Any resemblance between this film and the so-called real world
has to be a misunderstanding.
ALL THESE WOMEN
Don't blaspheme. Don't profane the music.
Here are the widows.
A genius leaves many kinds of widows.
The biography...
...of the cello virtuoso Felix...
...by me, Cornelius.
Dear Maestro...
I'm lost for words, here by your coffin...
Really?
What constitutes genius?
Genius - is to make a critic change his mind.
Goethe.
The widow Tussauds.
The same...
...yet different.
The widow Beatrice.
The same, yet different.
The widow Traviata.
The same, yet different.
The widow Cecilia.
Just the same...
Yet different.
The widow Isolde.
The same, yet different.
The widow Bumblebee.
No, he looks so different!
Yet the same.
How silly of me!
"The" widow.
Forgive me, Maestro, but this is the only copy.
Or... Do you mind?
Four days before
The renowned music critic Cornelius
visits the cello virtuoso Felix at his summer residence
Hallo there, Jilker!
Hallo yourself!
Maestro...
What a great honor. Maestro, Maestro...
Don't think of it! Maestro, your precious hands...
- Who's? - That's Felix playing.
- Who's he? - Tristan.
Felix's valet and chauffeur. There is a certain likeness.
- You should have stopped me. - That's usually impossible.
Villa Tremolo.
- The Tusculum of our Maestro! - Bravo!
Villa Tremolo. A name marked by the Maestro's erudition and imagination.
Such plasticity of detail
makes the subject of a biography come alive to the reader.
How far have you come?
The chapter on the inmost and utterly personal is lacking.
- How is Stravinsky? - I don't know.
It was my duty as a music critic to expose him.
And did it stop him composing?
Such a splendid house.
A gigantic cello in the concert hall of our Lord.
"The Maestro lives, as it were, in a gigantic cello
"in the concert hall of our Lord."
That's 'in' twice... Confounded prepositions!
"He lives as if solo, as if in a cello." That’s 'as if' twice. Tricky.
No, I thought possibly...
Has the Maestro seen my composition? I sent it to him.
His interpretation of it would make an excellent opening.
The interpreter's relationship with the interpreted.
You interpret him, and he you. Do you marry in the end?
- What do you mean? - I'll show you to your room.
- What a lot of women. - Yes, a lot of women.
As you can see, Felix and Tristan look very alike.
- Plenty of matter for the biography. - Yes, I'm afraid so...
Beautiful matter!
MAESTRO FELIX
This is your room.
You can wash yourself here...
...after your journey.
I will need to rehabilitate after that slight mishap.
Maestro!
Maestro...
Why are you creeping about?
I'm writing the Maestro's biography.
Oh, it's you.
- Have you met Felix? - He hasn't been able to contact me.
I've sent him a composition of mine, dedicated to him.
I thought he might play it at his big radio concert.
If he does, I will shoot him.
The Maestro just retired with his wife. Discretion's a point of honor.
My name is Adelaide.
Cornelius.
I am Felix's wife.
A wonderful woman.
No!
After all, I "am" writing his biography.
- And next week... - Certainly, Adelaide dear.
Here we have Isolde.
- She can't make it until Friday. - Oh, right.
- I'll go! - No, you've got the Wednesday.
Unbelievable...
I take it, you'll do Tuesday.
By the way, could you have a word with Traviata?
She goes green-eyed at the slightest caress outside the schedule.
We can't be that selfish!
Good night, Adelaide. Sweet dreams.
Quite true.
- What? - I'm Bumblebee.
- I will be in the biography, won't I? - Bumblebee?
Bumblebee.
- His mistress, of course. - I'm not sure I understand.
Just now, the Maestro and a lady,
and it wasn't his wife...
She isn't his official mistress, because that’s me.
You're really quite sweet.
- Do you want to see his bedroom? - That would be interesting.
- But isn't he? - Silly! They're not in "his" bedroom.
Come on!
I dare say the setting is...
...promising.
It is... sometimes.
The Maestro's bedroom. The Maestro's mistress.
What matter!
