Dear reader, I've a naughty little tale to tell,
plucked from the pages of history-
tarted up, true-
but guaranteed to stimulate the senses.
The story of Mademoiselle Renare,:
a ravishing, young aristocrat whose sexual proclivities...
ran the gamut from winsome to bestial.
Who doesn't dream of indulging every spasm of lust ?
Feeding each depraved hunger?
Owing to her noble birth,
Mademoiselle Renare was granted full immunity to do just that:;
inflicting pain and pleasure with equal zest.
Until one day...
Mademoiselle found herself at the mercy of a man...
every bit as perverse as she.
A man whose skill in the art of pain...
exceeded her own.
- How easily, dear reader,
- one changes from predator... - No.
- to prey.
And how swiftly pleasure is taken from some...
and given to others.
There goes another one.
Your linens, please.
- Move yourself. - We're going outside.
Come on, Pitou. That's right.
- It's breakfast time. Good morning. - Good morning.
- I'm going outside. - Go on.
Stop doing that. Everybody up.
Your linens, please.
- Psst.
- It's me.
Careful. The ink's still wet.
Now, hurry.
- That you, Maddie ?
Yes, Mother. Here are the dirty ones for you.
Just, uh-
Just taking the bleached ones out to dry.
Aren't you gonna give us a hand then ?
Bouchon!
Remember your manners.
Here it is. It's the last chapter.
Monsieur Masse says he'd like another manuscript quick as he please.
- He can't print them fast enough. - I'll pass the word on.
I'll pay you another visit with a share of the profits once it's sold.
- I'll be waiting. - Perhaps, one day, you'll tell me your name.
All right, we're all clear.
- Thank you. - Marquis de Sade's Justine.
Latest edition, straight from the printer's. Justine.
Marquis de Sade. Justine.
"Our story concerns a nymph named Justine,;
"as pretty a maid as ever entered the nunnery,
- "with a body so firm and ripe... - Come on, boy.
"it seemed a shame to commit it to God.
One morning, the bishop placed his hand upon her thigh."
"'Holy Father, 'cried she,
"'I've come to confess my sins, not commit them anew. '
"Heedless, the old priest turned her over on his knee...
"and lifted her skirts high above her hips,
"exposing the pink flesh of her backside.
"There between the orbs of her dimpled ass...
"lay a blushing rosebud...
"begging to be... plucked.
" Before Justine could wrestle from his grasp,
"this most ungodly man took a communion wafer,
"the body of our Lord, Jesus Christ,
and placed it on the girl's twitching orifice."
Must I, Your Majesty ?
"As he loosened his manhood from beneath his robes,
"the bishop muttered a Latin prayer...
"and then, with a mighty thrust,
drove it into her very entrails."
The novel's lewd subject matter and its overripe style...
reveal it to be the work of the Marquis de Sade.
He composes his prose from inside a madhouse.
Enough ! Seize every copy !
We'll torch them all on the palace lawn in full public view !
As for the author, shoot him.
A note of caution, Sire.
We all remember what happened to Robespierre, Danton.
Put the marquis to death and history might even regard you as a despot.
But I am history.
Of course, Your Majesty.
Nevertheless, cure the Marquis de Sade,
succeed where countless...
physicians and priests have failed-
No one can fault Napoleon...
for bringing a man to his senses.
Might I suggest...
an appraisal at the asylum of Charenton ?
A rather notorious inmate in her care.
I have the perfect candidate for the job:
Dr. Royer-Collard,
a distinguished alienist who's a staunchly moral man...
of impeccable character...
and iron resolve.
- My colleagues have called me old-fashioned.
- Even barbaric.
But here we favor an aggressive course of treatment.
- Quite.
I do not seek popularity or renown, Monsieur Delbene. Mine is a higher mission.
To take God's tiny blunders and those He has forsaken...
and condition them with the same force, the same rigor...
one would employ to train a feral dog or a wild stallion.
- This may not be pretty,
but it is mercy just the same.
A few more months of this, and he'll be fine.
- It is the emperor's hope...
that you bring your expertise, your proficiency...
- to the asylum at Charenton. - I'm much better now.
Charenton ? The administrator there is quite well-loved, isn't he ?
He's young, an idealist. You'll have to be politic.
- You know how I define "idealism" ?
Youth's final luxury.
Not so hard. Don't force it.
Let the quill guide you.
Good.
Slowly.
We mustn't just copy the words.
It's important that we know what they mean.
St. Augustine tells us that angels and demons walk among us on the Earth...
and that sometimes they jointly inhabit the soul of a single man.
Then how can we know...
who is truly good and who is evil ?
Well, we can't.
All we can do is guard against our own corruption.
So you'll practice reading tonight on your own for me ?
'And so the professor lifted Columbe's skirt...
"high above her waist.
"'Let me be your tutor,' said he, 'in the ways of love.'
"With that, he slid her pantalettes down,
"down, down over her knees.
'And there, nestled between her legs,
"waspink of the tulip...
as slick as an eel-"
We oughtn't to be reading his nasty stories.
No one's forcing you to listen.
" He gazed upon her Venus mound,
her flaxen quim, the winking eye of God."
You've been in his quarters, haven't you ?
Once or twice.
I hear he's got a whetstone and a chisel, and he uses them to sharpen his teeth.
He's a writer, not a madman.
- What's he doing in here then ? - Murder.
That's not so.
He writes books so wicked, so black with evil,
that one man killed his wife after reading them.
And two young mothers miscarried their babies.
I'd say that's murder enough.
If you're going to slander him, then you don't deserve to hear his stories.
I believe she's sweet on him.
- That's what I think. - It's not the marquis she's sweet on, is it, Madeleine ?
They've no right sending someone to sit on your shoulder.
I work for you. I won't take orders from a stranger.
You needn't worry.
It's administrative, nothing more.
Please don't eat the paint, Pasqual.
Ah, bravo, Dauphin.
It's far better to paint fires than to set them, isn't it ?
Yes.
Wonderful.
Fresh linens.
I'm hungry for a proper visit.
- Don't start. - Go ahead. You've a key.
Slip it through my tiny hole.
Marquis ?
Where did you get to then ?
