boy.

Well, you can count me out.

My dear, I should like to stick you
full of barbed arrows

like a p-p-pin-cushion.

I think it’s perfectly brilliant
of Sebastian to have discovered you.

Where do you lurk?

I shall come down your burrow and
ch-chivvy you out like an old st-t-toat.

Au revoir.

Well...

I’d better be off, too.

Thank you very much.

Have some more Cointreau.

Then I must go
to the Botanical Gardens.

- Why?
- To see the ivy.

I’ve never been
to the Botanical Gardens.

Oh, Charles,
what a lot you have to learn!

There are more kinds of ivy
than I ever knew existed.

I don’t know where I should be
without the Botanical Gardens.

When at length
I returned to my rooms,

I found them exactly
as I had left them that morning,

but I detected a jejune air
that had not irked me before.

Nothing except the golden daffodils
seemed to be real.

If you ask me, sir, I was never
very fond of that myself.

I suppose you’ll be wanting me
to get rid of it next,

though where I’d have room for it
is nobody’s business.

That day was the beginning
of my friendship with Sebastian,

and thus it came about,
that morning in June,

that I was lying beside him
in the shade of the high elms

watching the smoke from his lips
drift into the branches.

You still haven’t told me
where we’re going.

Don’t be so impatient, Charles.

I told you.
To see a friend.

But who’s the friend?

Name of Hawkins.

- But who is Hawkins?
- Wait and see.

Well?

Well?

What a place to live in.

It’s where my family live.

Don’t worry, they’re all away.
You won’t have to meet them.

But I should like to.

Well, you can’t.
They’re in London, dancing.

Everything is shut up.
We’d better go in this way.

I want you to meet Nanny Hawkins.
That’s what we’ve come for.

Well, this is a surprise.

Who’s this?
I don’t think I know him.

This is Mr Charles Ryder, nanny.
A friend of mine from Oxford.

- How do you do, Mrs Hawkins?
- How do you do?

You’ve come just the right time.
Julia’s here for the day.

She was up with me nearly all the morning
telling me about London.

Such a time they’re all having.
You must have just missed her.

It’s the Conservative women.
She won’t be long;

she’s leaving immediately
after her speech, before the tea.

I’m afraid we may
miss her again, nanny.

Oh, don’t do that, dear, it’ll be
such a surprise to her seeing you,

though she ought to wait for the tea,

I told her, it’s what the
Conservative women come for.

Well, what’s the news?
Are you studying hard at your books?

Not very, I’m afraid, nanny.

Cricketing all day long, I expect,
like your brother.

He found time to study too, though.

Oh, well...

Did you see that piece
about Julia in the paper?

She brought it down for me.

Not that it’s nearly
good enough of her, but...

but what it says is very nice.

“The lovely daughter whom Lady Marchmain
is bringing out this season...”

“witty as well as ornamental...”
“the most popular débutante...”

Well, that’s no more than the truth,
though it was a shame to cut her hair.

Such a lovely head of hair she had,
just like her Ladyship’s.

I said to Father Phipps it’s not natural.
He said: “Nuns do it.”

Sebastian and the old woman talked on.

It was a charming room.

Laid out on the top of the mantelpiece
were the collection of small presents

which had been brought to her
at various times by her children,

the souvenirs of many holidays.

Presently, it was time for tea.

Look, nanny, I’m afraid we can’t stay
for tea. We really must get back.

Oh, Julia will be upset when she hears.
It would have been such a surprise for her.

Good-bye, nanny.

Bye, love.

Come on, Charles.

- Good-bye.
- Good-bye.

Poor nanny,
she does lead such a dull life.

I’ve a good mind to bring her to Oxford
to live with me,

only she’d always be trying
to send me to church.

We must go quickly
before my sister gets back.

Who are you ashamed of, her or me?

I’m ashamed of myself.

I’m not going to let you
get mixed up with my family.

They’re so madly charming.

All my life they’ve been
taking things away from me.