In view of the censorship risk, the sexual act is depicted as follows...
Felix, you forgot it was my turn!
- Bumblebee? - Yes.
- Bumblebee? - Yes!
- Is Bumblebee dead? - No. What about Cornelius?
- Alive. - Well then, come out.
No, I'm naked!
Now who was that? Shooting and all!
Someone tried to kill the Maestro. Give me my notebook, my pen.
The impresario Jilker handles the Maestro's business.
Villa Tremolo, hallo? Impresario Jilker speaking.
Oh, is it you? Hallo.
Do you want a programme? We haven't any yet.
Isn't it more important "that" he plays than "what" he plays?
Cello - that's all we know, and that’s enough, isn't it?
The Broadcasting Corporation will have to be content with that for now.
He has to decide on his programme soon. The world's waiting.
Almost "tout le monde".
Villa Tremolo, hallo.
Oh, it’s you. What do you want?
Oh, Bach. We'll have to see about that. Speak to you later.
Now they want the Sixth Suite - the Fifth Suite was so successful.
"A revelation of inspired Bach interpretation."
- Does he want to? - "Qui sait?"
- Should I talk to him? - What about my lesson?
I haven't spoken to him yet, Traviata.
- I have to speak to you. - Like everyone else.
- In private. - There are no secrets in this house.
Someone tried to murder the Maestro.
- Without success, it seems. - It's no joke! I myself...
Yes, Felix? No, you don't have to worry about the programme.
Traviata! There'll be no lesson today, at least not in cello.
Maestro...
- No, nothing. - Jilker, you've got to...
Oh, right - someone's tried to kill you.
That’s that.
- Is the Maestro going to die? - He, like everybody else.
- But be murdered? - Why not?
What a concluding chapter for your biography...
- Jilker! You don't say that! - Why not? Between us salesmen...
Save myself.
Him!
The door banged shut.
- There's quite a draught in the house. - I thought...
Are you admiring the mosaics, sir?
- No. - I do.
I admire everything in this house. Everything is nice - it has to be.
Maestro Felix has given me a nice name - Isolde.
- Not at all suitable. - That's what everyone calls me.
Tristan is called Tristan by everyone. That's the Maestro's idea, too.
Tristan's so nice. Everything's so nice in this house.
Do you know what Maestro Felix says?
Everything nice would be pointless without my admiration.
He follows me around, watching my admiration.
- Then he plays to me. - He remembers his childhood.
He gives his art to the people. You represent the people.
He looks at you while playing.
How would I know? The way he squints...
Oh, yes.
I admire his hands.
Watching him finger the strings makes me go all funny.
Then all of a sudden I'm sitting where the cello sat.
- That’s impossible? - His fingering is wonderful.
- Is that the term? - Yes.
Listen...
He calls me his gamba.
His little 'lap viola'.
He hasn't got a clue what... Show me to his room!
- He mustn't be disturbed now. - He's in danger.
Not while he's playing.
I don't believe it!
- What’s the meaning of this? - I'm amusing myself.
I'll show you, Mr. Cornelius!
- Why are you here? - I'm a young relative.
I came here to reconcile the old man with his family.
The family suddenly came into money - tobacco.
Felix is a famous man. So, why not use him for publicity?
Hence - a cigar called 'Felix'.
He sued them - which could get expensive for the family.
- What was their idea? - They knew about his weak spot.
So they sent luscious little me here - with a box of cigars.
- Surely they don't think? - God knows what they think?
They thought, "The girl's so young, he must have some standards."
They didn't know that I...
...didn't have any.
Old Felix has the hots for me.
He wants to prove he's not old and useless.
Do you know what he called me last night?
Saint Cecilia.
He pretended to respect my innocence.
- Does it taste of heaven? - Yes...
More heaven.
A steady hand, Madam.
I surrender!
- For God's sake! - Want to try?
- So it was you? - Tristan, that's it for today.
- You don't require any assistance? - That will be all, Tristan.
Someone tried to kill your husband. Fortunately, he wasn't present.
Madam! You share the prejudice of artist’s against biographers and critics.
