The Great (2020–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - The Beard - full transcript

You're not Great, are you?

What?
Peter the Great, not you.

No, that's my father.

I'm Peter the...

Could we be silent?

I'm trying to concentrate, and it's
already hard enough when there's a bee.

I was once stung in the eye and it really
hurt, so I find them quite unnerving.

- Of course.
- Thank you.

Empress. Emperor.

Marial! A bath.

Huzzah!
Fuck off. I'm in a mood.

Oh, let me guess. A bad mood?

To repeat myself, fuck off.
Charming.

You are the emperor of Russia,

lord of all you survey.

That's true. So...

don't be so fucking mournful.

Oh, you're right.
She cannot make me mournful.

So I say again, huzzah.

Huzzah. Thank you, my friend.

Hmm.

Ah!

Oh! No!

Louder!

Louder! Sing louder, you fuckers!

Yeah.

Exactly. That's exactly my point.

I've been thinking.

We must begin the planning,
sooner rather than later.

That bad, huh?

Mm, more dull than horrific.

But Russia must be saved, and I with it.

How, is the question.

I've never done a coup before,
so I'm unsure how to proceed.

Well, I would suggest,
next time he is rutting on you,

take a knife, plunge it
into his neck, and face.

You're all hot blood, aren't you?
Thank you.

You just need someone who will kill him.

Why would they do that?
Because they hate him.

And yet that has not been enough
to make it happen.

True.
They need a reason for it.

Besides, I do not seek to kill for hatred,

but to create a greater Russia,

a progressive and humane place.

Oh, okay... Right.

That's good.

We need a philosophical backbone
that people can gather behind,

believe in.

I will need help to develop that.

For while I am brilliant,
it must be tested and impregnable.

Orlo is the man to help me.

What? Are you mad?
I am brilliant,

which has often been misconstrued as mad.

Orlo is one of Peter's inner circle.
Not in his heart.

For when he speaks of Descartes,
he lit from within.

That is the truth of him.

He is a player who has survived
ten years, that is not easy.

He is a bumbler with women,
but not with politics.

So? He is a savvy to boot, bonus for us.

Let us go find him. My robe?

Empress, it is a dangerous game,
do you realize?

Of course I do.

How so?

If Peter were to discover you plotting,

you would be good as dead.

I am as good as dead here,

so I have nothing to lose.

Forty‐one, Count Smolny.

A small thing, Emperor.

I would like the take the land
of my recently widowed

sister‐in‐law and nephews.

Oh, that's sad. How did Orlovsky die?

A sword was found in his back,

though it's unclear how it got there.

Hmm.
I agree with Count Smolny,

and perhaps some of the lands
he takes could be tithed to the church‐‐

a small percentage, say, 15,

laid before our Lord God's feet.

So much is laid at the church's feet,

I sometimes fear they cannot
see the congregation

for the dazzling riches
they stack before them.

Funny, Orlo. You greedy fuck, Archie!

And if we allow this,
swords might start appearing

in brothers' backs all over Russia,

causing great tension
at family gatherings and parties.

Good one, Orlo.
Let's not ruin the parties.

Emperor.

This is so dull.

Velementov, do a funny little dance
to amuse me.

Sir, I am...

leader of the armed forces.

I do not do a funny little‐‐
Arkady?

Stab Velementov in the face.

Uh, uh, 42...

uh, Count Rostov.

Rostov?

I bring you the peaches you love, Emperor,

and the love of the people of my region.

What the fuck, Rostov?

Why do you still wear a beard?

It is why I come before you today.

I would like special dispensation
to wear one.

And I would like a bird
that shits chocolate.

Gentlemen, I said I would like a bird
that shits chocolate.

Orlo, explain my fucking edict
while I eat this peach.

Dispensation on beards is
for the guards and the priests only.

Fuck me, that's a good peach.
It's fragrant, sweet.

There's a slight lemon to that.

Jesus, Rostov. Look at you.

I am a modern ruler,

making things happen in a modern,
European way. No beards.

Sir... I beg you.

Well, you are not on your knees,
so you don't.

Get up, fuck off,
and come back with a shaved face.

We should, uh, hear Rostov out.

