money.
Sonya doesn't need money.
She's a millionaire.
The best thing to do with your
prize money is to buy shares.
You didn't exactly make
a fortune out of shares.
- I'd buy a house by the sea.
- Buy it before the money's gone.
Or perhaps a house,
or a big apartment in Paris.
Maybe both.
I've told Ivan Alekseyevich
he should go into publishing.
- He won't listen.
- You must be mad, Gurov!
There are more Russian
publishers than readers.
As an old capitalist let me
tell you: it's tedious.
I'd sell a factory
and live on the income.
We're old and sick. All we need
is a house and a decent cook...
What about Galia Nikolayevna?
The cork's rotten.
- Have you asked Galia?
- We will, when she gets back.
She's sick. We left her
at the Kovtuns' in Paris.
I don't know about Dr Kovtun,
but his sister is dangerous.
- To pretty girls...
- Be quiet, Alia.
My brother and his wife are out.
I've come to put on your cups.
Turn over onto your front
and pull up your nightdress.
- Turn away, Marga.
- Don't be silly. I'm not a man.
May I ask you something?
Have they been telling you
Bad things about me?
- Of course not.
- I'm very fond of men, Galia,
but my last boyfriend was
an invalid army officer
who didn't have a left eye
or a left arm.
He used to run round
the bed at night, howling.
Goodness, what am I doing?
I'll set the place on fire.
Just lie down and relax.
- Turn over.
- I got such a fright.
- Did he have a right one?
- A right arm? Oh yes.
- How did he run if he was lame?
- He had crutches.
- Will it hurt?
- Only a little.
- It's pulling at me.
- Be brave.
- When can I take them off?
- They'll come off on their own.
You'll have browns spots,
like a leopard.
- Forever? - They'll be gone
by the time you're married.
Thank goodness! I thought
you were never coming back.
How do you feel?
Better.
You look great.
I've got something for you.
- Mine?
- Yours.
Published at last!
Give me a match. A match...
You've started smoking?
Marga taught me.
How was it at the Kovtuns'?
Fine.
Marga looked after me.
- Can we invite her here?
- Why not? -Good.
I missed you terribly.
Let's tell him to stop.
I want to walk.
Is something wrong?
No.
We're getting out here. Take
our bags to Villa Jeannette.
This is full of misprints!
It's unbelievable!
Sorry, I'm out of sorts today.
I was at the publishers.
They didn't give me any money.
They're not getting
another word from me!
Did they take the poems?
Yours yes. Mine no. As usual!
Isn't it lovely here?
After we're gone, all this
will still be the same.
La Belle France! The most
beautiful country on earth.
What about Russia?
The Russia I knew
is gone forever.
I can't accept it. Like death.
I can't imagine never seeing
Moscow again, or the village...
I'm not afraid of death.
It disgusts me.
There's nothing after it.
Perhaps for some people.
But not for me.
Just darkness. Emptiness.
Why do I hate the Bolsheviks?
That gang of revolutionaries?
They're like that sect of
eunuchs. Somehow unfeeling.
Those sexless faces! Castrated.
The people changing life,
Don't have a clue what life's
about-they can't love.
It's like with a woman:
you have to love all of her.
Even her tears and tantrums
and fat thighs.
But they love an ideal. An idea.
They want to improve on God.
These Talentless creatures
are destroying the world.
Life, happiness, hope...
Better to hang yourself.
Marga is beautiful, isn't she,
Ivan Alekseyevich?
She's alright.
A bit monumental.
- I think she's lovely.
- Hello you boys!
- Vera Nikolayevna!
- Will anybody join me?
I will, Vera Nikolayevna!
I'll join you in spirit!
A regular sea-nymph!
- You'II drown! -What a subject
for a budding photographer!
- 'Writer with entourage.'
- Put that damn thing away, Marga!
That I can do without.
Jan! The water's wonderful!
- It's so lovely. So peaceful.
- You call this peace?
I mean here, in Grasse.
I love provence.
You've