The artist longs to be immortalized, to be distributed as widely as possible.
Madam Adelaide...
You may think I feel my book would benefit from the Maestro's murder.
I'm not that cynical.
It's not in my interest at all to involve the Maestro in a scandal.
You seem to overlook your husband's secrets.
- I don't care a bit. - Not a bit? Yet you tried to...
I would never "try," sir.
You heard Tristan. I have a very steady hand.
That woman knows how to shoot.
That woman hits the heart.
Dear God!
What constitutes genius?
Genius?
Genius - is to make a critic change his mind.
The same...
...yet different.
The same...
...yet different.
The same...
...yet different.
The same...
The same.
Yet the same.
Three days before
Adelaide!
Little bird!
You sing, heedless of the exacting critic listening.
Even you respect my words?
So this is the Maestro's famous pavilion,
where he practices on hot summer days, getting fresh air and exercise?
Rest, Maestro.
I'll watch over you.
"Size 61 in hats."
It wasn't Felix, dear Traviata. I would never disturb the line-up.
- So who was it? - That Cornelius.
- The critic? - Yes. No great loss if you'd hit him.
But you gave me a bruise. Look! What will Felix say?
- Say you were stung by a critic. - By him!
He wasn't what I'd call lively. Though his initial charge was full of promise.
The artifice we employ for the sake of Art.
Still he never gives me any lessons. I demean myself.
I lie in his bed, begging for lessons.
He just croons: "Traviata, why do you quarrel?"
"I've taught you the basics of cello playing - the parting of the legs."
The brute!
And there he lies now, sleeping in shameless nudity.
If only I had the strength to leave! If only I had the strength!
- You mustn't leave, Traviata. - Oh yes!
We're all infatuated with the poor man.
Is that what he says?
"The basics of cello playing is the parting of the legs."
- Will you share the joke? - No, it isn't a joke for pianists.
Everything is off balance. The line-up's disturbed.
Our inner bitterness is showing.
He won't tell me what he'll play. I'm not a machine!
You and your music. You see, with me he can rest.
- He gets a rest, does he? - Yes, from major and minor.
I'm so sorry, girls, for throwing Adelaide's clever line-up into disarray.
- You're a trollop, Cecilia. - I'm a saint.
Saint Cecilia, his patron saint.
- So the old goat doesn't venture out? - My little goat!
Our old goat.
Cecilia, we girls have learnt to live side by side.
We have created our own moral order.
Talk to Felix. I'm just a child, I don't understand these things.
You serpent!
Snake!
Worm!
Where's your pistol, Traviata?
Tristan, give me my tea.
- Why isn't Felix here? - He's afraid.
- He's being unfaithful. - Of course. We know that.
- With that thing. - Yes, she's very young.
Yes, I am!
He's unfaithful all the time.
Every night he cheats on scores of us.
- Right now he's on his own in there. - Right now he's faithful to all of us.
Dear little Felix.
Come out and face us, Felix.
All at the same time. You can, if you squint!
Look, your little saint mocks us.
- Tea, Felix! - With biscuits and cakes.
- Let's drag him out. - Yes, let him see his little saint now.
I'll have a look.
- There's no sound from in there. - I'll clobber you with your saint!
Can't you hear? He's playing.
If only he were poor!
Four hundred and fifty-two thousand one hundred and forty-four kronor...
...and three öre.
Asset’s, Tristan.
Six million...
...and sixty-seven öre.
And my blasted commission.
Felix?
The grand total, when all has been counted, is...
Ninety-seven öre.
Two days before
"A distinction between the subjectively personal and the objectively musical
"is hard to draw; it involves a choice between discretion and concealment."
What the blazes do I mean by that?
"Concealment would result in a distorted picture of the Maestro,
"which would be mendacious and morally reprehensible."
Yes, of course, that’s what I mean!
Blasted bumblebee!
"As the author of these lines..."
No! "As the humble..." No.
"As the modest author of these humble lines
"I have had the opportunity to follow, at close hand, the erotic...
"erotic..."
Oh, Bumblebee... Bumblebee...