It is the custom that aristocrats
make requests of their emperor.

Oh, I agree.
For I would love to know

why a man comes before you
with a beard that says, "Fuck you."

Is that what your beard says, Rostov?

Uh, Grigor,
I do not believe he is saying that.

- Metaphorically. What else?
- No!

My wife has never seen my face...

and it is unfortunate.

Unfortunate how?

It is a mix of boils and pustules,

scarring.

I fear she will not...

want me, not be happy with me.

So your wife will not be happy,
but I will, and that's all that matters.

A man's wife's happiness should not be
so fucking important.

Shave it off and return to me tomorrow.

Rostov.

Orlo.

Taxes may be slow
for my region this month.

And every peach will be bruised.

Our family hold the region together.

I thought he'd have some compassion.

Delusional optimism, Rostov.

But I believe we can win this.

How? Peter is often swayed

if the whole group is against something.

Let me gather numbers, and then
tomorrow, we will bring you to him.

Hmm.

I cannot see him.

Empress, you look radiant.

We would love for you to join us.

We have cakes in the shape
of woodland animals,

and it is a lark to dunk their faces
in vodka and eat them.

It sounds interminable, Lady Svenska,
so I shall pass.

If you would move...

Well, I will be the first to say
what we are all thinking.

She is a bitch, who sides with a serf.

- Who's stuck up and rude.
- She is a great disappointment.

She is new, and we must try harder.

For we must make her happy
to make the emperor happy.

I thought you take care
of his happiness, Madam Dymov.

Grigor, a moment.

I'm leaving, Orlo.
But Count, Count Rostov's beard.

I want him to keep it.
It's a question of free will.

You can help me convince Peter.

I can't help you, Orlo.
We live at the emperor's whim.

People should accept that.
Shut the fuck up, and have a drink.

I thought if anyone would
like the idea of free will taking hold,

it would be you.

And Madam Dymov.

I shall refrain from
punching you in the face

for the next 12 seconds.

You should walk on.
You know...

Fabulous party, isn't it?

It is a happy court, it seems.

All is bliss in the court of Peter.

Do I detect a slight jest in your voice?

I ate a radish.
It can affect the vocal cords.

Empress.

Darling. Are you drunk yet?

Um, not yet, despite strenuous efforts.

In fact, I thought
I might retire to our apartment.

Then I go with you.

Orlo.

I have a pamphlet by Voltaire,
I would love to share with you.

Mm. Thank you.

I am learning much of the kingdom,
dear Orlo.

It has come to my attention
the emperor is not Peter the Great.

That was his father, a great man.

What is this Peter's flourish?
He does not have one.

Hmm.

Peter the...

Not Quite Adequate?

I think you already thought of this jest.

I don't know what you mean.

I am sure. Set a meet.

Here we are.

Velementov.

Velementov.

Oh. Orlo.

Oh, God. Oh, God, my fucking head.

You all right? You look
even more nervy than usual.

I'm fine. I must talk of Rostov.
Mm.

We must work on Peter to keep his beard.

What the fuck do I care about his beard?

Men are dying in the field.

A beard is not my concern. Huh?

The day is unstable for lack of‐‐.

Ah, yes. I remember now.

I'm drunk, yes.

No beards was always a stupid idea.

And might I remind you, it was your idea.

It is stupid.

But it is a modern European court idea
and Peter allowed it,

which allows us to present
more modern European ideas,

and perhaps one day, a meaningful one.

Always playing the long game, Orlo.

I, however, have some short‐term debts

the treasury might see to.

You've said no before, but, uh,

perhaps your beard is important to you.

Prick.

I know a "yes" when I hear one.

Oh, no! No, my darlings, no!

Hello. Oh!

Problem?

I'm training them.
The butterflies?

What if I could get them to align,
and fly in forms of my own choosing?

How wonderful that would be.

And how is that working out?

I admire their willfulness.

Quite.

Now you, my dearest nephew.

I was noticing the unhappy nature
of your bride.

Dark clouds have covered the sun.

Well, fuck her. She has everything.

She is unhappy.
It is spoken of at court.

Unhappiness in a court can be contagious.

