Becky Sharp Page #3

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Becky Sharp's mother a dancer?

At the risk of contradicting you, mam,

Miss Sharp's mother was an aristocrat.

A French lady by the name of Montmorency.

You're wrong, Rawdon.

I have it on Miss Rebecca's own authority

that her mother's name was Denier.

Here it says

"a portrait of my mother by my father".

A painter fellow?

And I had it on Becky's own authority that her father

was distinguished and rich.

I don't care what that blasted thing says.

I don't believe a word of it, not a single word of it.

Believe it, Mr. Crawley.

Believe anything, everything!

Only these relics, they're mine, sacred to me.

And no hand shall ever touch them but my own.

How well I remember that sweet smile.

Her portrait painted in exile.

This is how she looked always when she'd bend over my bed,

singing me to sleep.

Yes, my mother was a dancer. She danced herself

and she taught others to dance.

But she was an aristocrat.

Oh, make no mistake about that.

A Montmorency of the finest blood of France.

And that was the thing for which

she was exiled by the Revolution.

Her chteau burned, her estate confiscated,

her fortune taken from her.

Yes, she danced. Danced to feed her baby,

her only child.

To clothe me, to shelter me!

Do you wonder now why I treasure these things

that remind me of my mother?

Oh, this string of beads!

Miss Rebecca! Don't.

Not all diminishes when the heart is pure.

How dare you! Apologize to Miss Sharp at once!

Miss Sharp, we apologize...

Poor girl!

We were so unjust to her.

A little brandy, please.

Send for Dr. Crackenbush.

I know I'm going to die.

We must all part when the hour cometh.

Come in.

Becky, darling, why didn't you tell me?

Do you suppose I would have cared who your mother was,

how you were brought up?

Why did you have to hide things from me?

If you had led my life you would want to hide

something even from yourself.

Oh, tell me, are you sorry about yesterday?

I Sorry? My Becky darling, you're my wife now,

my own sweet wife.

Your wife! We've been married less then 24 hours

and already you doubt my words.

I don't, darling. I only want to know...

Know? Want more? Still more? Endlessly?

Do you want to hear about my father?

How he drank? How drink killed his talent,

his hopes, his wife?

When he beat her. And when I begged him

"Daddy, Daddy, don't strike her, strike me!".

What do you think he did?

I'll tell you:
he struck me.

Oh, my sweet Becky. My poor darling.

Oh, don't pity me, perhaps I'm lying.

Perhaps I'm inventing the story as I go along.

I don't care, I still love you.

Oh, that's what I wanted to hear.

Love me, Rawdon. Love me.

I've had so little love in my life.

I've been kicked about so much.

Take me away from here.

Oh, but Becky, we couldn't do that.

My aunt would disinherit me.

Who cares if she does?

We mean more to each other than money.

Oh, darling, get a hackney coach.

Come for me when it's dark.

Oh, why did I want you, my silly?

What have you? Not a penny, not a plan , not ambition.

But we'll make out, my Rawdon, we'll make out.

Life owes me many things and I intend to get them.

All it takes is the least touch of wit.

Oh, don't look so disturbed.

I don't expect you to supply the wit.

That's my dowry to you.

Lieutenant Osborne, you silly!

I'll not have you saying such things in my house.

Marriage is far too sacred to jest about.

Amelia, did you hear what your husband said?

No, darling.

He said Rawdon was prolonging our honeymoon

just to scare other men away from me.

George is such a wit.

Yes, both of you are, dear.

Do you think I've done justice to your treasure,

Lieutenant Osborne?

Beautiful, so delicate.

Is that all the praise I deserve?

Oh, Amelia, your husband's embarrassing me.

He simply doesn't respond to art.

Don't be too critical, love.

Your beauty is too gentle to reproduce.

Becky, how talented you are.

It's lovely...

George, what the deuce is keeping you?

We want you back in the game.

Oh, George, please don't play anymore.

You've lost so much lately.

Oh, let him play.

Gambling is an agreeable vice for a young man.

We can't afford it. We're already in debt.

In debt?

Lo, my precious, look about you.

This is the house that debt built.

Why, I'm wearing a debt dress, standing on a debt rug.

We must owe money to every shopkeeper in London.

We mustn't, but we do. Come on, George.

Let me touch your hand. It will bring you luck.

Gentlemen, I said ace and I keep my word.

It's still pretty short.

Why not, it's quite earned.

Where's your lady, Rawdon? She promised

to stand behind my chair and bring me luck.

She promised me that.

That's the way she entices Rawdon's victims.

To the victims she pays no favors,

does she, gentlemen?

George, would you like to throw an eight?

How many years since I heard you play last?

It was on your own harpsichord.

How I envied you for it.

But then I envied you for so much.

For all that you had and I didn't.

Becky, you envied?

You didn't pay any attention to me at all.

You were too busy with Joseph.

That fat brother of yours?

Oh, how you all worried for fear I'd marry him.

That's why poor Joseph was shipped off to India,

wasn't it?

Becky, you know Father...

Never mind that.

That's all forgotten.

That's the past.

Oh, Becky. You're the most generous,

the most forgiving darling.

Becky. Amelia.

Captain Thorndyke has just told us.

Napoleon has escaped from Elba.

Napoleon?

Napoleon?

War?

War, yes.

Our regiment will be ordered to Belgium.

How terrible!

How amusing!

Becky! What are you saying?

What luck! What incredibly dazzling luck!

Are you out of your mind?

Yes, I'm crazy for joy!

War! Belgium! A new start!

What have we here? Debts.

Tradesmen getting nasty! Bills!

And why do you think our luck will improve

in Brussels?

Because...

we'll force it to.

Silver, aren't they pretty?

I found them in a little curiosity shop

and I couldn't resist them.

Seven.

Seven again.

Becky!

And don't imagine I'll ever use them.

How silly you are. You look so frightened.

They happened to amuse me.

I had no idea they were loaded.

Not for us, are they, dear?

That's not the way to coax Lady Luck.

Not your way.

By Gad, no.

No, sweet, no.

Remember what's ahead of us. Brussels! Brussels!

Everyone will be there. Officers with their wives.

The best people, the richest people.

Society! A new life, Rawdon.

Oh, we should be very grateful to Napoleon.

Darling.

Now I understand why Wellington keeps us

in Brussels.

England expects every man to do his duty...

nightly.

Now, General, don't make me sorry I invited you.

I shall send you home.

To be thrown out by the Duchess of Richmond

is the beginning of a social career.

Impossible man!

Don't listen to him. I adore it here.

So breathtaking, so brilliant.

Always the danger of a sudden attack.

No danger, my dear.

There will be no fighting till the Prussians join us.

Mrs. Crawley, a waltz, a single waltz.

No, don't ask me, not a waltz.

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