Marquis ?
- Well- Did I frighten you ?
Frighten me ? That's a good one. I'm twice as quick as you are.
I suppose you want to know about that silly book of yours.
What about my book ?
It sold like the devil.
Then they started burning it.
That's the peril of composing such incendiary prose.
If only these coins purchased your other talents too.
There's something else I want from you.
You've already stolen my heart...
as well as another prominent organ south of the equator.
Your publisher says I'm not to leave without another manuscript.
I've just the story.
Inspired by these very surroundings.
The unhappy tale of a virginal laundry lass,
a darling of the lower wards where they entomb the criminally insane.
- Is it awfully violent ? - Most assuredly.
- Is it terribly erotic ? - Fiendishly so.
- But it comes with a price.
A kiss for each page.
Must I administer them directly or might I blow them ?
The price, my coquette, is every bit as firm... as I am.
Oh, you.
You talk the same as you write.
Hello.
So what are we today, Cleante ?
Is it bullfinch or nightingale ?
- There's but one kind of bird in a madhouse, Abbe. - Oh, don't tell me.
- A loon. -
Sorry, I've heard that one before.
- It's a long story, this one.
The climax comes at a higher cost.
- You must sit on my lap.
- You demand a lot from your readers.
The story's thrilling conclusion comes at a premium.
- What's that then ? - Your maidenhead.
And then you must sew it up as tightly as the day you were born,
and come back to me renewed so I can deflower you a second time.
Some things belong on paper...
others in life.
Blessed fool who can't tell the difference-
Mademoiselle LeClerc.
You're in the nick of time.
This old letch forgot himself.
He thought I was a character in one of his nasty stories.
- Madeleine. - Yes, Abbe ?
The next time you feel the urge to visit the marquis...
I hope you'll come to confession instead.
Care for a splash of wine, Abbe ?
It's not even noon.
Conversation, like certain portions of the anatomy,
always runs more smoothly when it's lubricated.
This is a rare vintage from an obscure village in Bordeaux.
Rather than crush the grape underfoot, they place the fruit on the belly of a bride,
reap its juices when the young husband steers his vessel into port.
Full-bodied flavor, just a hint of wantonness.
Bottoms up.
It's from our own cellar. I recognize the taste.
I should have told you it was the blood of Christ.
You'd believe that, wouldn't you ?
We treat you well enough here, don't we, Marquis ?
Your very own feathered bed in lieu of a straw mat.
Your antique writing desk, all the way from La Coste.
Enough quills to feather an ostrich-
Yes, yes, yes, dear heart, it's true. You spoil me pink.
And in exchange, we ask only that you follow the rules.
You know as well as I do, you're not to entertain visitors in your quarters.
I'm entertaining you now, aren't I ?
Yes, but I'm not a beautiful, young prospect ripe for corruption.
Don't be so sure.
Take your pen in hand, Marquis.
Purge these wicked thoughts of yours on paper.
Maybe they'll govern you less in life.
I'll fill page after page, my cherub.
I promise.
We're here, Doctor. Mind your step, sir.
Good day, sir. We've been expecting you.
Good. Very good.
Dr. Royer-Collard, welcome to Charenton.
This may feel a little awkward, my friend,
but it needn't be.
I've come merely to oversee your work here. Understood ?
- Of course. - It's a formality. Truly.
Well, you're a man of science, and I'm a man of God.
Charenton stands to profit from us both, I'm certain.
I shall need an office on the grounds, somewhere to store my things.
- This way. - If you don't mind my asking,
why has the emperor taken such sudden interest in my-
in our affairs ?
It seems a particular patient of yours... has captured his fancy.
I understand he practices the very crimes he preaches in his fiction.
Certainly not here.
- There were a few indiscretions in his youth. - "Indiscretions" ?
Abbe, please, I have read his case history.
At 16, he violated a servant girl with a crucifix.
After six months in a dungeon, he mutilated a prostitute,
carving her flesh with a razor and cauterizing the wounds with hot wax.
I hope you'll judge him by his progress here,
- No ! - not his past reputation.
I can't go on like this. Why should this be happening to me ?
Once again, gentlemen.
I'm just a lowly cobbler.
I have been all my life.
And with this shoe, I'm asking you to be a cobbler's wife.
It's a dreadful play, a festering pustule on the face of literature.
Why, the parchment it's written upon isn't worthy to wipe my ass.
But you need not make it worse. Say your lines with conviction, my happy little shoemaker.
- Like a true actor. - But I'm not an actor. I'm a dyspeptic.
Just seduce her, you goon !
He's actually made a great success of our little theater.
There's seldom an empty seat, not to mention its therapeutic value.
Playing dress-up with cretins...
sounds like a symptom of madness, not a cure.
Homo perversio: a species that thrives in captivity.
Marquis, this is Dr. Royer-Collard. He's joining us here in-
An advisory capacity.
Welcome to our humble madhouse, Doctor.
I trust you'll find yourself at home.
There he is, the new doctor.
Tell me, Abbe, why is he in your care and not a proper prison ?
- His wife's influence. - " His wife's" ?
Better to have an insane spouse than a criminal one.
And he has never once tried to escape ?
A man of his notoriety ? He wouldn't last a day on the streets without capture.
Besides, every wholesome thing he might desire, he has at Charenton:;
a library filled with the world's great books,
music lessons, watercolor exercises.
What effect have all these amenities had on his psyche ?
He no longer roars or spits.
He no longer taunts the guards or molests his fellow wards.
And his writing ?
- Ah, yes, that. - Well ?
It's essential to his recovery, a purgative for the toxins in his mind.
Do you favor its publication ?
- For sale ? To the general public ? - Yes. Yes.
No, certainly not. It's unprintable.
All France is aghast at this book, yet you've never heard of it.
Oh, dear God.
Silence the marquis, or Charenton will be shut down by order of the emperor.
"Shut down" ? But he's one among some 200 wards.
You could try my calming chair on him.
Or, perhaps, try bleeding him with leeches.
Or maybe flog him at the stake.
Why ? So he'll learn to fear punishment...
rather than to see virtue for its own rewards ?
Doctor, let me take up this matter with the marquis myself.
