"The mime Baptiste Deburau passionately loves
an actress named Garance.
Out of timidity, he misses his chance with her.
Instead, she becomes the mistress
of the actor Frédérick Lemaître.
At the Funambules Theater,
a rich dandy, the Count de Montray,
offers her his protection.
She refuses.
But when wrongly accused
of taking part in a robbery attempt by her friend Lacenaire,
Garance holds out the count's card
to the astonished police."
PART TWO "THE MAN I N WHITE"
"Several years have passed..."
The worst play ever seen on the Boulevard.
The absolute worst!
- Why do it then? - I have a contract.
- Why did you sign? - I need the money.
You earn a fortune.
I end up with nothing, since I spend more than I earn.
Hurry, Mr Frédérick! The authors are impatient.
Alas!
"The Inn of the Adrets In rehearsal"
If punctuality is the courtesy of kings...
It's not that of Frédérick Lemaître!
And they call them authors.
My God!
Why do honest folk persist in writing tales of brigands?
Even convicts could write better than that.
At least they have experience.
A drink, my little kittens! For pity's sake!
Thank you, child.
Not at all convincing.
Poor Robert Macaire.
What's going on, my kittens?
I can't hear you.
We're sad.
We both love you, but we're friends, you see.
- So? - We don't want to fight.
Then do as I do.
Act.
It's your chosen profession.
When I act, I'm madly in love.
You hear? Madly.
At the final curtain, the audience leaves with my love.
Understand? I make them a gift of my love.
The audience is gratified, and so am I.
Then I become sensible and free again,
silent as Baptiste.
Not that again!
That's all I hear! "Have you seen Baptiste?"
Even Théophile Gautier:
"Don't miss Baptiste in The Ragman! A masterpiece!"
"Masterpiece," a pantomime! Théophile's gone too far.
Don't touch. It's a souvenir.
It pricks.
"Viper of memory, stab of regret,
red light of oblivion."
It's all nonsense, fantasy, air!
What I like is reality.
Only two acts, but well made. Compliments to the authors.
What vulgarity, really!
You think it's funny.
Well, I don't, you hear?
That's it. We've quarreled.
Are you angry with me?
- Excuse me. - What is it?
Nothing. Just some people waiting for you.
Poor authors!
Not them.
They started rehearsals without us ages ago.
Admirers, no doubt?
- That's it..."admirers." - I'm coming.
Back in a moment, my sweet.
Tidy up after you finish snooping about.
Poor costume. As bad as mine.
The manager wants you!
I'm coming!
So, where are our knaves?
Debts are made to be paid.
- The cad! - Box his ears!
- Jealous husbands, angry creditors! - As usual.
Grumblers and malcontents! A fog of men!
You go first! We'll plunge into the fog once more!
Gentlemen?
- Inveigler! - My money!
- My bills! - You ham!
Help! They're striking Robert Macaire!
Help, cossacks!
They're killing Frédérick the Great!
So I run out of the inn when I hear the shot.
You rush over to the body.
Where the body should be, as Mr Lemaître isn't here!
Fine.
Shall we?
The hour of justice strikes.
You won't escape punishment.
Bang!
Alas, you have killed him!
O woe!
He was a wicked man, but he was my husband.
Excuse me! I got carried away.
However, I would like just a bit more...
- A touch more... - A touch more feeling!
Yes, that's right! Feeling!
Feeling, feeling, and more feeling!
Dare I hope, gentlemen, you like my costume?
Not bad. It has something.
- This must be some kind... - Of a joke!
Robert Macaire and his evil sidekick haven't come from the tailor's,
but from prison.
They're bandits, not dandies.
- But that eye patch! - It's hideous!
My eye behind it is even more hideous!
Gentlemen, let's not argue again!
He's here, so let's rehearse Act II,
Scene 9.
On with it!
I'd rather do the scene with the gendarmes. It's funnier.
We are not here to amuse the gallery!
Too bad!
Oh, well, if you insist.
Come on, Latour, old girl. Scene 9.
My son!
You alone give me the courage to face
the wretch who is the cause of our misfortune!
Egad, my wife!
Yes, your wife and victim!
Woeful Marie!
She does look glum.
Spare us your asides!
On with it.
I am found out!
You betrayed me, Marie!
To save my son.
To save your son, you betray his father!
Alas!
I shall feign tenderness.
Marie!
My poor Marie!
Robert! My poor Robert!