You must clear the clouds.

She must clear the fucking clouds.

I'm the emperor.

As you know, my taste in love
runs wild and free,

but I know I cannot make a heart sing
just because I am the emperor's family.

That does not get a man hard
or a woman wet.

You must capture their heart.

It is her job to make me happy.

She does not love me.

Everyone else does,
so the fault lies with her.

Your mother once confided in me

that she saw something within you
that made her heart curdle.

What?
She insisted that there was

something quite... rancid about you.

What is the point of this conversation?

Oh, I wonder whether Catherine
has seen the same thing,

and it is stopping her from loving you.

I punched her.

Oh. Some enjoy that,

but perhaps she does not.

Regardless, you must do
something about it.

Oh, hello.

What are they?

Just some notes.

This is on the basic principles
for the new government:

Some ideals,

the question of citizens' rights
we must discuss.

I must excite his mind
to the possibilities

that we can build together.

And then you'll fuck him, right?

What?

He needs to be cunt‐struck by you.

You must fuck him,

and then he will set his face on fire
if you ask it.

- Seduce him.
- Seduce him?

I have never done that.

It's easy. You just lie back.

Expose some flesh,
be suggestive, but not explicit.

Go on.
Touch him casually about his person,

and be loose.

Maybe a breast falls from your blouse.

And then he will be on you.

On me.

Okay.
And then after he has done you,

profess love, union, stars in alignment,

fate, philosophy,
shed some tears of unhappiness,

and then talk knives in necks.

And eat an oyster. Helps your mood.

Enter.

Dear Orlo.

Thank you for coming.

It is my pleasure.

I have the Voltaire pamphlet.

Giving me gifts, alone,
in a secluded cottage.

It is completely inappropriate, you know.

Shit. Sorry.

Um, should, should we go to the, um,
uh, library or the, the garden?

It is thrilling to break the rules,
is it not?

I can't wait to confess
and see Archie's face.

He put his fingers inside me.

Oh. Okay, um, that's not good, is it?

Sorry.

Let's not‐I don't‐.

That's not why we're here.

You have caught my eye.
Oh. Thank you. I am flattered.

Shall we read?

Is that what you want to do?

Are you okay? You, you seem...

something. Do I?

Yes.

Does it stir you?

Um... Champagne?

I, I, I don't drink.
I, I don't need anything.

But is there anything you want?

I'm fine.

Come and get it.

Oh, my God.
You are trying to seduce me.

Oh.

You had the oysters.

I'm, I'm always reluctant.
They travel them some distance.

I'm a failure.

No. No, you're not.
I, I, I would, of course, have sex.

Um, I'm not‐‐
Yes, uh, should we read first?

I'm not used to, um...

I feel a bit breathless, actually.
Might sit.

I actually feel very unwell.

Empress, I am not
well‐versed with women.

Um...

I have in some way ruined things.
I apologize. Sorry.

Orlo! Don't go!

I will say it plain.

I was hoping you'd be mad
with desire for me,

and then you'd help me
inspire an army to kill Peter.

What?

You wouldn't, would you?
Kill him with me?

A coup?
Don't say anything else.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Oh, Fuck, fuck...
fuck!

I failed.

I was not good at seducing,

and he was not good at understanding
that he was being seduced.

And then when I just asked him
straight out if he would kill Peter,

he said, "fuck" and ran away.

When you what?
I do not wish to apportion blame,

but I believe your seduction plan
was ill‐advised.

You told him of the coup?

I did.
That also may have been ill‐advised.

Shit. It is bad.

I'm sure he will not tell him.

He is good at heart.

He has survived at court ten years.

It takes dark skills.

Loyalty is rewarded here.
He could tell Peter.

Then I must win him over before he does.

I will go to him and try again.

The emperor requests
the empress's presence.

How is the emperor's mood this morning?

Ah. Here you are.

Taste this bacon.
They are fed only on acorns and honey.

It is amazing.

Mm. Yes. Delicious.

We concur. We agree.

We share a love of bacon.
Huzzah.

Sit.

As requested.

You probably don't remember this,

but a week or two ago,
I shot your bear and punched you.

Perhaps it has cast a pall between us.