- Chariton's my life's work. - I am not without a heart.
But this book is a profound insult to decent people everywhere.
Can you personally guarantee this won't happen again ?
You have my word.
- What is it, Abbe ? - The marquis has embarrassed us.
- From Napoleon himself. - Why ? What's he done ?
He's been slipping manuscripts to a publisher.
- He has ?
I placed my trust too carelessly, Madeleine.
- This is a complete and utter... - Oh.
disappointment.
Yes, it is.
The paper's cheap. The type's too small.
What did you do, bribe one of the guards ?
But you implored me to write for curative purposes, to stave off my madness.
But you've no right to publish...
behind my back without my sanction.
Have you truly read it, or did you run straightaway to the dog-eared pages ?
Oh, enough to discern its tenor.
And ?
It's not even a proper novel.
It's nothing but an encyclopedia of perversions.
Frankly, it even fails as an exercise in craft.
Characters are wooden. The dialogue is inane.
Not to mention the endless repetition of words like "nipple" and "pikestaff."
There I was taxed, it's true.
And such puny scope.
Nothing but the very worst in man's nature.
I write of the great eternal truths...
that bind together all mankind the whole world over.
We eat, we shit, we fuck, we kill and we die.
But we also fall in love.
We build cities, we compose symphonies and we endure.
Why not put that in your books as well ?
It's a fiction, not a moral treatise.
But isn't the duty of art to elevate us above the beasts ?
I'd have thought that was your duty, Abbe, not mine.
One more trick like this...
and I'll be forced to revoke all your liberties.
It's that doctor fellow, isn't it ?
He's come to usurp your place here, hasn't he ?
Marquis, more than your writing's at stake.
The ministry has threatened us with closure.
Ah, they can't be serious !
Our future lies in the stroke of your pen.
Mightier than the sword, indeed.
Put yourself in my place. I have your fellow patients to consider.
If Charenton folds, they have no place to go, no manner to clothe or feed themselves.
Fuck them ! They're half-wits ! Let them die on the streets as nature intended !
You among them ?
If ever I showed you a kind hand, Marquis,
if ever I granted you walking privileges on a spring day...
or slipped an extra pillow beneath your door,
if ever I shared your wine, laughed at your vulgarities or humored you with argument,
then you will oblige me now...
for your sake... and for all Charenton.
You've a touch of the poet too.
Perhaps you should take up the quill.
- Do I have your word ? - Honestly, you cut me to the core.
What's the point of all your valiant attempts at rehabilitation...
if, when I finally succumb, when at long last I pledge myself to righteous conduct,
you regard me with nothing but suspicion ?
Have you no faith in your own medicine ?
My, my.
At Charenton, even the walls have eyes.
Don't they ?
Well ?
Well, I spoke to him with reason and compassion,
the tools which serve us best here.
- And ? - He's sworn to obedience.
He's more than a patient, Doctor. The marquis is my friend.
You keep strange company, Abbe.
If you have the matter here truly in hand,
- I have. - then I have a friend of my own to visit.
- Ah, Doctor. - I've come for my bride.
- Oh, yes.
We've not expected you for some time.
Simone has not yet come of age.
I've taken a new post at Charenton.
- I need the succor only a wife can provide. - Mmm, yes.
Simone...
you remember Dr. Royer-Collard.
I'd not forget the man to whom I was promised.
He's come to collect you.
Today ? This minute ?
I apologize, mademoiselle.
I had no time to write.
Be grateful, child.
In my experience, poor girls who are orphaned never wed.
They wind up spinsters or, worse still, nuns.
- Thank God that fortune has spared you...
from such a fate.
Good-bye, Simone.
God bless you, Simone.
Let's move it !
The emperor wishes to assure your comfort while at Charenton.
Consider the chateau a gift,
provided you're willing to finance the necessary repairs.
Monsieur Prouix is the court's most promising young architect.
He's at your disposal.
Of course, the place hasn't been occupied since the Terror.
It has possibilities, yes ?
Simone ?
I am to live here ?
It belonged to the Duke du Blangie, a avowed monarchist.
The Jacobins were most unforgiving.
His wife tried to escape.
They caught her here on the stairs.
Set about her with bayonets.
There but for the grace of God, eh, Doctor ?
I shed no tears for the past, Monsieur Delbene. I look to the future.
Monsieur Prouix.
We should quarry fresh marble, don't you think ?
You must humor my wife in all things.
If she wants Venetian glass, she shall have it.
Italian tile, Dutch velvet- Spare no expense.
But in her bedroom, see to it that the door locks from the outside...
and on her windows are iron grates.
Bars, sir ?
In the convent, Simone was spared the world's temptations.
I will not allow her to fall prey to them now.
She is a rare bird.
I intend to keep her caged.
Perhaps the sisters...
failed to instruct you...
in the ways of marriage.
The nightly duty...
of a wife... to her husband.
- No. - It's a scandal, truly.
He's a doctor pretending to be a God-fearing man.
And that's not all. He's far too old to marry her, and she's far too young.
- Hasn't finished her schooling. - Whisked away with barely a word.
- And that's not all. - Tell me more.
The sweet little thing is barely 1 6.
I say she's even younger, only a child.
- That's not all the nuns told us. - Tell me more.
Listen to this.
No.
- And that's not all. - What else ?
She's not a coquette. She's meant to be a nun.
- I swear.
- Tell me more. - She came with a statue of the Virgin Mary.
She arrived with a statue of the Virgin Mary and a crucifix around her neck from a convent.
Hmm. Tell me more.
He's old enough to have fathered her twice over.
The hypocrite.
This has all the makings of a farce.
Abbe de Coulmier, you rascal.
Your comedies are becoming quite the rage. I had to claw my way to a ticket.
- I can hardly take- - So expertly acted.
That charming young man in last week's comedy-
I had no idea he was an imbecile.
Everyone has talents if we look for them.
- Yes, yes, I'm sure. - Oh.
Isn't that the new doctor? How thrilling for you.
- A renowned expert right here at Charenton. - Yes, indeed.
I will say one thing for him. He has a beautiful daughter.
Enough of this bilge!
We're better than this.
