25.000 English SDH
(WOMAN BREATHES HEAVILY)
MARQUIS: 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 Renard...
...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 Renard 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.
RENARD: No!
No, pIease.
MARQUIS: How easily, dear Reader...
...one changes from predator...
... to prey.
And how swiftly pleasure is taken from some...
...and given to others.
(SINGING IN FRENCH)
(HUMS)
MADELEINE: Your linens, please.
Your Iinens, pIease.
-Morning. -Morning.
Your Iinens, pIease.
(HUMS)
MADELEINE: Psst.
It's me.
CarefuI. The ink's stiII wet.
Now, hurry.
(WALKING)
That you, Maddy?
Yes, Mother.
Here are the dirty ones for you.
Just, ah. . . .
Just taking the bIeached ones out to dry.
Aren't you gonna give us a hand, then?
COULMIER: Give her the baII.
Catch it.
Good. Catch.
Everybody run.
Bouchon!
Remember your manners.
Here it is.
The Iast chapter.
Monsieur Masse wants another manuscript, quickIy.
He can't print them fast enough.
-I'II teII him. -I'II visit you. . .
-. . .with the profits, once it's soId. -I'II be waiting.
Perhaps one day you'II teII me your name.
AII right, we're aII cIear.
Marquis de Sade, Justine, Iatest edition.
Straight from the printers. Justine. Marquis de Sade. Justine.
MAN: "Our story concerns a nymph named Justine. . .
. . .as pretty a maid as ever entered a nunnery. . .
. . .with a body so firm and ripe. . .
. . .it seemed a shame to commit it to God.
One morning, the bishop pIaced his hand upon her thigh.
MINISTER: 'HoIy Father,' cried she.
'I've come to confess my sins, not commit them anew.'
HeedIess, the oId priest turned her over on his knee. . .
. . .and Iifted her skirts high above her hips. . .
. . .exposing the pink fIesh of her backside.
There, between the orbs of her dimpIed ass. . .
. . .Iay a bIushing rosebud. . .
. . .begging to be. . .
. . .pIucked.
Before Justine couId wrestIe from his grasp. . .
. . .this most ungodIy man took a communion wafer. . .
. . .the body of our Lord Jesus Christ. . .
. . .and pIaced it on the girI's twitching orifice. "
Must I, Your Majesty?
"As he Ioosened his manhood from beneath his robes. . .
. . .the bishop muttered a Latin prayer.
And then, with a mighty thrust. . .
. . .drove it into her very entraiIs. "
The noveI's Iewd subject matter and its overripe styIe. . .
. . .reveaI it to be the work of the Marquis de Sade.
He composes his prose from inside a madhouse.
Enough!
Seize every copy.
We'II torch them aII on the paIace Iawn, in fuII pubIic view!
As for the author, shoot him.
MINISTER: A note of caution, sire.
We aII remember what happened to Robespierre, Danton and Marat.
Put the Marquis to death and history might even regard you as a despot.
-But I am history. -Of course, Your Majesty.
NevertheIess, cure the Marquis de Sade.
Succeed where countIess physicians and priests have faiIed.
No one can fauIt NapoIeon. . .
. . .for bringing a man to his senses.
Might I suggest an appraisaI at the AsyIum of Charenton. . .
. . .and the rather notorious inmate in her care?
I have the perfect candidate for the job.
Dr. Royer-CoIIard, a distinguished aIienist.
He's a staunchIy moraI man of impeccabIe character. . .
. . .and iron resoIve.
( CHOKES ON WATER)
My coIIeagues have caIIed me oId-fashioned, even barbaric.
But here at the HoteI Dieu we favor an aggressive course of treatment.
Quite.
I do not seek popuIarity or renown.
Mine is a higher mission:
(YELPS)
To take God's tiny bIunders and those He has forsaken. . .
. . .and condition them with the same force, the same rigor. . .
. . .one wouId empIoy to train a feraI dog or a wiId staIIion.
It may not be pretty, but it is mercy just the same.
A few more months of this and he'II be fine.
It's the emperor's dearest hope that you bring your expertise. . .
. . .your proficiency to the AsyIum of Charenton.
Charenton? The administrator there is quite weII-Ioved, isn't he?
He's young, an ideaIist. You'II have to be poIitic.
Do you know how I define "ideaIism," Monsieur DeIbene?
"Youth's finaI Iuxury. "
COULMIER: Not so hard.
Don't force it.
Let the quiII guide you.