Did you really commit all those crimes?
What can I say, Marie?
No one's perfect.
- Stop! - That's not in the play!
So?
Your play's empty. It needs some padding.
Outrageous!
That's right! Your poor "inn" is empty.
Think the audience will bring their supper?
They'll bring tomatoes!
You call this a drama?
Some drama... and in three acts.
One each. To be fair.
Three acts! I call them actionable!
Don't play with words.
What can I play with? Your ideas? You have none!
Come now!
We can't be insulted by someone who got his start in pantomimes...
- On his hands! - Why not?
You wrote a play with your feet.
Monsieur!
You force us to take drastic measures.
Monsieur, you signed a contract and have received...
And spent.
...a generous advance.
Are you prepared to honor your obligations?
Are you prepared to perform our play?
Why, certainly, gentlemen.
Provided it plays along with me.
Enough! We have a description of the criminals.
Don't try to escape! You're surrounded!
One of them calls himself Rémond, but we know his real name.
It's Robert Macaire!
And Robert Macaire...
Is you!
Prove you're not, if you can.
He's in a fix. It's not in the play.
By the time he thinks of a line,
I'll have escaped again!
Come on, Rover, let's be off.
The play isn't over yet.
Frédérick, please, come back!
Stop them! They'll get away!
Don't move, you're surrounded!
Just when I get a chance to see the play!
Enough speeches! You are mine!
Yours? You naughty boy!
Come now!
You've been unmasked. We know you're Robert Macaire!
If you're not Macaire, the escaped convict,
answer me this:
Who are you?
I am Frédérick Lemaître.
Liar! You're under arrest!
Not again!
Shall we kill him?
Killing gendarmes never hurt anybody.
Collapse, you fool! You're dead!
Alas, you've killed him!
O woe!
He was a wicked man, but he was my husband.
Don't worry, little widow, it was a false alarm!
Dry your tears. Your little hubby lives.
Not for long.
It had to end like this.
I'm dying.
Farewell, Marie.
Forgive me.
I wasn't a bad man.
It was the company I kept.
I was but the arm that executes,
the hand that strikes,
the foot that leaves its mark in the dust of crime.
But the true criminals,
those who plotted in the shadows...
I shall point out to DivineJustice.
The true authors of this crime are there!
A triumph!
- A disgrace! - An unprecedented shame!
So, gentlemen, I trust you're satisfied.
Monsieur, you've insulted us.
Only your ignorance prevents you from seeing what we see.
That you have deeply insulted the Dramatic Arts!
You have sacked and trampled our oeuvre,
debased our prose.
- It's good luck! - Vulgarian!
- We demand satisfaction. - As you like. Tomorrow morning?
Not a duel!
The Holy Trinity feels offended,
so we have to cross swords.
Arrange it.
Let them draw straws. I'll fight the winner.
You may have the choice of arms.
I'll be at the dueling ground at dawn with my seconds.
A wise precaution.
What are you doing here?
How did you get in?
Hands off. It's a souvenir.
It's perhaps one for me, as well. Who knows?
And who are you?
You're famous enough for two, so let's skip the introductions
and get to the purpose of my call.
I'll be brief. I need money.
Everyone does.
More or less.
Maybe, but I'd like to know why you come to me.
- I don't even know you. - No matter.
I know you.
All Paris knows you.
You're too kind.
But let's not get carried away.
Yes, you are already famous,
and no doubt rich enough
for a man at bay to appeal to you, quite simply.
- At bay? - It's a matter of life and death.
- Seriously? - Do I look like I'm joking?
I'm not rich,
but perhaps Fate sent you.
I won at the lottery last week.
I haven't spent it all. You're in luck.
I'd give it all to a friend or brother.
But as I haven't the honor of knowing you...
all I can say is:
Let's share it.
If this tiny amount is of any help,
I offer it to you.
"Quite simply."
You amaze me. Actors are said to be misers.
Great ones, especially.
Fine, then.
There's still progress to be made.
You practice a peculiar craft.
- The best. - No doubt.
But you make hearts beat every night at the same hour.
You don't understand. That's the beauty of it!
The wonder!
To feel and hear your heart
and the heart of the audience beat at the same time.
How promiscuous!
If my heart starts to beat loudly,
I take an unusual delight in being the only one to hear it.
May I ask what the owner of such a heart does in life?
If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.
I write plays in my spare time.
You're an author.
An unrecognized author, no doubt.