If they once got hold of you with their charm,
they’d make you their friend not mine,

and I won’t let them.

All right.

I’m perfectly content.

But aren’t we going to see
some more of the house?

It’s all shut up.
We came to see nanny.

On Queen Alexandra’s day
it’s all open for a shilling.

Come and look if you want to.

Well, it’s all like this, you see?
Nothing to see.

A few pretty things
I’d like to show you, some day.

Not now.

But there’s the chapel.
You must see that.

This way.

- Why do you do that?
- Just good manners.

Well, you needn’t on my account.

So, you wanted to do sight-seeing.

What do you think of this?

Golly.

Papa had it restored for mama.

As a wedding present.

Julia.
We only just got away in time.

I’m sorry.

I’m afraid I wasn’t
very nice this afternoon.

Brideshead often
has that effect on me.

But I had to take you to see nanny.

I don’t keep asking you questions
about your family.

Neither do I about yours.

But you look so inquisitive.

Well, you’re so mysterious about them.

I’d hoped I was mysterious
about everything.

Perhaps I’m rather curious
about people’s families.

You see, it’s not a thing I know much about.
There’s only my father and myself.

An aunt used to keep an eye on me,
but my father drove her abroad.

You don’t know
what you’ve been saved.

There are lots of us.

Look them up in Debrett.

I had lived a lonely childhood
and a boyhood, straitened by war

and overshadowed by bereavement;

to the hard bachelordom
of English adolescence,

the premature dignity
and authority of the school system,

I had added a sad
and grim strain of my own.

Now, that summer term with Sebastian,

it seemed as though I was being given
a brief spell of what I had never known,

a happy childhood,

and though its toys were silk shirts
and liqueurs and cigars

and its naughtiness high
in the catalogue of grave sins,

there was something
of a nursery freshness about us

that fell little short
of the joy of innocence.

Towards the end of that term
I took my first exams;

It was necessary to pass,
if I was to remain at Oxford.

And pass I did, after a week
in which I forbad Sebastian my rooms

and sat up to a late hour, with iced
black coffee and charcoal biscuits,

cramming myself
with neglected texts.

I remember no syllable of them now,

but the other, more ancient love
which I acquired that term

will be with me in one shape
or another to my last hour.

The end of that term
was also the occasion of the last visit

and grand remonstrance
of my cousin Jasper.

I was just free of the schools,
having taken the last paper

of History Previous, the day before;

Jasper’s subfusc suit and white tie
proclaimed him still in the thick of it;

he had the exhausted but resentful air

of one who fears he has failed
to do himself full justice

on the subject of Pindar’s Orphism.

Duty alone had brought him to my rooms
at great inconvenience to himself

and, as it happened, to me.

I don’t know what sort of
allowance my uncle makes you,

but you must be spending double.

Is that paid for?

Or these?

Or this peculiarly noisome object?

Yes, I had to pay cash for the skull.

And your clothes. Your present
get-up seems an unhappy compromise

between the correct wear for a
theatrical party in Maidenhead

and a glee-singing competition
in a garden suburb.

I’m sorry if it disturbs you.

And drink – no one minds a man
getting tight once or twice a term.

In fact, he ought to,
on certain occasions.

But you, my dear Charles, are constantly
seen drunk in the middle of the afternoon.

I think that is my affair, Jasper.

Look Charles, I expected you to make
mistakes your first year. We all do.

I got in with some thoroughly
objectionable Christian Union men

who ran a mission to hop-pickers
during the long vac.

But you, my dear Charles,
whether you realise it or not,

have gone, hook line and sinker,
to the very worst set in the University.

So that’s what’s worrying you.

Well, Anthony Blanche – there’s a man
there’s absolutely no excuse for.

I don’t particularly like him myself.

Well, he’s certainly
always hanging about here.

You realise the stiffer element
in college don’t like it?

They won’t stand for him at the House.

They threw him in Mercury last night.

I heard.

You may think that, living in digs,
I don’t know what goes on in college;

but I hear things.
In fact, I hear too much.