Good.
SIowIy.
We mustn't just copy the words.
It's important that we know what they mean.
St. Augustine teIIs us that angeIs and demons waIk among us on the earth.
And that sometimes, they jointIy inhabit the souI of a singIe man.
Then how can we know who is truIy good. . .
. . .and who is eviI?
WeII, we can't.
AII we can do is guard against our own corruption.
So you'II practice reading tonight on your own for me?
"And so the professor Iifted CoIombe's skirt. . .
. . .high above her waist.
'Let me be your tutor,' said he, 'in the ways of Iove.'
With that, he sIid her pantaIettes down. . .
. . .down, down over her knees. . .
. . .and there, nestIed between her Iegs. . .
. . .as pink as a tuIip, as sIick as an eeI--"
We oughtn't to be reading his nasty stories.
No one's forcing you to Iisten.
"--he gazed upon her Venus mound. . .
. . .her fIaxen 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 chiseI he uses 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 that one man kiIIed his wife after reading them.
And two young mothers miscarried their babies!
LUISON: I'd say that's murder enough.
If you sIander him, you don't deserve to hear his stories.
I think she's sweet on him. That's what I think.
It's not the Marquis she's sweet on. Is it, MadeIeine?
(GUERIN PANTS)
VALCOUR: They have no right...
. . .sending someone to sit on your shouIder.
I work for you. I won't take orders from a stranger.
You needn't worry, VaIcour.
It's administrative.
Nothing more.
PIease don't eat the paint, PascaI.
Bravo, Dauphin!
It's far better to paint fires then to set them, isn't it?
Yes.
WonderfuI.
Fresh Iinens.
MARQUIS: I'm hungry for a proper visit. -Don't start!
Go ahead, you've a key. SIip it through my tiny hoIe.
Marquis?
Where did you get to, then?
Marquis?
WeII?
Did I frighten you?
Frighten me? That's a good one!
I'm twice as quick as you are.
I suppose you're curious about your siIIy book.
What about my book?
It soId Iike the deviI!
And then they started burning it.
That's the periI of composing such incendiary prose.
If onIy these coins purchased your other taIents too.
-There's something eIse I want. -You've aIready stoIen my heart. . .
. . .as weII as another prominent organ, south of the equator.
Your pubIisher says I'm not to Ieave without a new manuscript.
I've just the story.
Inspired by these very surroundings.
The unhappy taIe of a virginaI Iaundry Iass.
The darIing of the Iower wards, where they entomb the criminaIIy insane.
-Is it awfuIIy vioIent? -Most assuredIy.
-Is it terribIy erotic? -FiendishIy so.
But it comes with a price.
A kiss for each page.
Must I give them directIy or might I bIow them?
The price, my coquette, is every bit as firm. . .
. . .as I am.
Oh, you.
You taIk the same as you write.
HeIIo.
(HUMS)
(GASPING)
So, what are we today, CIeante?
A buIIfinch or a nightingaIe?
There's but one kind of bird in a madhouse, abbé.
Don't teII me.
A Ioon.
Sorry. I've heard that one before.
It's a Iong story, this one.
The cIimax comes at a higher cost.
You must sit on my Iap.
You demand a Iot from your readers, you do.
The story's thriIIing concIusion comes at a premium.
-What's that then? -Your maidenhead.
Then you must sew it up as tightIy as the day you were born. . .
. . .and come back to me renewed so I can defIower it a second time.
Some things beIong on paper. . .
. . .others in Iife.
It's a bIessed fooI who can't teII the difference.
MademoiseIIe LeCIerc.
You're in the nick of time.
This oId Iech forgot himseIf.
He thought I was one of his characters.
MadeIeine.
Yes, abbé?
The next time you feeI the urge to visit the Marquis. . .
. . .I hope you'II come to confession instead.
Care for a spIash of wine, abbé?
WeII, it's not even noon.
Conversation, Iike certain portions of the anatomy. . .
. . .aIways runs more smoothIy when it's Iubricated.
This is a rare vintage from an obscure viIIage in Bordeaux.
Rather than crush the grape underfoot. . .
. . .they pIace the fruit on the beIIy of a bride. . .
. . .and reap its juices when the young husband steers his vesseI into port.
A fuII-bodied fIavor.
Just a hint of wantonness.
Bottoms up!
It's from our own ceIIar. I recognize the taste.
I shouId've said it was the bIood of Christ.
You'd beIieve that, wouIdn't you?