Yes, unrecognized. But I have no regrets.
I write light pieces, but nowadays people prefer tragedies.
I'm fond of one of my plays, though.
A short piece full of joy and sadness.
Two lovers are parted, reunited,
then parted again.
The setting, all in soft green: A garden, a fountain.
Interesting!
But tell me...
now that we're acquainted...
was this money business really a matter of life and death?
Yes. For you.
For me?
Had you been so foolhardy as to refuse...
I can assure you the blade doesn't retract into the handle.
You think Frédérick wouldn't resist?
I didn't come here alone.
Incredible! Like a scene from the play!
- Happy now? - I sure am.
This imbecile is a great admirer of yours.
- The thought of... - I felt sick.
No, really? How nice.
So there are decent folks in every trade.
So, did you enjoy the play?
Don't ask. The boy is shy about his feelings.
But you were there tonight?
- Well? - Interesting.
I wouldn't criticize...
Please do.
It's not every day you come across a specialist.
A connoisseur.
This is marvelous!
Do me the honor of supping with me.
I had it prepared for the authors. But I doubt...
Oh, Mr Frédérick!
It's most kind of you, but we don't wish to intrude.
And you must be tired.
Not at all.
Just famished. No formalities! Let's eat.
If you insist.
I have to regain my strength. I have a duel at dawn.
It must be unpleasant to die on an empty stomach.
A duel? With whom?
With some fool.
You'll kill him, I hope?
If we had to kill every fool...
Indeed.
Yet it would make life so much easier.
And with success at our doorstep!
You're killing the goose that lays the golden egg.
- The goose might... - Kill us.
Gentlemen, please! I'm the only one dueling.
- Because you're the only one... ...who can use a pistol.
A pistol!
Here he comes!
And on time, for once.
He's drunk!
Gentlemen, my apologies.
No time to change into black.
We talked all night. The time flew by.
True, we're not here to exchange pleasantries,
but bullets.
Let me introduce my seconds,
who, for political reasons, shall remain nameless.
You can't be serious. You're not in a normal state.
A normal state. What's that?
You can't even walk straight.
No matter. I'm not going far.
Besides, in such ceremonies,
the line of sight is the shortest distance between two points.
NO PERFORMANCE
It's sold out, I tell you.
- And tomorrow? - Not a seat left.
Unheard of! A ticket seller without tickets!
Oh, Mr Frédérick.
You're hurt?
From a pigeon shoot. A peck in the arm.
I bet the pigeon's worse off. Is that why you're closed?
I heard your play was a hit last night.
The talk of the Boulevard.
It's like with Baptiste.
Things were slow,
and then all of a sudden... It's incredible!
The whole town's fighting for seats!
But you'll find me one.
That won't be easy!
I've got an idea. Come on.
Ayoung society woman comes every night,
all alone, incognito, to see Baptiste.
- Lucky Baptiste. Is she pretty? - I don't know.
She wears a veil and leaves without saying a word.
Excuse me, Madame, just this one time.
A seat for an injured gentlemen.
It's all right.
Garance!
Frédérick! What brings you here, sir?
"Paris is small for those who share so great a passion as ours."
Why the "sir," Garance?
Don't be angry.
I'm like that with everyone now.
O Desdemona! Perfidious creature!
To walk off like that, saying,
"See you later," and then vanish for years.
And when she decides to return, she asks innocently,
"What brings you here, sir?"
I never left. I knew you'd be back.
I waited in this chair. For years.
You haven't changed.
Neither have you, Madame Garance.
But, in fact, you have.
You have changed.
You're more desirable than ever.
And I don't know... you're...
More "distinguished"?
- You're hurt? - It's nothing. It's already healed.
There are other wounds that take longer to heal.
Wounded pride, perhaps, but a wound all the same.
So it was that man,
Desdemona,
that man with the flowers you left with?
Where did you go? Where did he take you?
That nabob. To India?
I did go to India.
But not for long.
I lived in England most of the time.
- And Scotland. - Is Scotland beautiful?
Yes...
but it's so far away.
I love only Paris.
And memories of Paris.
Baptiste, for example.
Baptiste, whom you watch every night.
As if you didn't know that Frédérick Lemaître
also performs nightly.
Listen to the Gods!
I used to laugh like that once.
I'd burst out laughing, just like that, without thinking.
- But nowadays... - You're sad.
No, but I'm not cheerful either.
A spring broke in the music box.