I find I’ve become a figure of mockery
on your account at the Dining Club.

Then there’s that chap Sebastian Flyte
you seem inseparable from.

Well, he may be all right, I don’t know.

His brother, Brideshead,
was a very sound fellow.

But this friend of yours,
well, he looks odd to me,

- and gets himself talked about.
- I’m sorry, Jasper.

I know it must be embarrassing for you,
but I happen to like this bad set.

I like getting drunk at luncheon.

And though I haven’t quite
spent double my allowance yet,

I undoubtedly shall
by the end of the term.

Will you join me?

I usually have a glass of
champagne about this time.

If you stay, you might meet
the despicable Mr Blanche.

- I’m dining with him tonight.
- No, thank you, I...

I have Greek History
and Morals on Monday.

So my cousin Jasper despaired.

Looking back, there is little I would
have left undone or done otherwise.

Perhaps now I could match my cousin Jasper’s
game-cock maturity with a sturdier fowl.

I could tell him that to know
and love one other human being

is the root of all wisdom.

Two for you...

and two for me.

Yum-yum.

I expect you would prefer sherry,
but, my dear Charles,

you are not going to have sherry.

You’re going to try
this delicious concoction instead.

- What is it?
- Brandy Alexander.

You don’t like it?
Then I will drink it for you.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Down the little red lane they go.

How the students stare!

I’m not surprised, Anthony.

I’m a little out of sympathy
with the undergraduates for the moment.

That’s why we’re dining at Thame.

- Who else is coming?
- No one.

I’ve got you to myself tonight.

There’s a delightful hotel there,

which luckily doesn’t appeal
to the hearties of the Bullingdon.

You heard what they did to me last night?

- Yes, I...
- It’s too naughty.

It was not, I knew, the first time
that Anthony had been ducked.

But the incident
seemed much on his mind.

I didn’t want them
to start getting rough,

so I said to them, pacifically:
“Dear sweet clodhoppers,

“if you knew anything
of sexual psychology

“you would know that nothing
could give me keener pleasure

“than to be manhandled
by you meaty boys.

“Ecstasy of the naughtiest kind.

“If any of you wishes to be my partner
in joy, then come and seize me.

“If, on the other hand,
you wish to satisfy some obscure

“and less easily classified libido,

“then come with me quietly
to the water.”

So I just got in the fountain and,
you know, it really was rather refreshing.

So I sported there
and struck some attitudes.

Oh, la fatigue du Nord!

Now, you can’t imagine an unpleasantness
like that happening to Sebastian, can you?

- No, I can’t.
- No.

Sebastian has charm.
Such charm.

Of course, you haven’t known him
as long as I have.

How long have you known him, Anthony?

I was at school with him.
You wouldn’t believe it,

but in those days people used to say
he was a little bitch.

The rest of us were
constantly being beaten

in the most savage way,
on the most frivolous pretexts.

But never Sebastian.

I can see him now, at the age of fifteen.
He never had spots, you know.

Boy Mulcaster was positively scrofulous,
but not Sebastian.

Or did he have one, rather a stubborn one
at the back of his neck?

Yes, now I think of it, he did.
Narcissus with one pustule.

You know, he and I were both Catholics,
so we used to go to mass together.

He used to spend such a time
in the confessional,

I used to wonder what he had to say,

because he never did anything wrong;
never quite;

at least, he never got punished.

Perhaps he was just being charming
through the grille.

I told Cocteau all about you.
He is absolutely agog.

You see, my dear Charles,
you are that very rare thing,

An Artist.

But who recognises you?

The other day I told Sebastian
that you drew like a young Ingres.

And do you know what he said?

“Yes, Aloysius draws very prettily, too,
but of course he’s rather more modern.”

So charming, so amusing.

Do you wish Sebastian was with us?

- No.
- Of course you do.

And do I? I wonder.

How our thoughts do run on that
little bundle of charm to be sure.

I think you must be
mesmerising me, Charles.