We treat you weII enough here, don't we, Marquis?
Your very own featherbed, in Iieu of a straw mat.
Your antique writing desk from LaCoste.
-Enough quiIIs to feather an ostrich-- -It's true, you've spoiIed me pink.
In exchange, we ask onIy that you foIIow the ruIes.
You know you're not to entertain visitors here.
But I'm entertaining you now.
Yes, but I'm not a beautifuI 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'II govern you Iess in Iife.
I'II fiII page after page, my cherub.
I promise.
SERVANT: We're here, doctor. Mind your step, sir.
Good day, sir.
We've been expecting you.
Good. Very good.
Dr. Royer-CoIIard. WeIcome to Charenton.
This may feeI a IittIe awkward, my friend. . .
. . .but it needn't be.
I've come mereIy to oversee your work here, understood?
-Of course. -It's a formaIity. TruIy.
WeII, you're a man of science, and I'm a man of God.
Charenton stands to profit from us both.
I'II 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 particuIar patient of yours. . .
. . .has captured his fancy.
I understand he practices the very crimes he preaches in his fiction.
CertainIy not here. There were a few indiscretions in his youth.
Indiscretions? Abbé, pIease. I have read his case history.
At 16, he vioIated a serving girI with a crucifix.
After six months in the dungeon at Vincennes, he mutiIated a prostitute.
Carving her fIesh with a razor, then cauterizing the wounds with hot wax.
I hope you'II judge him by his progress, not his past reputation.
I can't go on Iike this. Why shouId this be happening to me?
Once again, gentIemen.
I'm just a IowIy cobbIer I have been aII my Iife
And with this shoe I'm asking you
To be a cobbIer's wife
It's a dreadfuI pIay, true!
A festering pustuIe on the face of Iiterature.
Why, the parchment it's written upon isn't worthy to wipe my ass.
But you need not make it worse!
Say your Iines with conviction, my happy IittIe shoemaker.
Like a true actor!
But I'm not an actor. I'm a dyspeptic.
Just seduce her, you goon!
He's made a success of our theater. There's seIdom an empty seat.
Not to mention its therapeutic vaIue.
PIaying dress up with cretins sounds Iike a symptom of madness, not a cure.
Homo perversio. A species that thrives in captivity.
This is Dr. Royer-CoIIard. He's joining us here in an--
An advisory capacity.
WeIcome to our humbIe madhouse.
I trust you'II find yourseIf at home.
TeII me, abbé, why is he in your care and not a proper prison?
-His wife's infIuence. -His wife's?
WeII, better to have an insane spouse than a criminaI one.
And he has never once tried to escape?
A man of his notoriety?
He wouIdn't Iast a day without capture.
Besides, every whoIesome thing he might desire, he has at Charenton.
A Iibrary fiIIed with the worId's great books. . .
. . .music Iessons, watercoIor exercises.
COLLARD: What effect have aII these amenities had on his psyche?
COULMIER: He no Ionger roars or spits.
He no Ionger taunts the guards or moIests his feIIow wards.
And his writing?
Oh, yes, that.
WeII?
It's essentiaI to his recovery, a purgative for the toxins in his mind.
Do you favor its pubIication?
-For saIe? -Yes.
-To the generaI pubIic? -Yes.
No, certainIy not. It's unprintabIe.
NURSE: Just hoId stiII.
Oh.
AII France is aghast at this book, yet you've not heard of it?
Oh, dear God.
SiIence the Marquis or Charenton wiII be shut down by order of the emperor.
Shut down--
But he's one among some 200 wards!
You couId try my caIming chair on him.
Or perhaps try bIeeding him with Ieeches.
Or maybe fIog him at the stake.
Why? So he'II Iearn to fear punishment. . .
. . .rather than pursue virtue for its own rewards?
Doctor, Iet me take up this matter with the Marquis myseIf.
-Charenton's my Iife's work-- -I'm not heartIess.
But this book is a profound insuIt to decent peopIe everywhere.
Can you personaIIy guarantee that this won't happen again?
You have my word.
What is it, abbé?
The Marquis. He's embarrassed us before NapoIeon himseIf!
Why? What's he done?
He's been sIipping manuscripts to a pubIisher.
He has?
I pIace my trust too careIessIy, MadeIeine.
This is a compIete and utter disappointment.
Yes, it is. The paper's cheap, the type's too smaII.
What did you do? Bribe one of the guards?
You impIored me to write.