The fact you shot my bear
and punched me?

Yes. I think I was angry
because no one has ever not liked me.

Or at least, they're pretending to.

Hmm. Toosh.

What? Toosh.

Do you mean touché?

What, is it not toosh?
No. Touché.

See. That's great. How smart you are.

Point is, it's a new day,
a time to put things behind us.

Teething problems, I believe they call it.

Are you apologizing to me?

I'm looking forward, not dwelling.

It is hell to dwell.

It is a saying I just made up.

So you wish to forget it?

Regret it and forget it. Another saying.

Look, here's what I think's happened.

You've come in here
with a very romantic notion of me,

and marriage, and your life.

A little naive, I guess. Not a criticism.

It's actually a lovely attribute.

You met me, and I'm not a romantic man,
more a practical chap.

And I like to have fun,
larks and jokes and weird sex.

Point is, we're married,
but we don't do it for each other.

We finally agree.

Huzzah. Yes, accepting that truth
might be liberating for us.

You're really a drag around court.
I want you to find happiness here.

Hence, strawberries.

Also, a new bear,
to replace the one I shot.

Live as empress and enjoy it.

We should also find you a lover.
I should take a lover?

Yes, we should reach an agreement,

because what's the alternative?

You remain unhappy, I become
more and more angry, and then I kill you.

I don't want to kill you.
You're not a bad person.

I could kill you.
You are a bad person.

See? I like you. You're funny,
in a droll, despairing sort of way.

I couldn't take a lot of it,
but occasionally, it's refreshing.

Now, would it be so bad?

We have enough in common to get on.

We do? Like what?

Well, we're both...

pretty.

Now, I never imagined myself
as the guy who punches his wife.

And yet you are.

Is that your mother's necklace?

Yes.

I wear it sometimes to feel close.

Did your father punch her?

I have said regrets and new day things.

You must cheer up
and look forward to the future.

I do, very much
look forward to the future.

Oh. That's great.

For I gather,
you will not punch me again.

I won't.

We are agreed? Oh.

That one is rancid.

As is your whole idea.

You're still strong.

We all are if we know where to find it.

Oh, your heart is pounding.

I've been fighting.

Your joy in pain is disturbing.

We must all know our darkness,

for how else do we know
where to shine the light?

So profound, cousin.

Occupational hazard.
It's like a reflex now.

You want some breakfast?

Oh, God, yes.

The shit I get served downstairs.

Um, I have a concern
I wish your help with.

Anything.

The empress.

I'm worried something she said to Orlo
could be taken the wrong way.

What did she say?

She expressed some unhappiness
with the emperor.

Orlo may exaggerate the situation
to enlarge himself at court.

Be to your detriment if he did,
as you're the author of her presence.

I had a vision from God.
I do not resile from it.

In Catherine's defense,
perhaps Orlo tried to rape her.

To rape her?

He is a man who famously lacks
the skills to see his desires met.

Fuck a man up. Don't you agree?

If you need a defense, that could be one,
that's all I'm saying.

I will deal with it.

Thank you.

Aah!

My gift.

Orlo!

No, please.
Please do not speak to me. I beg you.

Help me with the coup.

Oh, my God, you cannot say that word.
Why? It's just a word.

But it does excite the mind, does it not?

Here's my plan.

You and I will create a philosophy
and plan for my regime,

one that will inspire others to act

and be a blueprint for my reign.

Your‐My reign.

When we create a strong, vibrant Russia,

alive with ideas, humane and progressive,

and here people live
with dignity and purpose.

In Russia? Indeed.

Huzzah.

Do you want to die?

I am indifferent.
I certainly do not want to live like this.

You'll get used to it,
and I know it looks bad,

but we make progress.

At the moment, we have an issue
over the free will of beard‐wearing.

I feel if‐Beards?

No. I have no time to waste
and neither do the people.

Are you in?

I cannot join for the simple reason

you have already proved yourself
incapable of executing it successfully.

How? You chose me.

You are‐A civil servant.

A coward. I don't believe you.

You are not a coward.

I know you different.

When we talk of ideas and humanity,

I see a light ablaze in you.

You don't know me at all.