I bring you here,
at very considerable expense,

simply to talk about myself

and I find I talk of no one
except Sebastian.

It’s odd, because there’s
really no mystery about him,

except how he came to be born
of such a very sinister family.

It’s when one gets to the parents
that a bottomless pit opens.

My dear, such a pair.

They were married
for fifteen years or so.

And then Lord Marchmain
went off to war.

He never came back,
but formed a connection

with a highly talented dancer.

- Why doesn’t she divorce him?
- Because she is so pious.

My dear, you would think
that old reprobate had tortured her,

stolen her patrimony,
flung her out of doors,

roasted, stuffed
and eaten her children

and gone frolicking about wreathed in
all the flowers of Sodom and Gomorrah.

She’s a blood sucker, my dear,
a blood sucker.

You can see the tooth marks
on all her victims.

It’s witchcraft.
There’s no other explanation.

So you see, we mustn’t altogether
blame Sebastian.

- For what?
- For seeming a little insipid –

but then, of course, you don’t
blame Sebastian, do you, Charles?

With that very murky background,
what could he do except

set up as being simple and charming,

particularly as he isn’t
very well endowed in the Top Storey.

We couldn’t claim that for him,
could we, Charles,

much as we love him?

Tell me candidly, have you ever
heard Sebastian say anything

that you have remembered
for more than five minutes?

You know, when I hear him talk
I am reminded of that

nauseating picture “Bubbles”.

Conversation should be like juggling;
up go the balls and the plates,

up and over, in and out,
glittering in the footlights.

But when dear Sebastian speaks,
it is like....

like a little sphere of soap-sud
drifting off the end of an old clay pipe,

full of rainbow light for a second,
and then phut!

vanished, with nothing left at all,
nothing.

Shall we go, Anthony?

What’s the time?

Oh, it’s after nine o’clock.
I let you lie in.

I didn’t think you’d be going
to Corporate Communion.

And you were absolutely right, Lunt.

It was the last Sunday of term;
the last of the year.

It was nearly eleven when I left, and during
my walk I heard the change-ringing cease

and, all over the town,
give place to the single chime

which warned the city
that service was about to start.

None but churchgoers
seemed abroad that morning;

on their way to St Barnabas,
St Columba, St Aloysius,

St Mary’s, Pusey House, Blackfriars;

all in the summer sunshine
going to the temples of their race.

Four proud infidels alone
proclaimed their dissent,

four Indians from the gates of Balliol,
making for the river.

So, through a world of piety,
I made my way to Sebastian.

Hello.

I’ve been to mass.

I knew Mummy’d been writing
to Monseignor Bell.

He asked me to dinner
twice last week,

so I sat bang in the front
and absolutely shouted the Hail Mary’s.

I’m glad that’s over.

So, how was dinner with Antoine?
What did you talk about?

- Well, he did most of the talking.
- That’s not unusual.

Did you know him at Eton?

Hardly.
He was sacked in my first half.

Though I do remember
seeing him about a bit.

- Did he go to church with you?
- I don’t think so. Why?

Has he met any of your family?

Charles, how very peculiar
you’re being today.

No.
I don’t suppose so.

So why all this interest?

Well, I was trying to find out how much
truth there was in what he said last night.

Very little, I should think.
That’s his great charm.

Well, you may think it charming.
I think it’s devilish.

Do you know he spent most of last evening
trying to turn me against you?

And he almost succeeded.

Did he?

How silly.

Aloysius would not have
approved of that at all.

Would you, you pompous old bear?

The long vacation came,

and Sebastian disappeared
into that other life of his

where I was not asked to follow.

I was left, instead,
forlorn and regretful.

I returned to my father’s house
without plans and without money.

I faced a bleak prospect.
I was overdrawn at the Bank

and without my father’s authority
I could draw no more.

My dear boy,
they never told me you were here.

Hello, father.

Did you have a very exhausting journey?

- They gave you tea?
- Yes. Mrs Abel brought me some.

You are well?