The tune is the same
but it's in a different key.
He truly is wonderful!
He's gentleness itself. How can he look so cruel?
So you love him?
Since I left,
not a day goes by that I don't think of him.
He knows you come every night to see him?
No. He has his life, and I have mine.
What would be the point?
This can't be happening to me.
This is absurd.
What is it?
I think I'm jealous.
I don't know.
I've never felt anything like this.
It's insidious, unpleasant.
It infects your heart.
You reason, but your reason fails you.
Do you realize, Garance?
Just now,
because of you, because of Baptiste,
I felt jealous.
Me, jealous!
And full of regrets.
That man, that traveler taking you away,
and me letting you go.
And to make things worse,
there's Baptiste performing like a god.
It's not that I want him to be awful,
but maybe just...
Yes, just a bit bad.
Not bad.
But mediocre... I wouldn't mind that.
At least, when I talk about it, it stops.
You see? It wasn't so serious.
A mild fit. You're already recovered.
Recovered?
Why should I recover so fast?
What if I enjoyed it?
What if jealousy was helpful to me?
Helpful, even necessary.
Thank you, Garance.
Thanks to all of you,
I can at last play Othello!
I didn't feel the character. He was alien to me.
Now he's a friend, a brother. I've found him.
Othello, my heart's desire!
After you, Desdemona.
I'll go embrace Baptiste. I owe him that much.
Shall I take him a message?
Really, Frédérick!
I mean it.
True, I'm jealous, but I understand.
And he has a wife and child. That makes me feel better.
Whereas that other man...
Well, Garance?
You might mention me.
And if he seems to care,
say I'm passing through Paris, that I'm leaving soon,
and that I'd be happy, so very happy,
if he came to say hello.
So it's you, ingrate! After all these years!
But the prodigal son returns!
Don't forget Alexis's fine
for being drunk, brawling, and breaking a vase.
Five francs.
- The fine's gone up? - Noblesse oblige. The price of success.
You're not doing so badly yourself!
I'm glad! Bravo!
Frédérick, you've come!
And I took the first step. On one hand.
Hardly. I've been to see you several times.
And no hello?
I didn't dare. Besides, I was so moved.
You're a great actor now. The greatest.
Really, no!
What you do is sublime!
No, it's you. There are many great actors...
a few, anyway...
but great mimes... you're the finest.
You're unique. You invented it all.
I'm glad you like my work.
It's Nathalie!
You're a real beauty now.
I'm not beautiful, Frédérick.
Just happy.
Beauty and happiness go together.
This little fellow's yours?
What's your name?
- Baptiste. - Like his father.
Quite a family, is it not?
Greetings, Frédérick.
It's a great day
when the greatest actor in Europe and beyond
at last calls on the world's undisputed masters of pantomime.
And there we are!
Greetings, all!
This is Jericho,
alias Wild Boar, Lone Sleeper.
I can't stand his repulsive looks and distasteful voice.
Here you are, bandit, body snatcher!
Don't start!
Shame on you! You stole my looks, my identity!
You're not the only ragman in Paris.
Besides, you supplied the costume.
I didn't realize what it was for.
Every night, Baptiste kills a poor old man like me...
as entertainment!
- What an example! - Enough, friend.
You're drunk and babbling.
You should be in bed.
I may be drunk, but I've still got principles.
Why don't you ever say hello to OI' Papa Joshua?
You're just like your father!
You despise and shun me.
What's Baptiste got against me?
Nothing.
Only that you don't mind your own business.
Is it his business what is or isn't mine?
I've always lived all alone. So I take an interest in others.
Always alone. That's not living.
No one to love me. Nothing, zero, naught.
If I were a widower, at least I'd have memories.
But no woman would have me.
They preferred petty fly-by-nights and libertines.
Listen, Nathalie. Let me tell you something.
Sure, it's none of my business, but it's for your own good.
Spare me your gossip.
Just listen. This won't take long.
Garance is back.
She's here, in Box 7,
and she's waiting for Baptiste.
Garance!
Like the flower.
Box 7. Don't forget.
- Mama. - Listen.
It's true, you know. I often miss the Funambules.
Do you also have good memories of our work together?
Yes, good memories.
You're not angry with me?
Why should I be angry?
Garance.
Let bygones be bygones. It's all behind us now.
Come in.
Hello, Madame. I have a message for you.
I came to say we're happy together, Mama, Papa and me.
Did your father send you?