Remember, gentlemen, inside each of your... delicate minds,
your distinctive bodies,
art is waiting to be born !
So let's give the doctor a performance tonight I hope he'll remember forever.
546 00:42:50,382 -> 00:42:53,283 That's Madame Bouginal and Mademoiselle Clairel.
And in front of them, the marquis' wife.
Indeed.
Begging your pardon, it's time to begin.
You ! You're the north wind.
Madames and monsieurs,
there's been a change in tonight's program.
We will not be performing The Happy Shoemaker.
- Instead,
we'd like to premiere a new play...
in honor of the newly appointed Dr. Royer-Collard...
and his lovely bride.
- A comedy entitled-
- Crimes of Love. - The Crimes of Love.
Written by one of Charenton's very own wards,
the Marquis de Sade !
566 00:44:07,126 -> 00:44:11,563
569 00:44:29,014 -> 00:44:32,541 - Wait. Statue, statue. - There you are.
Sister Senfone, whither do we go,
passing over rivers, canyons and snow ?
Hurry you, for we must not tarry.
I deliver you now to the man you shall marry.
When you have rested, at your leisure,
he will coach you in the ways of pleasure.
At last, she arrives, my hard-won bride.
Hurry, my child, and scurry inside.
There you'll find such treasures await you.
Marzipan and meringue to sate you.
Such gallantry in men is sadly a rarity.
How lucky I am to receive his charity.
Thank you, dear sister, for abetting me so,
- bringing her here to this secluded chateau. - Quickly.
-Stand still and be quiet. - Was that good ?
Little does she know that terror's in store...
when I tutor her in les crimes...
de l'amour.
595 00:45:58,383 -> 00:46:02,752
Take this side of the curtain. One, two, three-
Quickly, my suckling, out of your clothes.
My scepter awaits. How solid it grows.
- Stop it, I beg you. Have pity I say.
You're not my lover. You're a monstrous roue.
- Do as you're told.
-Stick your legs in the air. - Leave at once.
- But it's just begun. - Do as I say.
Madame.
It's true, I'm a pig.
And you've truffles down there.
- Oh, God ! Oh, God, what's this ?
- Such a wicked sensation.
A feeling somewhere between shame and elation.
- Oh, God !
Use your tongue like a wand in much the same manner as Sister Semfone.
Leaving already ? Of course, you've seen it all before.
I had a suspicion the sister was sapphic.
I'd tell you more, but it's simply too graphic.
Suffice it to say she's a preference for lasses.
Even at Vespers, she always made passes.
My darling, dainty morsel, get on your back. Let's try it dorsal !
I won't escape. He wants to take me in every way.
I'll plunder every lovely pore till you're weak and cry, " No more !"
- No, more, more !
Give me this ! More ! More !
Everybody, come forward quietly for the next bit.
Then to prove you're truly mine, I'll plunder you, darling, from behind !
Yes, yes, yes, let's do it.
And what of my lips ? Will you soil them too ?
When you've broken every other taboo ?
- ...every slippery hollow.
If you're obliging, then you'll swallow!
Manners !
- Now that body has been broken and swollen, - Yes !
Lust, power and greed are no longer-
Juliette !
Take him to the infirmary. Maddie ?
- Has he hurt you ? - His breath made my eyes run, that's all.
- It's all right.
- Madeleine ?
Do you mean to take us all down with you ?
Don't be absurd.
Disgraceful!
It's only a play.
657 00:49:46,277 -> 00:49:48,575 That play was filthy.
- It was disgusting.
I wonder who's to blame, the author or his muse ?
- It was fiction, of course. - Of course.
- It was not inspired by circumstance. - It certainly was not.
You ought to be ashamed, Abbe,
exploiting these pathetic cretins for financial gain.
This is not our intention.
It was a freak show for tourists and curiosity seekers.
Charenton is a sanatorium, not a circus !
The theater is henceforth closed.
"Closed" ?
As for your friend, playwright emeritus of the madhouse-
I'll do everything in my power-
Do more, or I shall be forced to inform the ministry...
that the inmates are, indeed, running the asylum.
Mmm. Mmm.
Well, I hope you're satisfied.
He shut down our theater.
He can't do that to me.
How can one man be so selfish ?
We merely held up a mirror.
Apparently, he didn't like what he saw.
- What the devil are you doing with my quills ? - You've left me no choice.
I kept my promise. I didn't publish.
Perhaps, in time, you can earn them back.
You can't.
I've all the demons of hell in my head.
My only salvation is to vent them on paper.
Try reading for a change.
The writer who produces more than he reads-
A sure mark of an amateur.
Here.
Start with the Bible.
It's cheerier and more artfully written.
This monstrous God of yours ?
He strung up His very own son like a side of veal.
I shudder to think what He'd do to me.
Why are you doing this to me ?
Stop it.
I'll die of loneliness.
I've no company but the characters I create.
Whores and pederasts !
You're better off without them.
- I have a proposition. - You always do.
Madeleine. She's besotted with me.
She'd do anything I asked. She could pay you a visit.
I don't know who you insult more, her or me.
- Part the gates of heaven, as it were. - That's enough !
You're too tense, darling. You could do with a long, slow screw.
Good night, Marquis.
Then bugger me ! Goddamn you, Abbe !
Have you no true sense of my condition ?
Of its gravity ?
My writing is involuntary, like the beating of my heart.
My constant erection !
I've done just as you bade me.
I've paid a visit to the craftsmen.
He laughed and called me a whore.
Took my money just the same.
I don't know which gives you greater pleasure:
the objects themselves...
or the humiliation I endure procuring them on your behalf.
And last, but not least,
I brought you some aniseed drops...
and some chocolate pastilles.
Did you now, madame ?
They're filled with cream, yes ?
You know I shan't touch them unless they're positively...
bursting,
erupting with cream.
What else have you brought that I might nibble upon ?
- Donatien, you mustn't. - Hmm ?
Tell me. What other little treats ?
Shame on you, truly.
For fuck's sake, woman. Bonbons ?
Am I to sit here gorging myself on useless trifles,
sucking on your little sweetmeats,
when what I truly require, what I truly need...
are a few quill pens, perhaps a pot of ink ?