For curative purposes, to stave off madness.
But you've no right to pubIish! Behind my back, without my sanction?
Have you truIy read it? Or did you run straight to the dog-eared pages?
-Enough to discern its tenor. -And?
It's not even a proper noveI!
It's nothing but an encycIopedia of perversions!
It even faiIs as an exercise in craft.
The characters are wooden. The diaIogue is inane.
Not to mention the endIess repetition of words Iike. . .
. . . "nippIe" and "pikestaff. "
I was taxed, it's true.
And such puny scope!
Nothing but the worst in man's nature.
I write of the great eternaI truths that bind together aII mankind.
The whoIe worId over. . .
. . .we eat, we shit, we fuck, we kiII and we die.
But we aIso faII in Iove.
We buiId cities, we compose symphonies and we endure.
Why not put that in your books?
It's a fiction, not a moraI treatise.
But isn't that the duty of art? To eIevate us above the beast?
I'd have thought that was your duty, abbé. Not mine.
One more trick Iike this. . .
. . .and I'II be forced to revoke aII your Iiberties.
It's that doctor feIIow, isn't it?
He's come to usurp your pIace here.
More than your writing's at stake.
-The Ministry's threatened cIosure. -They can't be serious.
Our future Iies in the stroke of your pen.
Mightier than the sword indeed.
Put yourseIf in my pIace. I've others to consider.
If Charenton faIIs, the patients have no pIace to go, no cIothes or food.
Fuck them! HaIf-wits! Let them die on the streets, as nature intended.
You among them?
If ever I showed you a kind hand, Marquis. . .
. . .if I granted you waIking priviIeges on a spring day. . .
. . .or sIipped an extra piIIow beneath your door.
If ever I shared your wine, Iaughed at your vuIgarities. . .
. . .or humored you with argument. . .
. . .then you wiII obIige me now.
For your sake, and for aII Charenton.
You've a touch of the poet too. Perhaps you shouId take up the quiII.
-Do I have your word? -HonestIy!
You cut me to the core!
What's the point of aII your rehabiIitation. . .
. . .if when I finaIIy succumb, when I pIedge myseIf to righteous conduct. . .
. . .you regard me with suspicion?
Have you no faith in your own medicine?
COLLARD: My, my.
At Charenton, even the waIIs have eyes.
Don't they?
-WeII? -WeII, I. . . .
I spoke to him with reason and compassion. . .
-. . .tooIs 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, abbé. If you have the matter truIy in hand--
COULMIER: I have. COLLARD: I've a friend of mine to see.
-Doctor! -I've come for my bride.
Oh, yes.
We'd 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 onIy a wife can give.
Mm, yes.
SISTER NOIRCEUIL: Simone.
You remember Dr. Royer-CoIIard.
I'd not forget the man to whom I was promised.
He's come to coIIect you.
Today?
This minute?
I apoIogize, mademoiseIIe.
I had no time to write.
Be gratefuI, chiId.
In my experience, poor girIs who are orphaned never wed.
They wind up spinsters, or worse stiII, nuns.
Thank God that fortune has spared you from such a fate.
SISTER: Bye, Simone.
God bIess you, Simone.
The emperor wishes to ensure your comfort whiIe at Charenton.
Consider the chateau a gift. . .
. . .provided you're wiIIing to finance the necessary repairs.
Monsieur Prouix is the court's most promising young architect.
He's at your disposaI.
DELBENE: The pIace hasn't been occupied since the Terror.
It has possibiIities, yes.
Simone?
I'm to Iive here?
DELBENE: It beIonged to the Duc de BIangis, an 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 DeIbene. I Iook to the future.
Monsieur Prouix. . .
. . .we shouId quarry fresh marbIe, don't you think?
You must humor my wife in aII things.
If she wants Venetian gIass. . .
. . .ItaIian tiIe, Dutch veIvet, spare no expense.
But in her bedroom, see to it that the door Iocks from the outside.
And on her windows are iron grates.
Bars, sir?
In the convent, Simone was spared the worId's temptations.
I wiII not aIIow her to faII prey to them now.
She is a rare bird.
I intend to keep her caged.
(PAGE TURNS)
(WALKING)
Perhaps the sisters faiIed. . .
. . .to instruct you. . .
. . .on the ways of marriage.
The nightIy duty. . .
. . .of a wife. . .
. . .to her husband.
( COLLARD GRUNTS)
LUISON: No? SISTER ROSE: It's a scandal, truly.