No, Mama did.
But Mama, Papa or me... it's the same.
- Mama was right. - About what?
You're beautiful.
When I grow up, I'll get married
to someone like you.
Or like Mama, if I can.
You're a darling boy.
Are you married?
You don't have a little boy?
No, I don't have a little boy.
Then you're all alone?
Yes.
I'm all alone.
Aren't you curious about this woman who comes nightly to see you?
Perhaps you're used to it.
You're on, Baptiste.
Listen, Baptiste.
I should have told you sooner.
That woman is Garance.
She's back, but not for long.
She'd like to see you, you understand?
What's wrong?
Good evening, my angel.
- Pierre-François! - Who?
Ah, yes, Pierre-François.
Forgive me. I lose track of all the names I use.
A childish precaution. The police are so inept.
Unlike me. I am well informed.
For example, I knew about your return at once.
I learned where you were living, and with whom.
Nothing escapes you.
And I know they've put my angel in a gilded cage.
I'm not throwing stones.
I've been in prison myself lately, and in the provinces!
Not even a hint of a smile? I used to amuse you.
Have you lost your gaiety, or it so unpleasant to see me?
On the contrary, I'm glad to see you.
- Yes, it reminds me of... - An entire era!
Yes, the easy years,
the happy days, the good life.
Never look back at the past, my angel.
It leaps at your throat like a mad dog.
Still, fortunately, I was happy.
- Despite all. - Back then.
Don't be silly. Then as now.
Time has nothing to do with happiness.
Really? And the man in white?
Do you think your friend, the mime, is happy?
To think I had the absurd notion of killing him.
Comical, no?
One might as well stab at a breeze or a moonbeam.
And the other one: Frédérick.
I considered him too, my angel.
I even called on him on an amusing pretext.
Which was?
To ask this complete stranger for money. He'd refuse and...
- And he gave it to you? - A large sum. Amazing!
Unselfish people still exist.
People!
Actors aren't people. They're every man and no man.
People of high society: Those are people!
Like Count de Montray, one of France's richest notables.
- You've changed, Pierre-François. - Have I?
Yes. You used to speak of yourself, rarely of others.
But what's become of you?
I've become famous.
Yes, a few sensational crimes.
The name Lacenaire has been in the crime columns.
Hunted by police in the provinces,
while he is here in Paris with his guardian angel.
- You're a celebrity. - I'm becoming one.
But upon reflection, I'd have preferred literary success.
Never satisfied, Pierre-François.
They say the count is a generous patron of the arts.
I'd enjoy meeting him.
- Do you really need to? - Don't worry.
It's just to meet the man who laid the icy hand of wealth
on the pale shoulder of my angel.
There were no strings attached.
I'm still free.
Perhaps. That's what bothers me.
It's so painful to see you again,
and find you unchanged.
I'd prefer to find you ravaged, submissive,
rendered stupid by wealth.
Then I could have lived with an easy conscience,
and my fine idea of mankind.
My poor Pierre-François!
You think I'm a monster, don't you?
Possibly, but you're not the only one.
Alas.
- Edouard de Montray, I presume? - In person.
I was so anxious to meet you.
- And now I have. I'm delighted. - How amusing.
Amusing and unexpected. And to whom...
No one. It's of no importance.
You do realize that I find your manner most distasteful.
Who are you, Monsieur?
Is it not absurd to ask people who they are?
- Excuse me? - That's why they're so evasive.
They give you the easy reply: A name, a title.
But who they are really,
who they are deep down,
they conceal with great care.
- You speak for yourself. - No, everyone. You as well.
I find your ways quite indiscreet.
You don't know me, yet you ask who I am. The gall!
Enough. Where can my seconds...
Pointless! I'm not a man who duels. Absolutely not!
That explains things in part.
Or if I do, the choice of arms is always mine.
I choose one, just one,
and I keep one for me, on me,
and I kill when I'm sure, when it pleases me.
Obviously, more expedient.
To each his own method.
Quite.
I presume you have nothing more to say.
Valentin!
I warn you I am not a man one throws out.
I would regret having to kill a servant.
Valentin is an old retainer whom I'm fond of.
Valentin, will you show Monsieur out?
Good evening, Garance.
Good evening, my friend.
How strange. When I'm not home you sing,
but when I come in, you fall silent.
You only like serious music.
Sadly, our tastes differ.
May I ask where you spent the evening?
At the Funambules.