- Forgive me. I beg you. - Don't you see ?
I've been raped.
- Far more egregiously than any of my wretched characters. - How was I to know, darling ?
How was I to tell you, by writing a letter ?
With what, my asinine bride ?
I beg you, Donatien,
as your wife, your only ally, you must stop making a monstrous spectacle of yourself!
- You have come to lecture me ? - To flaunt your deviance in public upon a stage ?
They have put you up to this, haven't they ?
You should court the doctor's favor, not his contempt.
The doctor ? I ought to carve my name into his backside and fill the wounds with salt !
You're here, safe, surrounded by brick and mortar.
My prison is far crueler. It has no walls.
Everywhere I go, they point and whisper.
At the opera, they hiss at me when I take my box.
When I went to church, the priest refused to even hear my confession.
He said I was already damned.
Why must I suffer for your sins ?
That's the way of all martyrs, isn't it ?
Give me back my anonymity. That's all I ask.
Let me be invisible again.
You tell me, have you ever done anything to secure my release ? No.
Have you petitioned the courts ? Never !
- Sought an audience with the emperor ? - How ? He refuses to see me !
It's a convenience having your husband locked away.
You no longer have to hold your tongue or hoist your skirts...
or crack your mouth so I can put it to its one pleasurable use.
You're not my wife ! No, you're one of my many jailors ! Out !
- What in God's name ? - Take this cow away !
I can't look at her !
Perhaps you'll find a place for her in the west wing among the hysterics !
Lock her up as well so she knows how it feels !
The sow !
For a woman of humble origin, your wife has refined tastes.
When I suggest granite for the foyer, she's quick to counter with Peruvian marble.
Peruvian marble. It costs a fortune to import.
Whatever her heart desires, Monsieur Prouix.
I would like nothing better than to grant her every wish, sir,
but on the modest sum you have accorded me-
I'm an architect, not a magician.
I must see the doctor at once.
It's a matter of dire urgency.
It is customary to write and request an appointment.
Desperation has driven me past etiquette, all the way to frenzy.
My schedule is not subject to the whim of lunatics.
I beg to differ, Doctor. You work in a madhouse.
Your every waking moment is governed by the insane.
I pray you, be succinct.
You're new to Charenton, yes ?
Perhaps you're not yet familiar with my husband and his unusual case.
With all due respect, madame,
all France is familiar with your husband.
Would you grant me a moment alone, please, Monsieur Prouix ?
Humbly so. Your servant, sir.
Uh, gentlemen.
Madame, please.
Good morning, madame.
I assume you've come here to plead for clemency on your husband's behalf.
You do, do you ?
It's my dearest hope, Doctor,
that he remain entombed forever.
And that when at last he perishes in the dank bowels of your institution,
that he be left as carrion for the rodents and the worms.
I stand corrected, madame.
If you can't cure him...
truly cure him...
then at least, I beg you, harness the beast that rages in his soul.
That is not easily done, madame.
You are aware, are you not, that it costs a great deal...
to house your husband at Charenton ?
I pay his stipend every month, far more dutifully than I should.
But that barely covers the cost of his room...
with nary a penny left over for appropriate treatments:
opiates to quell his temper,
restraints to chasten him when he misbehaves.
Perhaps, if you could buttress your entreaties with the means to oblige them-
I'm not a wealthy woman.
You have a pension, haven't you ?
- From the sale of his books ? - It's tainted money, Doctor.
- What a beautiful thought. - What thought is that ?
That the ill-gotten funds born of his degeneracy...
might now affect his salvation.
It's beyond perversity...
that honor should carry a price tag.
Imagine...
old friends deigning to kiss your hand again.
"Why, Marquise, enchanted to see you again.
Welcome back from your long, dark descent into the abyss of infamy."
Don't toy with me, Doctor.
Now is the time to secure your epitaph:
"The benevolent Marquise,
Chariton's most revered philanthropist"...
or "Satan's bride."
Rest assured, Marquise,
your generosity will speed your husband ever faster towards a cure.
The Peruvian marble, without question.
- I'm eternally in your debt. - And I in yours, Marquise.
Doctor, can I impart to you his cruelest trick ?
Of course.
Once, long ago...
in the folly of youth...
he made me love him.
Madeleine, my sweet, can you smuggle me a quill and some ink ?
I don't dare.
The doctor's got his eye on you sharper than ever now.
Dr. Montalivet was, politely put, diminutive.
When flaccid, his member was little more than a bobbin.
And when inflamed, it towered a mere four inches.
To compensate, he strove to impress his ladylove with a host of other endowments:;
fine wine, fresh game and a house as large as his other fortunes were small.
We've ceiling beams en route from Provence.
And next week, a muralist from Paris arrives...
to paint a trompe l'oeil in the ballroom.
- Doesn't that please you ? - Very much.
I would prefer brandy in the salon...
where we can sit side by side before the fire.
I'd rather read, thank you.
You prefer a book to your husband's company ?
Well, no wonder. I'm only flesh and blood.
That's no match, is it, for the printed page, hmm ?
Good evening then. Enjoy your solitude.
Your linens, please.
Your linens.
Now or never.
Voila !
Well, if you won't read it to your own mother,
perhaps you ought not to be reading it at all.
It's not your cup of tea, Mother.
Oh, go on, darling, give it a read.
" Monsieur Bouloir was a man whose erotic appetites...
"might discreetly be described as... postmortem.
- "A habitue of cemeteries,
"his proudest conquest was a maid...
six decades his senior, deceased a dozen years."
- That's terrible.
Oh, that's too, too terrible.
Well, go on.
"The vigor with which he made love...
Mm-hmm.
"caused her bones to dislodge.
- "Still...
"he granted her the highest compliment he accorded any woman.
- Yes ?
Well worth the dig."
- You asked my name once.
It's Madeleine.
Sweet then, like the pastry.
Haven't you a name yourself?
Ride away with me someday. Perhaps I'll tell you.
Your mother may be blind, but you have a keen pair of eyes.
My mother is blind on account of the lye in the laundry kettles.
Soaking sheets for lunatics has cost this woman her sight.
- This could cost her far more. - You'll get more from her with kindness than-
What could cause a tincture like this ?