I have just made a somewhat
audacious purchase at Sonerscheins –

a terra-cotta bull
of the fifth century.

I was examining it
and so forgot your arrival.

- Was the carriage very full?
- No.

- I managed to get a corner seat.
- Good.

Hayter brought you
the evening paper?

No news, of course –
such a lot of nonsense.

What do you like to drink?

Hayter, what have we
for Mr Charles to drink?

There’s some whisky.

There’s whisky.
Perhaps you like something else?

What else have we?

There isn’t anything else
in the house, sir.

There’s nothing else.

You must tell Hayter what you
would like and he will get it in.

I never keep any wine now.

I am forbidden it
and no one comes to see me.

But while you are here
you must have what you like.

- You are here for long?
- I’m not quite sure, father.

It’s a very long vacation.

In my day we used to go
on what were called reading parties,

always in mountainous areas.

Why? Why should alpine scenery
be thought conducive to study?

I had thought of putting in some time
at an art school.

My dear boy,
you’ll find them all shut.

The students go to Barbison
or such places and paint in the open air.

There was an institution in my day
called a “sketching club” –

mixed sexes, bicycles,
pepper-and-salt knickerbockers,

holland umbrellas, and,
it was popularly thought, free love.

Such a lot of nonsense.
I expect they still go on.

You might try that.

One of the problems
of the vacation, father,

is money.

Oh, I shouldn’t worry about
a thing like that at your age.

- You see, I’ve run rather short.
- Yes?

In fact, I don’t know how I’m going to get
through the next couple of months.

Well, I’m the worst person
to come to for advice.

I’ve never been “short”
as you so painfully call it.

And yet what else could you say?

Hard up? Penurious? Distressed?

Embarrassed? Stony-broke?
On the rocks? In Queer Street?

Yes, well, let us just say you are in
Queer Street and leave it at that.

Yes, but what do you suggest
I should do?

Your cousin Melchior was
imprudent in his investments

and got into a very queer street.

He went to Australia.

Hayter, I’ve dropped my book.

During the sultry week that followed
I saw little of my father during the day.

He spent hours on end in the study.

Now and again I would hear him go out;

sometimes for half an hour or less,
sometimes for a whole day.

Ah-ha, so there you are.

Splendid, splendid.

Very warm today.
Very warm.

Yes.

His errands were never explained.

The dinner table was our battlefield.

I do think, Charles,
you might talk to me.

I’ve had a very exhausting day.

I was looking forward
to a little conversation.

Of course, father.

What shall we talk about?

Cheer me up.
Take me out of myself.

- Tell me about the new plays.
- But I haven’t been to any.

You should, you know,
you really should.

It isn’t natural in a young man
to spend all his evenings at home.

Well, father, as I told you, I haven’t
much money to spare for theatre-going.

My dear boy, you must not allow money
to become your master in this way.

Why, at your age, your cousin Melchior
was part-owner of a musical piece.

It was one of his few successful ventures.

You should go to the play
as part of your education.

I received one letter from Sebastian.

It was written on, and enveloped in

heavy Victorian mourning paper,
black-coroneted and black bordered.

“Dearest Charles,

“I found a box of this paper
at the back of a bureau

“so I must write to you
as I am mourning for my lost innocence.

“It never looked like living.
The doctors despaired of it from the start.

“Soon I am off to Venice to stay
with papa in his palace of sin.

“I wish you were coming.
I wish you were here.

“I am never quite alone.

“Members of my family keep turning up
and collecting luggage and going away again

“but the white raspberries are ripe.

“I have a good mind
not to take Aloysius to Venice.

“I don’t want him to meet a lot of horrid
Italian bears and pick up bad habits.

“Love or what you will.
S.”

Strife was internecine
during the next fortnight,

but I suffered the more, for my father
had greater reserves to draw on.

One day, by chance,
a weapon came to hand.

I met an old acquaintance
of school-days, named Jorkins.

I never had much liking for Jorkins,

but I greeted him with enthusiasm
and asked him to dinner.