"at "very" close quarters..."
I could certainly write that.
Why, I do believe I have to rise up and do some research.
Catlike cockchafer spies
On Bumblebee, where she flies
Are all rooms empty tonight? Do I dare try another door?
Well, as I've already set out. And I "am" in urgent need.
May I wake the bumblebee-bum
So that we can start to hum?
This will be very funny, Cornelius. You'll get a print.
You see, photography is my little hobby.
- The design of this house is complex. - You easily get lost.
- And stray. - I was on the way to my room.
Good evening.
Isolde, can you tell me which room is Miss Bumblebee's?
- It’s very important. - Down the stairs,
through the drawing room and up the stairs.
First corridor to the left, second door to the right.
First corridor to the right, second door. And that's Miss Bumblebee's room?
But be careful, Mr. Cornelius. Maestro Felix is very jealous.
Good night, sir.
Up the stairs, through the drawing room, second door...
- Tristan, you still hate our Felix? - Yes, Madam.
You should have seen the young genius I took under my wing,
before I - and my money - made him world famous.
You still love him, Madam?
Madame Tussauds. I "am" Madame Tussauds.
At first he was just pleasant.
A young, ugly and very talented boy.
Pleasant for my body and my vanity.
One night I heard him whisper to my maid,
"I'll be right there darling.
"I just have to fulfill my obligations towards Madame Tussauds."
That night I loved him.
I still love him.
Yes, Madam.
Madame Tussauds.
Founder and proprietor of a waxworks museum.
He thinks Madame Tussauds herself is a wax doll.
- He's so very ignorant. - Yes, Madam.
And Tristan is Tristan. A sometime great cellist.
Yes, Madam. I became Tristan,
after the big cello competition in The Hague thirty-two years ago.
That day he defeated me. A great cellist, if somewhat nervous.
That night he seduced my wife.
It was beyond my comprehension.
Something snapped inside me, as they say in the novels.
My entire existence had been wrecked,
so I sought him out - to kill him.
There I stood, trembling - with a hangover and full of hatred.
"What a state you're in, Tristan. I believe you're drinking too much.
"If you can stay sober, you can be my chauffeur."
I accepted.
I became his chauffeur.
Madam?
Good night, Madam.
No.
Bumblebee?
Come now, Cornelius, time for bed!
Christ almighty, the murderess!
It’s dark here.
The commotion in this house!
My mouth's agape... Rather unfortunate - I dropped my cigar.
Where did it go?
Where is it?
Here's a match.
A box with letters!
"From Felix to Adelaide, 1912."
"Adelaide, my beloved..."
My God, my God!
"I deceive you and betray you.
"This is inevitable. But remember this:
"If I ever fail or demean my art...
"you must surely kill me."
Inconceivable.
The lost cigar...
Traviata is out shooting again. I must speak to Adelaide.
Adelaide, dear!
We have to speak about Traviata. She is out shooting again.
Preserving the moment for posterity
Fireworks and pandemonium.
- Look, on the balcony! - Maestro Felix.
- He's waving. - He's talking.
- What could he be saying? - "Thanks for your tribute."
He's looking at me... Look!
He's looking at us.
My beloved Felix.
Adelaide... The way he's looking at me.
These fireworks should not be taken symbolically.
Are you alone?
Not any more...
Unfortunately.
I still haven't had a chance to see the Maestro.
How then can I vouch for the inmost and utterly personal in my biography?
- You'll have to avoid it. - Impossible.
- The world has a right to know... - Does it?
If the worst comes to the worst, my observations would have to suffice.
With regards to my musical piece, I demand an answer.
Should he perform it, the word 'generosity' could be considered...
In my biography, that is.
Cornelius, this "inmost and utterly personal" you mentioned...
- Do you think it's there? - Naturally.
I don't think I'm going to like your book, Cornelius.
That will depend on the Maestro.
Sapristi!
- What was that? - I know how you can contact Felix.
I think we've reached an understanding.
- As you know, Felix has a weakness. - Women.
- Doesn't this tell you something? - A little...
- Why not dress up as a woman? - You're completely mad.