- I'm only a laundress, not a detective. - Now is not the time-
Perhaps your kettles are stained with rust.
Or maybe the lye is rancid.
Or maybe,just maybe...
these sheets once belonged to our friend the marquis.
We've over 200 beds. They could have been anybody's.
With such a fine thread count, decorated in his very own script ?
She's lying. It shows in her face.
- We're clearing everything out.
- Almost done, sir. - Remember, anything he could fashion as a quill.
His entire room stripped bare.
So the doctor cracks his whip and you dance !
My bed, gone. Am I to freeze to death ?
Go on, take his rug.
- Take it. - That's a Turkish weave, you idiot.
It costs more than you'll earn in a lifetime.
- His chair. - Fine. Take it. Take it all.
- Here. - There you go.
And this- Careful, it's slippery.
You've no idea where it's been.
Let's not forget Mary, sweet Mary,
the Jewish whore, God's little harlot.
Virgin birth ? An entire religion built on an oxymoron.
His wine.
From now on, nothing but water at every meal.
- Water ? - And your meat shall be deboned.
- Why this sudden torture ? - Because your writing continues unchecked.
- I didn't create this world of ours. I only record it. - Its horrors, perhaps.
Its darkest nightmares. And to what end ?
- Nothing but your own morbid gratification. - No, I write what I see:
the endless procession to the guillotine.
We're all lined up, waiting for the crunch of the blade.
The rivers of blood are flowing beneath our feet, Abbe.
I've been to hell, young man.
You've only read about it.
I'm sorry, Marquis, truly.
These chastity vows of yours- How strict are they ?
- Suppose you only put it in her mouth ?
Pious little worm.
In conditions of adversity, the artist flourishes.
Curious, aren't you ?
I fuckin' pleasure myself. I can pleasure you too.
You don't know what you're missing, darling.
I'm in search of a book. Perhaps you know it.
I've only got one copy left.
Rescued it meself from the bonfire.
Please hurry. My husband locks the door at dusk.
Sweet little thing like you...
shouldn't be reading such filth anyway.
I grew up in a convent, sir.
Everything I know in the world, I owe to books.
To the young maidens of the world,
wrest yourselves free from the tyranny of virtue...
and taste without shame the pleasures of the flesh.
Male power lies in the clench of a fist,
but a woman's power lies elsewhere:;
in the velvet cavity betwixt her thighs.
It's late, Simone, darling.
Put your poems aside.
Breakfast.
Madeleine, I beg you-
What have they done to you now ?
Tortures so ugly, so medieval...
even I haven't the words to describe them.
- Go on. - If you have an ounce of pity in your heart,
throw caution aside...
and unlock my door.
God help me.
- I don't dare. - Don't be a dunce, child. I have a surprise for you.
Now open the friggin' door.
My newest book.
It starts at my left cuff...
and continues right across my back.
The longest sentence, you'll notice,
runs the entire length of my inseam.
And it all completes itself...
at the base of my right shoe.
- Oh, my. " Pikestaff' ? - Yes.
- " Naked on a plate" ? - Yes.
"One hundred unhurried tongues" ?
Yes.
- You're a genius ! - Yes !
Shh !
Go quickly...
so you won't be blamed form misbehavior.
Maddie, you traffic with the devil, you'll pay the devil's price.
- Sorry. - Guards !
- Yes !
- Shh ! - You'll pay ! Guards !
Look what I've brought you, my darlings.
- There's something written. - Two chapters, one for each cheek.
My writing lives !
Take this beast back to his cage !
Don't tell me. You've come to read my trousers.
Don't keep me in suspense. What will it be, 50 lashes ? A night on the rack ?
I won't sully my hands with him.
Nor should you. That's the first rule of politics, isn't it ?
The man who orders the execution never drops the blade !
You're fortunate they've forced me to punish you.
If it were up to the doctor, you'd be flayed alive.
Well, the doctor is a man after my own heart.
What in God's name am I to do with you ?
T-The more I forbid, the more you're provoked.
Strip.
Your britches as well.
You started this little game...
you finish it.
Or haven't you the courage ?
I thought not.
It's a potent aphrodisiac,
isn't it, dumpling ?
Having power over another man.
Your wig.
You'll no longer spread your insidious gospel.
From now on,
you will not even write your own ignominious name.
Are your convictions so fragile,
they cannot stand in opposition to mine ?
Is your God so flimsy, so weak ? For shame !
Don't flatter yourself, Marquis.
You're not the Antichrist.
You're nothing but a malcontent who knows how to spell.
I saw her with my own eyes.
She put the key in the latch just as proud as she pleased.
Free her now !
Leave her duly strung.
Maddie.
If only blood will appease you,
then shed mine !
- Abbe, no. - Go on.
Now !
That won't be necessary.
If you're going to martyr yourself, Abbe,
do it for God, not a chambermaid.
Now put your clothes back on.
Had I known your taste in novels,
I never would have taught you to read.
Don't say that.
Reading's my salvation.
But why must you indulge in his pornography ?
It's a hard day's wages, slaving away for madmen.
What I've seen in life,
it takes a lot to hold my interest.
I put myself in his stories.
I play the parts.
- Each strumpet, each murderess. - Oh, Maddie-
If I wasn't such a bad woman on the page,
I'll hazard I couldn't be such a good woman in life.
This is no place for a child like you.
I'm sending you away from here.
It would take the whole den if you stop there.
Now this is not good enough. You understand ?
I refuse to pay-
We could line the walls with Chinese silks.
Or, if you prefer, a Florentine tapestry.
- Are you a literary man ? - Excuse me ?
I do so admire men with an appetite for...
books.
Madame, how could you ?
Have you actually read this volume ?
I've memorized it.
There comes a time in a young lady's life...
when she must cast books aside...
and learn from experience.
That, monsieur...
requires a teacher.
Oh, yes, come on. We'll have some fun.
- Maddie, what are you-
Is something wrong ?
Abbe, don't send me away, I beg you.
I shouldn't refuse your kindness...
but my heart's held fast here.
By whom ? The marquis ?
Mother's not half so blind as you.
Oh, Madeleine.
There are certain feelings... we must not voice.