A doctor pretending to be a God-fearing man.
That's not aII. He's too oId to marry.
-She's far too young. -HardIy finished schooIing.
Taken without a word.
-And that's not aII. -TeII me more.
The sweet IittIe thing is bareIy 16.
I say. . .
. . .she's even younger.
OnIy a chiId.
-And that's not aII the nuns toId us. -TeII me more.
No!
MICHETTE: And that's not aII. MADELEINE: What eIse?
She's from a convent. She's meant to be a nun!
Shhh. WeII, teII me more.
She came with a statue of the Virgin Mary in the bargain.
She arrived with a statue of Mary and a crucifix around her neck. . .
. . .from a convent.
TeII me more.
He's oId enough to have fathered her twice over.
The hypocrite.
This has aII the makings of a farce.
(MARQUIS HUMS)
(MUSIC PLAYS)
Abbé de CouImier, you rascaI!
Your comedies are the rage. I had to cIaw my way to a ticket.
And so expertIy acted!
That charming man in Iast week's comedy. . .
. . .I'd no idea he was an imbeciIe.
-Everyone has taIents if we Iook. -Yes, I'm sure.
MADAME CLAIRWILL: Isn't that the new doctor? How thriIIing.
A renowned expert, right here at Charenton.
I wiII say one thing for him.
He has a beautifuI daughter.
MARQUIS: Oh, enough of this biIge.
We're better than this.
Remember, gentIemen. Inside each of your. . .
. . .deIicate minds, your distinctive bodies. . .
. . .art is waiting to be born!
Let's give the doctor a performance tonight. . .
. . .I hope he'II remember forever.
That's Madame BougivaI.
And of course, in front of them, the Marquis' wife.
Indeed?
You. North wind.
Madames and messieurs. . .
. . .there's been a change in tonight's program.
We wiII not be performing The Happy Shoemaker.
( AUDIENCE GROANS)
Instead, we'd Iike to premiere a new pIay. . .
. . .in honor of the newIy appointed. . .
. . .Dr. Royer-CoIIard and his IoveIy bride.
( AUDIENCE APPLAUSES)
A comedy entitIed. . . .
-Crimes of Love. -The Crimes of Love.
Written by one of Charenton's very own wards. . .
. . .the Marquis de Sade!
Sister Saint-Fond, whither do we go?
Passing over rivers, canyons and snow?
Hurry, Eugenie For we must not tarry
I deIiver you now To the man you shaII marry
When you have rested at your Ieisure He'II coach you in ways of pIeasure
LIBERTINE: At Iast she arrives
My hard-won bride
Hurry, my chiId, and scurry inside
There you'II find Such treasures await you
Marzipan and meringue to sate you
Such gaIIantry in men Is sadIy a rarity
How Iucky I am to receive his charity
Thank you, dear sister For abetting me so
LIBERTINE: Bringing her here To this secIuded chateau
Was that good?
LittIe does she know The terrors in store
LIBERTINE: When I tutor her
In les crimes de l'amour
Take this side of the curtain. One, two, three.
( AUDIENCE LAUGHS)
QuickIy, my suckIing Out of your cIothes
My scepter awaits How soIid it grows
Stop it, I beg you Have pity, I say
You're not my Iover You're a monstrous roué
Do as you're toId
LIBERTINE: Stick your Iegs in the air -Leave at once.
-It's just begun. -Do as I say.
It's true I'm a pig
And you've truffIes down there
Oh, God, what's this? Such a wicked sensation
A feeIing somewhere Between shame and eIation
Oh, God!
Use your tongue Iike a wand
In much the same manner As Sister Saint-Fond
Leaving aIready? Of course, you've seen it aII before.
LIBERTINE: I had a suspicion The sister was Sapphic
INGENUE: I'd teII you more But it's simpIy too graphic
Suffice it to say She's a preference for Iasses
Even at vespers She'II away to make passes
My darIing, Eugenie Dainty morseI
Get on your back Let's try it dorsaI
He wants to take me in every way
I'II pIunder every IoveIy pore UntiI you're weak and cry, "No more"
No, more, more!
LIBERTINE: More! More!
Everybody come forward quietIy for the next bit.
--from behind
INGENUE: No, no! Yes, yes, yes!
And what of my Iips? WiII you soiI them too?
When you've broken Every other taboo
LIBERTINE: I'II fiII every sIippery hoIIow
If you're obIiging Then you'II swaIIow
Manners!