Again!
And you, at those ghastly animal fights.
"Ghastly" is too strong a word.
A mangy bear tossed like a bone to three mastiffs.
It wasn't sport, but butchery. A most dreary evening.
And the Funambules?
I won't be going back again.
I'm delighted.
Don't belittle the Funambules.
You forget we met there.
Which no doubt explains your pious nightly pilgrimage?
No, my friend.
The contrary would surprise me.
May I know the name of that man who just left?
Were you at the Funambules with him?
That man?
Oh, him.
An old acquaintance. He came to say hello.
A most peculiar individual. What does he do?
He writes.
To be honest, when I knew him, he was also a thief,
and a bit of a murderer.
I hope there was nothing
between you and this individual.
I trust you entirely.
That does you no credit. I've never had occasion to lie to you.
True enough.
But please oblige me by seeing such people as seldom as possible.
Actors, perhaps,
but thieves, murderers... isn't that rather appalling?
Remember the young Scot you challenged to a duel in Edinburgh?
I remember quite well. Why?
He wasn't nearly as good a shot as you.
Of course. Everyone knew it.
But you killed him anyway.
Feelings, Garance, in an affair of honor!
All because I smiled at him.
Yes. In public, and frequently.
But I told you I was thinking of another.
Please understand how much I want your love.
- For yourself. - Don't torment me, Garance.
You know what I'd do for you, because of you.
- Because of me! - I love you as no man...
Could ever love me. So why complain?
I want you to love me.
I do love you, my friend.
You're charming, rich, witty.
Friends admire you, foes fear you.
You appeal to women. Everyone loves you, Edouard.
How could I not do the same?
Stop it, Garance.
You know what I desire, what I want.
You're incredible, Edouard.
Not only are you rich,
but you want to be loved as if you were poor.
But what about the poor?
Be reasonable. Don't deprive them of everything.
- Understand me... - I do.
And I'll continue to do my best to please you.
But don't ask the impossible.
However, if you like,
if it makes you happy,
tomorrow all Paris will know I'm mad about you.
Yes, mad.
I'll shout it from the rooftops.
But to you, privately, my friend, I say this:
I loved a man, and I still love him.
I came back to Paris to see him.
He let me know he'd forgotten me.
All I can think of now
is to leave once again, to get away.
THE RAGMAN NO PERFORMANCE
Come in.
Your dinner, Mr Baptiste.
Thank you, but I'm not hungry.
You're being unreasonable.
True, I'm unreasonable.
Shutting yourself up like a monk!
No, monks pray.
I sleep, I dream.
Everyone's looking for you.
Hardly everyone.
The Funambules is closed.
Your wife, your son, your father, the whole troupe...
you can't just forget them like that!
But I couldn't go on living like a fool in an asylum,
with everyone around me whispering,
"What's wrong? Is he ill?"
I even saw a doctor for them.
- What did he say? - That I was fit as a fiddle.
"Mild depression, overwork. It's nothing!"
And what was his prescription?
"Go see Baptiste. He'll cheer you up."
What if I don't want to cheer up?
- What's today? - Thursday.
Tonight's the premiere of Othello, with Mr Frédérick.
You should go. It will cheer you up.
Oh, sorry!
Othello would make a nice pantomime.
A man kills his beloved
and it kills him, poor man!
A sad, absurd tale, like so many others.
Like mine or yours, Madame Hermine.
You spend your empty days in your empty rooms
with your poor empty heart.
It's all so sad and absurd.
Like me.
Years ago, I stood here by this bed,
in this very room.
And she stood there, smiling, happy,
so lovely in the fresh night air.
And she said,
"Love is so simple."
And I didn't listen!
I didn't take her in my arms!
I set conditions: "Love me as I love you."
And I shut the door,
forever, between my love and me.
What are you doing here?
I'm talking to myself. Not to you.
Forgive me. I didn't mean to be unpleasant.
You've helped me and been so discreet.
It's only natural.
I can't...
I can't stay here any longer.
All alone.
I have to get out. I have to walk.
Did he eat?
- He will. - Good.
Thank you for telling me. I was so anxious.
It's only natural, between women.
He needs to be alone.
We mustn't disturb him. He's not like other men.
Of course not.
He's like a sleepwalker on a roof.
If you call to him, he falls. That's Baptiste.
We mustn't call him.
We have to leave him, wait until he's calm
and wakes on his own.
When he wakes,
he'll come back.