Why not ?
They incite-
They incite us to act...
in ways...
we should not.
No.
What have I done ?
Go. Go back to your room quickly.
You'll hate me now, won't you ?
No. I love you, Madeleine...
as a child of God.
- Forgive me.
Madeleine.
- Maddie.
You don't fear the marquis' sway on me.
You fear your own.
If you'd grant me a final favor, I'd like to explain myself.
Don't come any closer, Abbe. God's watching.
Maddie-
"Most esteemed Dr. Royer-Collard,
"At long last your chateau is complete.
"You will find everything in its assigned place:
"the chintz draperies, the English bell pulls,
"even the ivory doorstops.
"Only one detail is missing-
Your wife."
Tell him I'm no fool.
A prison is still a prison,
even with Chinese silks and chandeliers.
" By the time you read this, we'll be long gone.
Bound for England or points beyond."
Tell him if he discovers our whereabouts,
you'll slit your wrist with a razor and I'll plunge a hat pin through my heart.
You'd do that... rather than forsake our love ?
No... but tell him I would.
Sign it... quickly.
Then you can ravish me again on linens for which he so dearly paid.
And then, I beg you,
on the bearskin rug in his study.
And finally, as a crowning gesture,
we'll leave puddles of love on the Peruvian marble.
Simone !
Simone ! Simone ?
Simone ?
Stop !
Stop ! I beg you !
I'll write dainty stories, odes to virtue.
Children's verse. I promise !
It excites you, doesn't it, to hurt me thus ?
Look, you're solid as bone, straining your trousers.
Don't you see, you self-righteous fuck ?
The longer you continue your vexations,
the deeper you root my principles in my heart !
Haven't you seen...
a man naked before ?
The abbe's sending me away.
Yes.
Of course he is.
Marquis...
tell me one little story.
How do you propose I do that ?
With dust upon the air ?
Whisper it to me now.
Child, that's far too dangerous.
I may never see you again.
Let me transcribe it for you, something to remember you by.
This is neither the time nor the place.
We've lost.
I never thought I'd see you defeated.
There are thousands of stories...
I would dearly love to tell.
Then tell me one.
Perhaps I can.
Tonight, place yourself in the linen pantry...
with a bottle of ink and a quill.
And then you shall have a story...
that will make the angels weep...
and the saints all gasp for air.
Psst, she's here.
Dauphin. Dauphin.
Dauphin.
- Cleante. Cleante.
Psst, Cleante, are you ready ?
- Are you ready ? - Marquis, is that you ?
For fuck's sake, who else would it be ? Have you alerted the others ?
I'm no longer a man.
I awoke to discover I turned into a sparrow.
- Is that so ?
Well, I awoke to discover I'd turned into a cat !
If you don't do as I say, I'll sink my little fangs into your drumsticks...
and suck the marrow straight out of your bones !
- Have you got that, little bird ?
At your service, Count.
To my beloved reader,
prepare yourself for the most impure tale...
ever to spring from the mind of man.
Off your hump.
Dauphin. To my beloved reader,
prepare yourself for the most...
impure tale ever told.
To my beloved reader,
prepare yourself for an impure tale.
- Psst, Bouchon. - Huh ?
To my beloved reader, prepare yourself.
I have an impure tale to tell.
Prepare yourself.
- Bouchon ?
What did you say ?
Prepare yourself. I've a tale, an impure tale.
Our story concerns the prostitute, Fauchau,
whom nature had equipped...
with a tight and tiny fissure between her thighs...
and the most finely cleft ass ever molded...
by the hand of God.
Fauchau was a prostitute...
with a tight and downy fissure...
between her thighs and-
The most finely cleft ass !
The most finely cleft ass.
- My glorious prose filtered through the minds of the insane.
Who knows, they might improve it.
It's about a harlot named Fauchau.
It's about a harlot...
named Fauchau with a downy fissure.
One day, Fauchau's first client was a surgeon.
He ran his fingers across her naked skin,
pulling apart folds of flesh.
He ran his fingers across her naked skin,
pulling apart folds of flesh.
Pulling at her folds and-
He ran his fingers over her naked skin,
- pulling at her folds.
Feeling over her naked skin.
Her naked skin.
- Naked- - Yes, I've got that bit.
"What shall I make ready ?" asked Fauchau.
" My mouth, my ass...
or my succulent oyster ?"
What shall I make ready ?
My ass or my succulent oyster ?
" None !" cried the surgeon, brandishing his scalpel.
- Yes ? - Which hole ?
My mouth, my ass or my succulent-
succulent oyster.
" For I'll carve new orifices where there were none before."
- None- - Cried the surgeon.
I'll carve new-new-new orifices where there were none before.
With that, Fauchau expelled a scream so extravagantly pitched...
that the surgeon was obliged to tear out her tongue.
- Fauchau expelled a scream of such extravagant pitch-
With that, the extravagant bitch-
- screamed so loud- - She screamed...
so long and so loud-
She screamed, so he felt he should- He ought-
- To seal the wound, he took a poker from the fire. - A poker !
- To tear out her tongue.
-He took a poker from the fire. -From the fire. From the fire !
He took a poker from the fire.
From the fire. From the fire.
He took a poker from the fire.
From the fire.
- Dauphin. - From the fire.
- What's the next bit ? - Bouchon, the words ?
- Tell me the words. - Fire.
- Dauphin ?
- Fire ! - What's the next bit ?
- Fire ! Fire. - What's the next bit ?
- Fire ! Fire ! - Tell me the next bit !
- You must tell me the words.
- Fire !
Open all the doors ! Let the patients out!
Get some water ! Hurry ! Come on !
Get some water !
-Jesus ! What the hell have you done ?
Where's that water ?
Get the beds ! Stomp them out!
- Fire ! Fire !
Fire ! Fire !
- Fire !
Where are you going with that ?
Bouchon ?
Remember your manners, Bouchon.
- Don't-
- No ! No ! No ! - Madeleine.
- Madeleine !
- Madeleine! - Madeleine !
Madeleine!
- Madeleine! - Madeleine.
Madeleine! Madeleine!
Madeleine!
Madeleine! Madeleine!
- Maddie ?