You married badly.
I'm, I'm sorry you made a mistake.

Don't drag me and Russia into it.

Russia and I are married
to the same man. It is the same thing.

You are an angry, mad person,
so you will forgive me if I say no.

And you must promise me
never to speak of this to anyone else.

I beg you, for your own sake.

And will you speak of it?

Or will you take it to Peter?

It is something I am forgetting
as I walk away from you. Good day.

As we hunt, we shall discuss
whether or not to kill the empress.

What? Sir, no, no.
She is a, a radiant presence.

She is shimmering, a godsend.

She is a misery at court,
made fun of the ladies' wig hats,

and is a strange creature who I sense is,
at times, laughing at me.

I was thinking a small carriage accident,

a suitable period of mourning,
and onward to a new choice.

Archie, you will not be involved,

as you were abysmally fucking wrong,
and tell that to God.

Emperor, she's going through
some transition.

We should help her with compassionate‐‐.

Shut the fuck up. Orlo, thoughts.

I think not, sir.

It would look bad in Europe
and be whispered at court.

No one at court likes her,
except apparently you disloyal fucks.

Go, all of you. George and Grigor stay.

Mother lit up
when Father walked into a room.

I could kill her and start again.
Why is no one excited by this idea?

Orlo's right.

It would look like a failure in court,
and in Europe...

that you could not keep
your woman happy.

He is the emperor.

You, of course, may kill her if you wish.
She will be forgotten about in weeks.

Finally, some loyalty.

Between us, I thought her and I
might be as you two,

a perfect union.

Perhaps she could be.

Why give up now?

She may be all you need,
as George is to me.

I suspect I will always need more,

as I am a person who always needs more.

It seems to me, all you really want is
for her to be more cheerful in court

and to bear you an heir,
that is all you want from a wife.

Yes. Yes, and she does not provide it.

Grigor,

you never told me how tricky
this marriage business is.

Until one is in it, one cannot imagine.

Hmm.

I sometimes feel that

due to our political differences,

I perhaps do not offer you
the spiritual counsel that you need.

This is my flaw.

I am fine for counsel, but thank you.

And if you're seeking flaws,
I could also make a list of yours

if it would aid you. How kind.

I see you occasionally huddled
with the empress

and wonder if you're trying
to butt‐fuck her.

Hmm.

As flustered as a freshly
raped novice, Orlo.

No, I am not.

She is my friend in literature,
that is all.

Let us go back and ask the emperor,
see what he makes of it.

He seems in a forgiving mood.

And perhaps remind him
your vision brought her here.

God is right in all things.

But she is upsetting him,

when I hoped being married
would settle him.

You and I are men of power,
and I'm sure would like to remain so.

We have that much in common.

Do not take advantage of her unhappiness.

I am not.

You must offer her counsel,

lead her to a safe path, for all of us.

So I believe you ask a favor?
Hmm.

I've always said you're the smartest man
in the kingdom.

She is smarter than I hoped,

but we will manage, and you will help me.

You just have to try
and control everyone, don't you?

I must do God's will, and he often
wants us all to not be as we are.

And in exchange, you will help me
with Rostov's beard.

I thought perhaps
he really wanted her dead.

He lashes out if he feels alone.

Such insight. You know him so well.

Do not scratch at me.

I'm killing her,
a carriage accident later in the week.

You must decide how to make it work
with Europe and the court.

Shit.

Hello?

Come here.

Oh. Wow.

Look what those shits
have done to my house.

Trespassing. That is not yours anymore.

Guards.
You're really doing this then?

It will help you adjust to your place.

Think of it as an act of friendship.

Let us make it worth it then!

Yes. Yes.
I knew you would see reason, Orlo.

I have not. I come to you
to help you see reason.

Your obvious unhappiness endangers you.

In what way?
He will kill you.

Marial!

Uh, you wanted something,
Empress?

Where is Marial?

She's... not here. Um, but she will be,

at an unknown time‐‐
You are lying,

which is both out of character
and really annoying.

Take me to her.

Adieu.

Vlad, you will look worse than me
when I am done with you.

She will not touch you, Vlad.

He wants me to touch him.
Don't you, Vlad?