Get me some poison, lago, this night.
I'll not expostulate with her
lest her body and beauty
unprovide my mind again.
Do it not with poison.
Strangle her in her bed,
even the bed she hath contaminated.
Let her rot
and perish
and be damned tonight,
for she shall not live.
Such savagery and lack of decorum.
I can't say I like this Monsieur Shakespeare.
True, one goes to the theater today not for the play,
but for the actors.
You insisted on coming, my friend.
No doubt I had my reasons.
Hang her!
I do but say what she is.
The pity of it, lago!
The pity of it!
- May I? - Of course.
"Desdemona came tonight.
Othello is no longer jealous. He is cured. Thank you."
You see?
I assure you, you're wrong.
Naturally, I'm wrong
and you're innocent.
Othello, too.
Please tell me the truth. Is it him?
No, my friend, it's not him.
That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
thou gavest to Cassio.
No, by my life and soul. Send for the man and ask him.
Sweet soul,
take heed.
Take heed of perjury: Thou art on thy deathbed.
Dying: Easily said, and just as easily done.
Why do you laugh?
Because if we duel in the morning
he won't be here to talk of death in the evening.
You're mad, Edouard!
Why should you care, if it's not him you love?
Kill me tomorrow: Let me live tonight!
Nay, if you strive...
But half an hour!
Being done, there is no pause.
But while I say one prayer.
It is too late!
The play's not over!
We're getting some air.
I really must congratulate this remarkable actor.
If you do, I'll never see you again.
Nor him either, for that matter.
Come!
Where?
I don't know. Anywhere.
Monsieur, you play the bloodthirsty brute so naturally.
You're too kind.
I merely played him as Shakespeare wrote him,
as naturally as possible.
A peculiar fellow, this Mr Shakespeare.
I hear he made his literary debut as a butcher's apprentice.
Why not?
Which would explain the bestial nature of his plays,
and his popularity among dockers and carters.
And kings!
I see why I found this play so distasteful and shocking.
I'll buy my coachman a seat.
It's worth trying.
Then allow me to offer you a box
for your horses.
It's worth trying.
I thought you'd forgotten me.
I thought I'd lost you forever.
I've never forgotten you.
You were even in my dreams.
You saved me from growing old, dull and used up.
My life was so empty. I felt so alone.
But I kept thinking: I've no right to be sad.
I'm happy. Someone loved me.
But I still love you. I always have.
And do you love me?
No, don't answer.
I won't ask for anything.
You're here. That's all that matters.
Here, alive in my arms,
like the first time.
No, I ask for nothing.
Only...
the warmth of your body against my body,
this mouth of yours.
These eyes of yours.
My compliments, Frédérick. You were superb.
- May I introduce... - No need.
We met once before. Once too often.
Amusing!
These gentlemen seek a quarrel with me,
all very politely, I admit.
We all must kill time in some way.
Gentlemen, you're wrong about my friend here.
I haven't known him long, but in his way,
he's a remarkable fellow,
and not lacking in talent.
All kinds of talents, no doubt.
It takes all kinds to make a world, or unmake it.
Amusing.
An amusing pleasantry.
- Quite. - You really find him amusing?
Then let us amuse ourselves.
Besides, we run no risk.
The gentleman doesn't fight duels.
Absolutely not.
How do you ply your talents these days?
Since you ask,
I'm putting the finishing touches
on something that will cause a sensation.
A tragedy, no doubt.
No, a comedy, a farce.
Or a tragedy, if you prefer.
It's all the same. There's no difference.
Or very little.
For example, if a king is deceived,
it's a tragedy of infidelity.
He's deceived not by his wife...
- But by Fate. - Yes, Fate.
But if it's a poor devil like you or me, Monsieur de Montray...
and I use "me" as a figure of speech...
it's no longer a tragedy,
but mere buffoonery, a sorry tale of cuckolds.
Yet it's the same matter under the pauper's cap or the crown.
The dead matter of love
rotting in the heads of the unloved.
Always the same matter, the same stories, the same tears.
So the genre is nothing. My play need only amuse.
Starting with the author.
- If it's performed. - Don't worry, gentlemen.
It will be.
It's in progress as we speak. If you'd like a part...
- Very funny. - Yes, it is very funny.
But, I warn you, there are murders,
and at the final curtain, the dead won't rise for a bow.
This man is tedious.
- Shall we throw him out? - Good idea!