My father was quick to retaliate.

He made a little fantasy for himself
that Jorkins should be an American.

So nice of you to come
all this way, Mr Jorkins.

Oh, it isn’t far.
It’s really only a matter of minutes.

Ah, science annihilates distance.

You are over here on business?

Well, I’m in business,
if that’s what you mean.

I had a cousin who was in business –

you wouldn’t know him;
it was before your time.

I was telling Charles about him
only the other night.

He has been much in my mind.
He came a cropper.

You find his misfortune
the subject for mirth?

Or perhaps you were unfamiliar
with the word I used;

you no doubt would say
“folded up”.

Well, I don’t know that.

I mean...

I suppose with your standards
you find our life here very parochial.

My father was master of the situation.

Throughout the evening he played
a delicate, one-sided parlour-game with him,

explaining any peculiarly English terms
in the conversation,

translating pounds into dollars,
so that my guest was left

with the vague sense that there was a
misconception somewhere as to his identity,

which he never got the chance
of explaining.

I mean, if...

Only once I thought
my father had gone too far.

Of course, I’m afraid, living in London,
you must sadly miss your national game.

My national game?

Cricket.

Never mind.

I’ve decided to diversify
Charles’ evenings at home.

Tonight I have a surprise.

I’ve asked a few young friends over
for a little music-making.

Charles, you know the Orme-Herricks?

Did you know that Miss Orme-Herrick
was a student of the cello?

She’s going to play for us
tonight after dinner.

Charles...

Charles!

I really have to go.

Please!

I’m afraid Jorkins has to go, father.

He has to be up
very early in the morning.

Oh, what a pity.
Good-bye then, Mr Jorkins.

I hope you will pay us another visit
next time you “cross the herring pond”.

Good-bye, Mr Ryder, and thank you.
I’m so sorry I have to leave.

- I’ll just see him out, father.
- Such a versatile young man.

You must ask him again, soon.

Goodnight, Jorkins.

What very dull friends I have!

You know, without the
spur of your presence

I would never have roused myself
to invite them.

I have been very neglectful
about entertaining lately.

Now you are paying me a long visit,
I will have many such evenings.

You liked Miss Orme-Herrick?

- No.
- No?

Was it her little moustache
you objected to or her very large feet?

Do you think she enjoyed herself?

No.

That was my impression also.

I doubt if any of our guests will count
this among their happiest evenings.

That young foreigner
played atrociously, I thought.

Where can I have met him?

And Miss Constantia Smethwick –
where can I have met her?

But the obligations of hospitality
must be observed.

While you are here,
you shall not be dull.

Finally, one Sunday afternoon,
a telegram arrived from Sebastian

which threw me into a state
of fevered anxiety.

Father...

You’ll never guess
where I’ve spent the day.

I’ve been to the zoo.
It was most agreeable.

The animals seem to like
the sunshine so much.

Father, I have to leave at once.

Yes?

A friend of mine, he’s gravely injured.
I must go to him.

There’s a train in about half an hour.

“Gravely injured come at once Sebastian.”

Well, I’m sorry you are upset.

Reading this message
I do not think that the accident

can be quite so serious
as you seem to think,

otherwise it would hardly be signed
by the victim himself.

Still, of course, he may well
be fully conscious but blind

or paralysed with a broken back.

Why exactly is your presence
so necessary?

You have no medical knowledge.
You are not in holy orders.

Do you hope for a legacy?

I told you, he is a great friend.

Well, Orme-Herrick is a
very great friend of mine,

but I should not go tearing off to his
death bed on a warm Sunday afternoon.

I rather doubt whether
Lady Orme-Herrick would welcome me.

However, I see you have no such doubts.

I shall miss you, my dear boy,

but do not hurry back on my account.

Fear worked like yeast in my thoughts,

and the fermentation
brought to the surface,

in great gobs of scum,
the images of disaster;

a loaded gun
held carelessly at a stile,

a horse rearing and rolling over,

a shaded pool with a submerged stake,

a car at a blind corner;

all the catalogue of threats
to civilized life rose and haunted me.