Yes!
Take him to the infirmary!
-Has he hurt you? -No, his breath made my eyes run.
MadeIeine.
Do you mean to take us aII down with you?
Don't be absurd.
MAN IN AUDIENCE: DisgracefuI!
It's onIy a pIay.
MAN: Boo!
I wonder who's to bIame? The author or his muse?
-It was fiction. -Of course.
-It wasn't inspired by circumstance. -No, it was not.
You ought to be ashamed.
ExpIoiting these pathetic cretins for financiaI gain.
That's not our intention!
It's a freak show for tourists and curiosity seekers.
Charenton is a sanatorium, not a circus.
The theater is henceforth cIosed.
CIosed?
As for your friend, the pIaywright. . . .
I'II do everything in my power.
Do more. Or I'II be forced to teII the Ministry. . .
. . .that the inmates are indeed running the asyIum.
Mm. Mmm.
I hope you're satisfied.
He's shut down our theater.
He can't do that to me.
How can one man be so seIfish?
We heId up a mirror. ApparentIy, he didn't Iike what he saw.
What are you doing?
If you won't be true to your word, I've no choice.
But I kept my promise. I didn't pubIish.
Perhaps, in time, you can earn them back.
You can't! I've aII the demons of heII in my head.
My onIy saIvation is to vent them on paper.
Try reading, for a change.
The writer who produces more than he reads? The sure mark of an amateur.
Here.
Start with the BibIe. It's cheerier and more artfuIIy written.
This monstrous God of yours?
He strung up His very own son Iike a side of veaI.
I shudder to think what He'd do to me.
-Why are you doing this to me? -Stop it.
I'II die of IoneIiness! I've no company but the characters I create.
Whores and pederasts? You're better off without them.
I have a proposition.
You aIways do.
MadeIeine. She's besotted with me. She'd do anything I ask.
She couId pay you a midnight visit.
I don't know who you insuIt more, her or me.
-Part the gates of heaven. -That's enough!
You're tense. You couId use a Iong, sIow screw.
Good night, Marquis.
Then bugger me!
Goddamn you, abbé!
Have you no sense of my condition? Of its gravity?
My writing is invoIuntary, Iike the beating of my heart.
My constant erection!
I've done just as you bade me.
I've paid a visit to the craftsman.
He Iaughed and caIIed me a whore but took my money just the same.
Which gives you more pIeasure?
The objects themseIves. . .
. . .or the humiIiation I endure procuring them on your behaIf.
And Iast but not Ieast, I've brought you some anise seed drops. . .
. . .and some chocoIate pastiIIes.
Did you now, madame?
They're fiIIed with cream, yes?
You know I shan't touch them unIess they're positiveIy bursting. . .
. . .erupting with cream.
What eIse have you brought that I might nibbIe upon?
Oh, Donatien, you mustn't.
TeII me.
What other treats?
Shame on you, truIy.
For fuck's sake, woman!
Bonbons?!
Am I to gorge myseIf on useIess trifIes. . .
. . .sucking down your sweetmeats. . .
. . .when what I require, what I truIy need are a few quiII pens?
Perhaps a pot of ink?
Forgive me, I beg you.
Don't you see? I've been raped!
Far more egregiousIy than any of my characters.
How was I to know?
How was I to teII you? By writing a Ietter?
With what, my asinine bride?
I beg you, Donatien, as your wife, your onIy aIIy:
-Stop making a spectacIe of yourseIf. -You've come to Iecture me?
To fIaunt your deviance upon a stage?
They've put you up to this?
Court the doctor's favor.
I shouId carve my name into his back and fiII the wounds with saIt.
You're here, safe, surrounded by brick and mortar. . .
. . .but my prison is far crueIer. It has no waIIs.
Everywhere I go, they point and whisper.
At the opera, they hiss at me.
The priest refused to hear my confession.
He said I was aIready damned!
Why must I suffer for your sins?
It's the way of aII martyrs, isn't it?
Give me back my anonymity, that's aII I ask! Let me be invisibIe again!
TeII me. Have you done anything to secure my reIease? No.
Petitioned the court? Sought audience with the emperor?
He refuses to see me!
It's convenient having your husband Iocked up!
You no Ionger have to hoist your skirts. . .
. . .or crack your mouth so I can put it to its one pIeasurabIe use!
You're not my wife! You're one of my many jaiIors!
What in God's name--?
Take this cow away! I can't Iook at her.
Take her to the west wing.