Don't try to humiliate me.
I'm not some character out of a farce.
But you are!
And I'll prove it!
What have you done?
It doesn't concern you.
Gentlemen, I've just savoured a most exquisite moment.
Too bad for you.
I said I wasn't a man to be thrown out with impunity.
Again, this doesn't concern you.
How do you know?
Jealousy belongs to all if a woman belongs to none.
- They're going to duel. - Because of us?
No, because of me.
But not before tomorrow.
So?
We have the night before us,
with us,
for us.
If I'm not home, I'll be at the baths, where I'll be expecting...
My seconds.
You do me a great honor,
by sending off to the next world a man alien to yours.
You see before you a man who's been ousted unceremoniously.
But the mere thought of them
killing one another over a woman, because of me,
comforts me.
So we'll be seconds again?
I doubt we'll be asked this time.
Too bad! I like duels.
That can be arranged.
If not a duel, you may be witness to something else.
Because in this affair of honor
I, Lacenaire, am the offended party.
Offended, insulted, even humiliated,
because they contemptuously threw me out.
How lovely the moonlight is.
Look, Baptiste.
It's shining for us, like that first night.
And like that first night, the window is wide open.
It's wonderful.
Everything is the same. Nothing has changed.
The table in the same place.
The bed I slept in.
You haven't changed either, Garance.
The same gentleness in your voice.
The same light in your eyes.
A little glimmer.
Your heart beating against my hand.
You were right, Garance.
Love is so simple.
Carnival time! Life is beautiful.
A bath, gentlemen?
We merely wish to see Count de Montray.
At this hour? He's resting.
He's expecting us.
In that case,
please follow me.
- What is it? - Two gentlemen.
They say you're expecting them.
Two gentlemen.
Yes. Show them in.
My poor Avril.
The play is over.
You can go now.
You'd be wise to go to the country for a while.
What about you?
Oh, me! I'm staying here.
I won't risk losing my head to a country executioner.
Absolutely not!
It was a wonderful night.
But I must go now.
I can't let Frédérick die because of me.
- What will you do? - Find Edouard.
Tell him I lost my head.
I'll beg him not to duel.
- Will he listen? - Yes.
If I say I love him, and him alone.
You're incapable of lying. He won't believe you.
He doesn't care if it's not true.
I know him.
All he really wants is to hear me say it.
What matters is not that I love him,
but that I love no one else.
That's love to him.
What if he asks you to leave with him?
I'll go.
Perhaps I'll come back.
I'd have to leave someday.
Why?
You know why.
You have a sweet little boy.
Stop it!
You love your little boy,
and you love your work.
And Nathalie.
It's you I love, Garance!
- Wait here and be good. - Will you be long?
No, I'll come back for you.
- What for? - It's a surprise.
Don't leave me. I can't bear it.
What about me? I have only you.
Excuse me, Baptiste.
I came by...
I thought you'd be alone.
All alone.
You see, it's carnival today.
Our son was so happy.
So I came by...
He's dressed up as a cavalryman.
A lovely cavalry uniform.
Please don't let me stand here like this.
It's awful!
Speak to me at least.
Answer me! Say something!
Anything!
Tell me to go away, laugh in my face!
Is that all you can say?
I really must go.
Again!
How easy it must be.
How easy what must be?
Easy to go, then come back.
You go. You're missed.
Time works for you.
Then you come back, embellished by memory.
Yes, that must be easy.
But to stay and live with someone,
share his everyday life...
that's something else.
You can't fight that.
I've lived with him for six years.
So have I.
- You, too? - Yes. Me, too.
Anywhere, everywhere, every day.
And every night.
All those nights spent at another's side, I was with him.
Let her finish.
I want to know everything about you two,
know what's left for me.
If there's enough to live on.
What do I care if you love him?
You don't count. You don't exist for me.
Listen to me, Baptiste. Answer me.
I'm not afraid to suffer. Everybody suffers.
But I must know. Tell me now.
Without thinking about it!
Look at me!
Were you always thinking of her while living with me?
You don't dare answer.
But your silence tells me a lot of things,
things I do understand.
Answer me!
Were you always thinking of her?
Even at night? Answer me! Even at night?
What about me, Baptiste?
What about me?
The game's up! Time to go home.
- Let me go! - For shame!
As sure as I'm called Old Maid,
Wise Counsel, Prim and Proper,
for my sense of morality.
Let go! You make me sick!
Out of my way!