I even pictured a homicidal maniac
mouthing in the shadows,

swinging a length of lead pipe.

Tickets, please, sir.

- Brideshead, sir?
- Yes.

Lady Julia’s waiting in the yard.
Thank you.

- You’re Mr Ryder?
- Yes.

Jump in.

- How is he?
- Oh, he’s fine.

- Have you had dinner?
- Yes, on the train.

Well, I expect it was beastly.
There’s some more at home.

Sebastian and I are alone,
so we thought we’d wait for you.

- What’s happened to him?
- Didn’t he say?

I expect he thought
you wouldn’t come if you knew.

He’s cracked a bone in his foot
so tiny that it has no name.

But they X-rayed it yesterday,
and told him to keep it up for a month.

It’s a great bore to him,
putting out all his plans;

he’s been making
the most enormous fuss.

Everybody else has gone.

At first he tried to make me
stay back with him.

Well, I expect you know
how maddeningly pathetic he can be.

I almost gave in and then I said:

“Surely there must be someone
you can get hold of,”

and he said everybody was away or busy
and, anyway, no one else would do.

But at last he agreed to try you,

and I promised I’d stay
if you failed him,

so you can imagine
how popular you are with me.

I must say, I think it’s noble of you
to come all this way at a moment’s notice.

How did he do it?

Believe it or not, playing croquet.

He lost his temper
and tripped over a hoop.

Not a very honorable scar.

She so much resembled Sebastian
that, sitting beside her,

I was confused by the double illusion
of familiarity and strangeness.

I hate driving at this time of the day.

There doesn’t seem anyone left
at home who can drive a car.

Sebastian and I are
practically camping out.

- Cigarette?
- No, thanks.

Light one for me, will you?

It was the first time in my life
that anyone had asked this of me,

and as I took the cigarette
from my lips and put it in hers,

I caught a thin bat’s squeak
of sexuality, inaudible to any but me.

Thanks.

You’ve been here before.
Nanny reported it.

We both thought it very odd of you
not to stay to tea with me.

That was Sebastian.

You seem to let him
boss you around a good deal.

You shouldn’t. It’s very bad for him.

Here we are.

I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian
to have started dinner without us.

Thank you.

Hello, darling.

Thank you, Wilcox.

Well, darling,
I have 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 would give us champagne tonight?

I hate champagne
and Mr Ryder has already had dinner.

Mister Ryder?
Mister Ryder?

Charles drinks champagne at all hours.

You know, looking at this
great swaddled foot of mine,

I can’t get it out of my head
that I’ve got gout,

and that gives me
a craving for champagne.

- Which way?
- This way.

Dinner was served
in the Red Dining Room.

While they dined, I ate a peach
and told them of the war with my father.

And he said to him: “Living in London,
you must miss your national game.”

And Jorkin said,
“What national game?”

And my father said:
“Why, cricket, of course.”

I mean, I really think
he’s sometimes quite mad.

He sounds a perfect poppet to me.

And now I’m going to leave you boys.

- Where are you off to?
- The nursery.

I promised nanny a last game of halma.

Dear Nanny Hawkins.
She lives entirely for pleasure.

Good night, Mr Ryder, and good-bye.
I’m leaving early.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you
for relieving me at the sick-bed.

- My sister’s very pompous tonight.
- I don’t think she cares for me.

I don’t think she cares
for anyone very much.

- I love her. She’s so like me.
- Do you? Is she?

In looks I mean,
and the way she talks.

I wouldn’t love anyone
with a character like mine.

Charles, we’re going to have
a heavenly time alone.

When, next morning, I saw Julia drive
from the forecourt and disappear,

I felt a sense of liberation and peace
such as I was to know years later,

when, after a night of unrest,
the sirens sounded the “All Clear”.

I believed myself very close to heaven,
during those languid days at Brideshead.

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

when we wandered alone
through that enchanted palace.