This "is" a madhouse. One has to adapt - you too.
Don't worry about your somewhat virile appearance - he's insatiable.
I'll give him a photograph of you.
I'll tell him that you're desperate to see him. He won't be able to resist.
- That wouldn't be entirely untrue. - Come, Cornelius.
- How do I bring up my composition? - That’s up to you.
There we are. I'll do some fast developing.
Little Miss Cornelius is having an acid bath.
- I don't like your turn of expression! - Lovely hairstyle. Mind if I copy it?
- How can I move around like this? - We're full of guile.
- What do you think? - I'm nervous.
- We'll cover you up and guide you. - I protest!
- You won't even recognize yourself. - I can't see a damned thing!
Bye-bye, Cornelius.
- What, are we there? - I have to hand him the photograph.
- Where shall I hide? - You are hidden.
- You're mocking me, Jilker! - Me?
- What do I do if someone comes? - Just stand still.
No one would believe their eyes.
So you want to see my husband?
The last person I wanted to be exposed by!
I'll add you to the house list of women straight away.
This cursed house! No one is who they say they are.
- Don't rupture Beatrice's dress. - And these fancy names!
- What's Beatrice's real name? - Bertha.
- Traviata? - Hedda.
- Madame Tussauds? - Jeanette.
- Isolde? - Lisa.
And Bumblebee is Ingrid.
- And what’s your name? - My name is... Adelaide.
Adelaide.
My beloved!
Oh, my God! What is that?
Cornelius! Where are you?
- Here. - Peekaboo!
Can you forgive me? A terrible mistake...
- Now what? - I brought both the photographs.
The one of you as a beauty, and the one where you're a bumblebee.
They are very similar. Do you know what Felix said?
He'll hand both of them to your publisher.
They'll be on the cover of your book. "The critical mission."
- Imagine that. - Jilker...
Brother.
Friend.
You staged this.
- Me? - To stop the book.
- I'll kill you! - Shouldn't you get changed first?
- Are you studying bumblebees? - No!
- Why are you dressed in this way? - I don't know!
- Please, Isolde, don't laugh at me. - Right.
Isolde...
- You know Maestro Felix intimately. - Me? Oh no.
- But you? - Oh yes, that.
- But in that case... - That’s not "knowing" him.
But how "does" one get to know him?
One can't.
- One can't? - Many think they know things.
It gives one status to know about him, because he's such a great cellist.
It’s like knowing how to play oneself. But no one could, not like him.
- That doesn't mean one couldn't... - He doesn't know where it originates.
His beautiful music. He's said so himself.
And his music is all that matters.
One can get to know others.
Of course. Though no one's interested in their secrets.
"Isolde," he will say. And when I reply, "Yes, what do you want?"
It’s as if he hasn't noticed.
He's just uttered my name.
Then he utters all the other names he's made up.
He utters them very slowly.
"Beatrice.
"Traviata.
"Bumblebee. Madame Tussauds."
As if it mattered greatly to him.
I understand.
No, you couldn't understand.
He thinks he's made me up, too.
What imagination!
- Go away! We're having a lesson. - So I see.
- Still here? - I want to talk to the Maestro.
Talk away.
Maestro...
I have suffered great humiliation in the house of Madame Tussauds.
You have shown slight respect for me as a composer, critic and biographer.
You're impossible! He's impossible...
You've shown no interest in your own biography.
Have you ever noticed how soon instrumentalist’s are forgotten?
No - hold me!
They die. Standards are raised.
New and better virtuosos appear. Ideals change - you'll be gone.
What's wrong, Felix?
Who identifies what's important?
Who, I ask you...
Who?
The biographer.
A musician without a biography will be forgotten.
Ouch! Stop pinching me!
No, Maestro, you don't want the book to be written. And there won't be one.
I won't expose you, as I exposed Stravinsky.
Not even a bad reputation will live on.
You're all in a sweat.
Let me tell you the truth.
The instrumentalist who purchases my biography by performing my work
will be remembered long after the cellist Felix has been forgotten.
Farewell...
Maestro.