Um... uh...

What happened?
I forgot my place.

- Who?
- It does not matter.

My nature and my station collided,
that is all.

No one has the right to do this.

Technically untrue.
I am property, not a person.

Give me a few minutes and I will be out
to dress you for dinner.

What has happened? Are you all right?

I did not realize I would be
having so many guests.

I would have had tea brought down.
Who did this?

She will not say. Lady Svenska, perhaps.

It was not her.

I have a job to do.

I am ready. Let us go, Empress.

Empress, I had a vision
from God this afternoon.

Oh, he does that.

I came to Marial to pass it to you.

Knives were raining down from the clouds,

headed for your soft skin.

And you smiled, and they all disappeared

and became flower petals,

floating gently down.

Everyone wants me to be happy,

now even God.

God's love... is all.

I am training them.

They do not all make the journey
to a new land.

My dear, sit.

And let's talk of how you are.

I'm quite well. Note my smiling face.

I do. Has Emperor Peter
had something to do with this?

He has been sweet.
Oh. At heart, that is him.

You know, as a young boy,
Peter would run to his mother,

holding aloft a picture he'd drawn
or a boat fashioned from leaves,

his eyes and words
begging for approbation,

for love.

And she would level a gaze at him
and hold him in it,

and he would fall silent and go so still.

And then tears would run from his eyes,

and his whole body would begin
shaking uncontrollably,

and urine would pool at his feet.

Hmm.
It was a curious phenomenon.

Why would she do that?

Everyone has their thing.

Hers was cruelty.

So I'm asking for some forgiveness,

some empathy, from one
I can tell is filled with both.

That is amazing.

Indeed.

Aah, stop. Stop. Get back here.

Aah. Good evening, husband.

Empress.

You look marvelous.

And your skirt,

it is very pretty. Thanks.

It also allows one's cock
to swing free in the air.

Marvelous. Old Madam Bolzoi whipped it up.

It is genius.

I apologize if I have been
of sour face lately.

I had my blood in,
and you know how that goes. Rrrr.

Oh, right. I see.
Well, that explains much.

But I feel much restored.

What is the nature of this
stunning banquet?

We are honoring some of our wounded,

who finally won a battle for us
against Sweden.

Poor fucking guys.

No eyes, that one.

To never see a naked woman
or a deer in full fucking fight again.

Still, he may fuck ugly women
and be happy now.

Huzzah.

Let us dance. Ooh.

You're an exceptional dancer.

The secret is to imagine
your feet have wings on them.

Orlo, you virgin.
Pretend to mount your own hand.

Brilliant!

George, do the thing.

Watch this. It is marvelous.

Huzzah! CROWD: Huzzah!

Whoo! Ah!

Ah! Cake! Cake!

Ah! Thank you!

Ah, rich!

He will suffocate,
yet die the happiest of men.

To the men who died in battle.

To those who returned without
all their fucking limbs.

Huzzah!

Huzzah!

Oh. That was delicious. Mm.

I agree entirely.

I knew we had things in common.
Good taste.

And our prettiness.

Hmm.

Bring in those Swedish heads.

We will eat dessert
under their beady gaze.

Hmm.

Mmm.

Fucking lemoniest of lemon. Extraordinary.

Would you like mine? It matches your hair.

Hmm.

Indeed.

It is happy to be happy together,
is it not?

It is marvelous.

You are marvelous.

You gave me a bear
and have ceased punching me.

What woman would not be happy?

Huzzah. Huzzah.

Hmm.

I feel we are being stared at.

I believe we are.

You rude fucker.

Hmm?

Everyone,
poke their fucking eyes out.

Huzzah.

To be true to my heart, apparently,
I must be disingenuous with my face.

It is the way for all of us.

It is not a crime to lie to others,

just to lie to one's self.

Very profound.
It is very fucking unpleasant to me.

Hmm. You perhaps thought the taking
of an empire would be effortless.

I do not like your tone.
Why? It contains the prick of truth.

Yes, that is exactly why.

Are you sore?

The emperor requests entrance.

Thank you and have
a pleasant night, husband.

Right. You, too.

Was good, huh?

Indeed.