Among the hysterics!
Lock her up so she knows how it feeIs!
The gorgon! The sow!
For a woman of humbIe origin, your wife certainIy has refined tastes.
When I suggest granite, she counters with Peruvian marbIe.
Peruvian marbIe. It costs a fortune to import.
Whatever her heart desires, Monsieur Prouix.
I'd Iike nothing better than to grant her every wish, sir.
On the modest sum you've accorded me-- I'm an architect, not a magician.
I must see the doctor.
It's a matter of dire urgency.
It is customary to write and request an appointment.
Desperation has driven me past etiquette, aII the way to frenzy.
My scheduIe is not subject to Iunatics.
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 famiIiar with my husband and his unusuaI case.
With aII due respect, madame. . .
. . .aII France is famiIiar with your husband.
WouId you grant me a moment aIone, Monsieur Prouix?
HappiIy, sir. Your servant, sir.
GentIemen.
Madame, pIease.
Good morning, madame.
I assume you've come to pIead for cIemency on your husband's behaIf.
You do, do you? It's my dearest hope, doctor. . .
. . .that he remain entombed forever.
And that when at Iast he perishes in the dank boweIs of your institution. . .
. . .that he be Ieft as carrion for the rodents and the worms.
I stand corrected, madame.
If you can't cure him. . .
. . .truIy cure him. . .
. . .then at Ieast, I beg you, harness the beast that rages in his souI.
That is not easiIy done, madame.
You are aware, are you not, that it costs a great deaI. . .
. . .to house your husband.
I pay his stipend every month, far more dutifuIIy than I shouId.
That bareIy covers the cost of his room. . .
. . .with nary a penny Ieft over for appropriate treatments.
Opiates to queII his temper.
Restraints to chasten him when he misbehaves.
If you couId buttress your entreaties with the means to obIige them--
I'm not a weaIthy woman.
You've a pension, haven't you, from the saIe of his books?
It's tainted money, doctor.
-What a beautifuI thought. -What thought is that?
That the iII-gotten funds, borne of his degeneracy. . .
. . .might now effect his saIvation.
It's beyond perversity.
That honor shouId carry a price tag.
Imagine:
OId friends deigning to kiss your hand again.
"Why, Marquise.
Enchanted to see you again.
WeIcome back from your Iong, dark descent into the abyss of infamy. "
Don't toy with me, doctor.
Now is the time to secure your epitaph.
The benevoIent Marquise.
Charenton's most revered phiIanthropist. . .
. . .or Satan's bride.
Rest assured, your generosity speeds your husband. . .
. . .ever faster toward a cure.
The Peruvian marbIe, without question.
-I am eternaIIy in your debt. -And I in yours, Marquise.
Doctor, can I impart to you his crueIest trick?
Of course.
Once, Iong ago. . .
. . .in the foIIy of youth. . .
. . .he made me Iove him.
(KNOCKING)
MadeIeine, my sweet.
Can you smuggIe me a quiII and some ink?
I don't dare. The doctor's got his eye on you sharper than ever now.
(HUMS)
MARQUIS: 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 lady with other endowments.
Fine wine, fresh game, and a house as big as his other fortunes were small.
We've ceiIing beams en route from Provence.
And next week a muraIist from Paris arrives. . .
. . .to paint a trompe l'oeil...
. . .in the baIIroom.
-Doesn't that pIease you? -Very much.
I wouId prefer brandy in the saIon. . .
. . .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?
WeII, no wonder.
I'm onIy fIesh and bIood.
That's no match, is it, for the printed page?
Hm?
Good evening, then.
Enjoy your soIitude.
MADELEINE: Your linens, please.
(MADELEINE KNOCKS)
Your Iinens.
Now or never.
No water.
If you won't read it to your own mother. . .
. . .perhaps you ought not to be reading it at aII.
It's not your cup of tea, Mother.
Oh, go on, darIing, give it a read.
"Monsieur BouIoir was a man whose erotic appetites. . .
. . .might discreetIy be described. . .
. . .as 'post-mortem.'
A habitué of cemeteries. . .
. . .his proudest conquest was a maid six decades his senior. . .
. . .deceased a dozen years. "
Oh, that's terribIe! That's too, too terribIe!
WeII, go on!
"The vigor with which he made Iove. . .
. . .caused her bones to disIodge.
StiII, he granted her the highest compIiment he accorded any woman:
Yes?
'WeII worth the dig!' "
MADELEINE: You asked my name once.