I consign you to oblivion.
Three hours until the concert begins.
Ring, little bell, ring!
So that poor Jilker and Beatrice can get a programme.
Please, dearest little sweet bell, ring... Ring!
Ring, damn it!
Who else?
What - you're the angry one here?
Yes, "he's" here.
You've torn up the photos? What a shame - they were my best ever.
I've kept the negatives.
What - there'll be no book? I thought not.
The world has a right to know... So the world has rights, has it?
Discretion? I doubt it.
The programme. At last, some reason in the madness.
Good! Very good.
Excellent.
Bold.
What was that? 'The Dream of the Fish', or 'Abstraction No. 14'.
What the hell is that?
You can't be serious?
What?
Are you that concerned about the bloody book?
If you're that vain, you may as well play the other thirteen!
'The Dream of the Fish', or 'Abstraction No. 14',
means there are thirteen other masterpieces.
Cancel it at once!
What! That's none of my business?
I hereby tender my resignation.
You said yourself it’s absolute rubbish.
Felix... your moral decline is complete.
Get yourself a new impresario.
'The Dream of the Fish', or 'Abstraction No. 14'.
I assure you - it will be an altogether dignified biography.
I believe you. Dignity has suffered a disastrous decline.
The moment draws near.
Oh dear, have you started already?
The Maestro is sitting down, instrument in hand.
He will play not only the standard repertoire, but also...
The first piece is entitled 'Abstraction No. 14', or 'The Dream of the Fish'...
A demonic genius radiates from his eyes.
He's dead!
Today we have stood by your open grave,
my great, unparalleled Felix.
Yet we are not filled with your absence,
but with your presence - your continued presence.
How alive...
How irreplaceably alive, here in my house...
Please read it, Mr. Cornelius.
- As you know, I have written... - We know, we know. Read it!
- My biography of the Maestro... - 'The Favorite of the Muses'.
I have no title as yet, but a few suggestions for it.
- My book divides into... - Read!
Into four main chapters.
- The physical appearance. - Must be short.
- The inner man. - Abstraction No. 15...
- His music. - Must be brief.
Finally, the inmost and utterly personal.
- I'm speechless. - Read!
"In external appearance, the great Corne...
"Felix was a small man."
- He wasn't! - He was tall.
- That tubby little thing... man? - Tubby? Little?
He came up to here!
- Yes, with you standing on a chair. - I should know!
- Felix looked increasingly like Tristan. - No, the other way round.
- Tristan isn't cross-eyed. - Neither was Felix.
It was the intensity of his gaze.
- Tristan, look at me! - Felix isn't Tristan.
- Read another passage! - I've barely begun the first.
Louder!
"Chapter Two.
"We have in the foregoing heard about the Maestro's appearance,
"of how his figure and career looked
"to a world of passionately interested devotees."
- I haven't heard a word about that. - You stopped me.
Continue!
"But what was the inner man like?
"The inner development? The generosity of the artist..."
No, he was stingy!
- This concerns the inner, artistic... - Ask Madame. She paid his way.
- That's dealt with previously. - Then read it.
He wasn't stingy towards me. For instance, he gave me...
"Chapter Three. In a long line of great cellists..."
- No one was equal to Felix. - I was getting to that!
"In a long line of great cellists..."
"Line"? The nerve. I won't listen to this!
Read the last chapter, Mr. Cornelius.
Yes, the one about the "inmost and utterly personal".
It’s not here! It’s gone!
I've been robbed of the inmost and utterly personal.
The inmost and utterly personal.
I'm looking for Mrs. Jeanette Bring.
- That’s me. - Mr. Jilker said...
I know, my boy.
- You're very talented, I've been told. - That's true.
Would you like to live here and let us take care of you?
- I'll get famous, won't I? - Most certainly, my boy.
May we hear you play now? What are we waiting for?
A true find, Madame.
- And undoubtedly very poor. - Oh yes.
That too.
- Well? - We've met.
- Have you? - I've just shown him his room.
Already?
He's the great Cornelius.
Carry on, young man.
That's the end of the film.
The End?