Marie Antoinette Page #3

Oh, this is deplorable. Deplorable.

I'll go to the king.

I'll have her punished.

I'll have her flogged.

I'll have her branded.

Oh, go, Louis.

It would be no use.

Louis, this woman

only dares to insult me...

...because you seem to despise me.

- But l...

- Help me, Louis. Please, I need you.

I know you don't love me, but couldn't

you pretend to like me a little?

- Why, l...

- lf only you would, before everybody.

I'd feel so secure, so proud.

I could even be happy here.

- I could even ignore du Barry.

- It would only make trouble.

What if it does?

We have been brushed aside

as though we were of no account.

And we've been cowardly enough

to submit.

We should live as becomes the heirs

to the throne of France.

I want life to be rich

and full and beautiful.

It could be if we'd only

stand together.

I tell you I can't. I can't try

to be anything but what I am.

Why do you plague me?

The king is the king.

And I am a princess

of the House of Hapsburg.

I'm an archduchess of Austria...

...and a daughter

of the Empress Maria Theresa.

I'm sorry you don't see it

my way, Louis.

Because I mean

to be the dauphine of France.

Not in the way I might have been

if we'd stood together.

But at least, I'll be the brightest,

highest figure in this court.

Warm, warm, warm.

Now, I wonder who this can be?

You'll have to guess, monsieur.

Soft silken hair...

...long eyelashes...

...soft flush cheeks.

There's something familiar.

Still I don't know.

I think I'll have to go farther.

Shell-like ears...

...alabaster neck, lovely shoulders.

Someday the Count Artois

will go too far.

Undoubtedly. Undoubtedly.

The dauphine. Behind that mask.

The dauphine.

Here? At this artists' ball?

Here or at any other

such affair in Paris.

No.

I said, no.

Why not?

Perhaps you haven't

enough allure, Philippe.

On the contrary, I have too much.

That's why I'm the only man about you

to whom you refuse your kisses.

Thank you.

Then you've seen but little of Paris,

my dear count.

Why, I've been visiting the museums.

Museums?

One doesn't come all the way

from Sweden to visit museums.

Monsieur, the young monsieur. Wait!

Are you by any chance a Russian?

I, a Russian?

Unfortunately, no, madame.

Oh, don't say that.

I need one so badly.

- Sorry.

- Wait.

- Madame?

- You must help me. You simply must.

You might very well be Russian.

I don't suppose you could use

a native of Sweden?

- Careful.

- Perhaps. Wait.

I'll have them open the door.

- I like your Paris.

- You know to whom you were speaking?

- No.

- Madame la Dauphine of France.

Impossible.

- What is this place?

- A gaming house.

If you're wise,

you'll walk on with me.

Oh, no, I'm not as wise as that.

Now, you really must excuse me.

A royal command, you know.

Besides, I'm a little tired of museums.

Make haste, monsieur. This way.

Come quickly!

But how perfect!

Why do you stare so?

I'm sorry.

Why, you're trembling.

Are you afraid?

- Perhaps, madame.

- Who are you?

I'm Count Axel Fersen of Sweden,

madame. And you?

- Can't you speak Russian?

- Alas, madame.

Talk Swedish.

They won't know the difference.

- But, madame...

- You must help me.

We were playing forfeits,

and I had the most appalling luck.

I lost every cent I had.

My allowance, my coach and horses.

And I shall lose this necklace

if I can't produce a Russian.

I'm glad I arrived in time

to save something, madame.

- My time's up. Come quickly.

- Madame...

No, no, no. I insist. Come, now.

Please, for my sake.

- Russian it is, then.

- That's it. Marvelous!

Come on.

What shall I call you?

Something Russian, let me see.

Ivan, lvan lvanovitch.

Charles, Philippe. Victory, victory!

Here is my forfeit.

Ivan lvanovitch, a genuine Russian.

Where did you find him?

Is he really a Russian?

Oh, and a handsome one too.

Don't you think so, Philippe?

Not bad.

- Did you ever see anything more Russian?

- Of course not.

I can almost smell the steppes of Russia.

I can also almost smell a rat.

Why, Charles.

Oh, he doubts me, doubts me.

Monsieur, my lvanovitch,

my Cossack hero, speak.

You see, Artois. The fob.

Bravo! Bravo!

Long live Russia!

What is the Russian for "kiss me"?

No, no, no, Gabrielle, he's mine.

I forbid you to touch him.

Oh, isn't he divine?

Look at his big shiny boots

and his black buttons. Oh, I adore him.

Have them bring wine.

I must drink to my Russian.

Permit me, madame.

To Russia, my lvanovitch,

and your naughty empress.

- Tell us about her.

- The intimate details.

Your personal experience.

My dear, is it necessary

to detain this gentleman further?

- He amuses me.

- He has served his purpose.

Why, Philippe, you're jealous.

I'm tremendously flattered.

We're all jealous.

Dare me, sir,

you've cost me my favorite fob...

...and I don't like your manner.

But I bear no malice.

I didn't catch your barbaric name.

- Nor I yours, sir.

- Hear him.

He didn't catch my name.

Permit me to present myself, sir,

and the company.

The troupe from the Opra Comique.

His Most Christian Majesty's

own favorite mummers.

He's the clown.

And this is our most bright

and glorious star...

...the toast of Paris,

Mademoiselle Gabrielle Ducros.

- Honored, mademoiselle.

- A pleasure, monsieur.

I'm astonished you do not know me.

- I've heard much of Mademoiselle Ducros.

- Oh, really?

- All Paris talks of no one else.

- The devil they do.

- What do they say of her?

- She is not unkind.

That a man may ask her to take supper

with him in a place not too discreet.

You presume, monsieur.

One may speak of supper

with a little actress, sir.

Artois, your joke is sour.

Cousin, inform this man who I am.

Her Royal Highness,

the dauphine of France.

The joke is sour.

Mademoiselle is charming and,

I've no doubt, talented.

I'm sure mademoiselle excels

in the role of soubrette.

She has the appearance,

the manners, and the temperament.

Messieurs.

Count Axel Fersen of Sweden.

You'll find me at the Swedish Embassy.

Messieurs, if you must, there's a time

for such things and a place.

Monsieur, my apologies.

- My lord, as your word.

- Madame.

Monsieur...

...the dauphine of France

is unable to accept...

...Count Fersen's kind invitation

to supper tonight.

But she's entertaining a few friends

at the house of Madame de Polignac.

And she begs that he will attend.

Count Fersen regrets, madame.

He's expected elsewhere.

A new sensation.

Why, sister, you're flouted.

Be quiet! All of you.

Wait. A wager.

The necklace, it belongs to me now.

Bring your Swede back to supper,

then I'll waive all claim to it.

I accept the wager.

Monsieur, wait. I insist.

I beg of you.

I deserve the snub.

It was a snub, wasn't it?

- You knew me from the beginning?

- I thought so, madame.

If I forgive you for treating me

so disrespectfully...

...will you forgive me for dragging you

into our game?

- That would only be fair, madame.

- And you'll come?

An invitation from me is not only

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