Madeleine !
- Maddie ! - It's awful !
The devil's unleashed himself upon us !
It's her fault !
Up the stairs !
No! No! No!
No ! No ! No !
- Maddie !
- Madeleine ! Madeleine !
We must save Charenton! Keep the chain going !
We've got to stop it before it gets to those beams !
- Get him off of me !
Pitou !
- Madeleine ! - Madeleine !
- Guards ! Guards !
Guards !
Brigitte. Are you all right ?
Madeleine !
- Madeleine !
Madeleine !
Go ! Quickly !
Madeleine !
Where are you, Maddie ?
"She screamed...
- so he felt he ought to tear out her tongue."
Bouchon, wait !
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Abbe. I couldn't help it.
No.
Oh, my God.
- No.
Oh, no.
Madeleine!
Now, now, don't be shy.
We've a nice surprise just waiting for you.
There's a good boy.
Huh ?
Huh ! There's a good boy.
Huh ?
I'm sorry. Wait.
I promise I won't do it again.
I promise.
Of course, we mustn't blame Bouchon.
He is merely one of nature's experiments gone awry.
No discipline, no conscience, no morality.
In fact, it is our duty...
to provide such things on his behalf.
Is it not ?
As you say, Doctor.
He was so impressed by the marquis' tale...
that he chose to reenact it, yes ?
Upon a certain chambermaid.
Perhaps you would be so kind as to remind me of her name.
I beg you, Doctor, don't make me say it.
Her name, Abbe.
Madeleine.
Tell me, Abbe,
when you are called before God,
how will you answer for Madeleine's death ?
- Murderer.
Your words-
Your words drove Bouchon to-
Oh, for fuck's sake, Abbe !
Suppose one of your precious inmates attempted to walk on water and drowned ?
Would you condemn the Bible ? I think not.
An innocent child is dead.
So many authors are denied the gratification...
of a concrete response to their work.
I'm blessed, am I not ?
It's no secret that you loved her.
I wanted to fuck her, that's all.
- And did you ? - It's not your province to ask.
- Why was it you never took her by force ? - Who's to say I did not ?
- Was it impotence ? - Never !
Then... it must have been love.
I fucked her countless times...
and all the while she pleaded for more.
We inspected the body.
She died a virgin.
Give her... a proper burial...
in the churchyard...
at my expense.
Do not inter...
her sweet body...
in the same ground...
as the devils who inhabit this accursed place.
Your terrible secret revealed.
You're a man after all.
I've opium to numb the pain.
Our intention is punitive.
If we numb the pain, what's the point ?
Abbe de Coulmier.
I'm here.
Would that I were so easily silenced.
There's a good boy.
My, my.
You have exceeded my expectations.
Have I ? I'm not the first man God has asked to shed blood in His name.
I will not be the last.
And will you sleep soundly tonight ?
No, sir.
Plainly put,
I never expect to sleep again.
Don't send me away, Abbe.
Abbe. Abbe.
- Abbe-
Abbe. Abbe.
Abbe! Abbe!
You best come quick, Abbe !
He's written all over the walls.
Used his own filth.
- Made him self a kind of paint. - Dear God.
- The stench !
- Free his mouth. - You mustn't do that, sir.
I must grant him his last rites. Give me your dagger.
Leave us.
- Shh.
I failed to save your soul in life.
I won't fail in death.
Dear Heavenly Father,
prove Your infinite mercy...
and open Your gates to this man,
no less Your child than any other.
There is...
in each of us...
such beauty...
and such abomination.
No man is exempt.
Forgive him.
Forgive us all.
Kiss the cross.
Marquis !
- No !
Welcome to Charenton, Abbe.
I'm pleased to have the new post, sir.
Are you ? Thank you.
I'm afraid our endowment has shriveled to a mere pittance.
We are the laughingstock of all France.
However, on a happier note,
the hospital is now in my sole command.
My policy here is that each man must earn his keep.
The Charenton Press, Abbe.
We produce books for the discriminating collector.
The compulsive inmates set the type.
The listless ones do the binding and prepare the ink.
It's remarkable, Doctor.
The patients are so subdued, so docile.
Yes, they are at peace.
They have the satisfaction that only a hard day's labor can provide.
I don't believe it.
The Marquis de Sade ? You're actually publishing his novels ?
Yes. Ever since his unfortunate death,
there's been a surge of interest in his works.
Of course, I will use the profits to restore Charenton to its former glory.
Oh, Doctor.
We have a meeting with Herr Becker at 4:00.
He wants to publish a Swiss edition...
on gilded paper bound in calfskin.
- Thank you, Charlotte. - My pleasure.
Have a look at page 205. I turned the corner down.
Come on, move. On your left. Come on.
Next one. Go on. Get these books onboard.
Come on! Those boxes over there !
Move yourself. Right.
Right, old mate, that's it ! See you next week !
Of course, everything is not quite as harmonious as it seems.
- I hope you have a strong constitution.
My years tending lepers steeled me for life's grisliest offerings.
We still have a few lone incurables...
prone to violence and perversion.
So...
you're my successor, yes ?
"Successor" ?
Oh.
Listen to me... Abbe,
and listen well.
I've stared into the face of evil...
and I've lived to tell the tale.
Now, I beg you, for your sake, let me write it down.
Gibberish, my friend. He rants and he raves.
If you've an ounce of Christian charity,
then you'll bring me parchment, ink and a quill.
You'll do no such thing. This patient poses a grave danger to himself and others.
Are you all right, sir ?
Do you not see, Abbe ?
Some men are beyond redemption.
No. Wait. Please.
Please bring mea quill. Please ?
Wait. I'm sorry.
Goddamn you, Abbe ! A quill !
A quill.
Use it well.
You owe her that.
Beloved reader,
I leave you now with a tale penned by the Abbe de Coulmier,
a man who found freedom in the unlikeliest of places:;
at the bottom of an inkwell,
on the tip of a quill.
However, be forewarned,
its plot is blood-soaked,
its characters depraved,
and its themes... unwholesome at best.
But in order to know virtue,
we must acquaint ourselves with vice.
Only then can we know the full measure of man.
So come.
I dare you.
Turn the page.