Indeed.

Okay. Good.

Indeed.

Empress.

What a life you live, Orlo.

You will not get your cock wet
or your knife bloody

or your heart even pumping,

but you will perform
like a cock‐pumping circus for him.

These books, these ideas,

as dead on your shelves as you are inside.

They are poetry, not reality.

Would you not like to see
a strong, vibrant Russia,

alive with ideas, humane and progressive,

where people live
with dignity and purpose?

I would.

And a talking pig,
and a dog that cooks omelets.

But I suspect I will die disappointed.

Well, there's an aspiration,
to die disappointed.

Good luck with that.
I suspect you will make it.

Empress, I have looked at the situation
and at what I can achieve within reason.

What's the point in believing
in something if you will not act for it?

I, too, believe in reason,
in a nation ruled by it.

But I believe only action and passion
will achieve it.

I will not live my life on the sidelines,

some half‐hearted coward.

I promised myself a great love.

That didn't work out.

Then I realized...

it is a great life that I want.

Everyone does that.

Then they grow up and realize
that there are parameters.

Treason is what we're discussing here,

which could get you cut open,
filled with baby rats,

and then sewn back up.

I hate rats. So do I.

What else do you hate?

I hate the war.

I hate the fucking state of my country.

But this is Russia,

things change incrementally.

As I said, you'll get used to it.

If I am ever used to it,
I will not be me.

I make a difference, Empress.

I spread ideas. I make progress.

I understand.

If you did this,
you would be a different man.

You would be a man
who had been on fire all this time...

but finally, one day,

let himself take the lid off,

and let the fire burn away the fear,

and leave him raw and ready

to do what it took to join hands with me.

And we would transform this country,

and die, if needs be, in the process.

But we would happily die,

knowing we lived as we should.

You would be that man.

I can't.

I saw a small man
and imagined something bigger.

I apologize, sir.

What will you do with them?

Burn them.

I need you to give these
a Christian burial.

I can only do a whole body.

I could bless them.

Grant rest eternal
in blessed repose, O Lord,

to Thy servant who's fallen asleep,

and make their memory to be eternal.

So I've decided not to kill her.

She was full of happy japes.

She explained her blood
was in for weeks, apparently,

which was strange but may be
an Austrian thing,

so let us forgive her
and give her another chance.

Emperor, Count Rostov.

Rostov, you still have a beaver
on your face. What the fuck?

Emperor, perhaps a gesture

would be to make the having of beards
an issue of free will.

We've been talking.

Who's "we"? All of us.

Velementov, you explained it well.

I, um...

Perhaps an idea of, um...

allowing people to choose
would be a way to...

express love, and, uh,

share the strength
of your leadership, and, um...

our quest for modernity.

They realize your wisdom
and almost all happily honor it,

while allowing some freedom.

They love you more.

And what if they all wear beards
as an open "fuck you"?

- They would not.
- Of course they would not,

for they love the emperor,

but I agree with Grigor.

It opens the door for the unhappiness

to have a visual symbol of rebellion.

It's just a beard.
I just need dispensation, that is all.

My wife‐Shut up.

What unhappiness? Archie?

There is no unhappiness.

None at all.
Mere hypothetics, I'm sure‐‐.

They should all do
as the emperor fucking says!

His will is what we all must bend to.

His wisdom.
Why should some bend and not others?

Hear. Hear.
Now, now I think on it properly,

this is a silly thing to ever consider.

So the edict stands.
Rostov, get rid of that fucking beard.

You cannot just force everyone
to just bend to your will,

for externally they will, but inside,
simmering discontent will rise,

and may spew forth.

Are you yelling at me, Orlo?

Sir, you must win their minds.

Sir. Sir, uh,

we can move the country on
and bring the people with us by choice,

rather than force.

Free will is an important‐‐
Emperor‐‐.

Shut the fuck up, fatso.

Shave him. What?

Fucking shave him.

Rostov, move, and you'll lose
more than your beard.

Of course, you have free will,
you can refuse me.

Go ahead. Make your choice.

And then I will have free will
to make my next choice.

Um, water and soap.

Just do it.

Orlo, you fuck.

It is Orlo.