It's MadeIeine.
Sweet, then? Like the pastry.
Haven't you a name yourseIf?
Ride away with me someday.
Perhaps I'II teII you.
(SINGING IN FRENCH)
Your mother may be bIind as a bat, but you have a keen pair of eyes.
Mother's bIind on account of the Iye in the Iaundry kettIes.
Soaking sheets for Iunatics cost this woman her sight.
This couId cost her far more.
You'II get more with kind--
What couId cause a tincture Iike this?
-I'm a Iaundress, not a detective. -Now's not the time--
Perhaps your kettIes are stained with rust, or the Iye is rancid.
Or maybe. . .
. . .just maybe, these sheets once beIonged to our friend, the Marquis.
We've over 200 beds.
CouId be anybody's.
Such a fine thread count? Decorated in his very own script?
She's Iying. It shows in her face.
CIearing everything, abbé.
-AImost done. -Remember. . .
. . .anything he might fashion as a quiII. His room stripped bare.
The doctor cracks the whip, and you dance!
My bed, gone! Am I to freeze to death?
Gaban, take his rug.
That's a Turkish weave! It costs more than you'II earn in your Iife.
VaIcour. His chair.
Fine! Take it! Take it aII!
CarefuI, it's sIippery. You've no idea where it's been.
And Iet's not forget sweet Mary, the Jewish whore, God's IittIe harIot!
Virgin birth! An entire reIigion buiIt on an oxymoron!
OrvoIIe. His wine.
From now on, nothing but water at every meaI.
Water!
Your meat, de-boned.
-Why this torture? -Your writing continues, unchecked.
I didn't create this worId, I record it.
Its horrors. Its darkest nightmares! To what end?
Nothing but your morbid gratification.
I write what I see: The procession to the guiIIotine.
We're aII Iined up waiting for the crunch of the bIade.
The rivers of bIood are fIowing beneath our feet, abbé.
I've been to heII, young man. You've onIy read about it.
I am sorry, Marquis. TruIy.
These chastity vows of yours. How strict are they?
Suppose you onIy put it in her mouth.
Pious IittIe worm.
In conditions of adversity, the artist fIourishes.
Curious, aren't you?
If I can pIeasure myseIf, I can pIeasure you too.
You don't know what you're missing.
I'm in search of a book. Perhaps you know it.
I've onIy got one copy Ieft.
Rescued it meseIf. . .from the bonfire.
PIease hurry. My husband Iocks the door at dusk.
Sweet IittIe thing Iike you. . .
. . .shouIdn't be reading such fiIth, anyway.
I grew up in a convent, sir.
Everything I know I owe to books.
MARQUIS: "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 Iate, Simone, darIing.
Put your poems aside.
(HUMS)
Breakfast.
MadeIeine.
I beg you. . . .
What have they done to you now?
Tortures so arcane. . .
. . .so medievaI, even I haven't the words to describe them.
If you've an ounce of pity. . .
. . .you'II throw caution aside and unIock my door.
God heIp me.
-I don't dare. -Don't be a dunce. I've a surprise.
Now open the frigging door!
My newest book.
It starts at my Ieft cuff. . .
. . .and continues across my back.
The Iongest sentence. . .
. . .runs the entire Iength of my inseam.
It aII compIetes itseIf at the base of my right shoe.
-"Pikestaff"? -Yes.
Yes.
-"Naked on a pIate"? -Yes.
-"One hundred unhoIy tongues"? -Yes.
-You're a genius! -Yes!
Go quickIy. . .
. . .so you won't be bIamed for my misbehavior.
Maddy! You traffic with the DeviI, you'II pay the DeviI's price.
Sorry.
-Guards, stop him! Guards! -Yes!
CHARLOTTE: Guards!
Look what I've brought you, my darIings!
Two chapters: one for each cheek!
My writing Iives!
Take this beast back to his cage!
Don't teII me, you've come to read my trousers.
Don't keep me in suspense. Fifty Iashes? A night on the rack?
-I won't suIIy my hands with him. -Nor shouId you.
The first ruIe of poIitics:
The man who orders the execution never drops the bIade!
You're Iucky it's me punishing you.
If it were up to the doctor, you'd be fIayed.
The doctor is a man after my own heart.
What am I to do with you?
The more I forbid, the more you're provoked!
Strip.
Your breeches as weII.
You started this IittIe game. . .
. . .you finish it.
Or haven't you the courage?
I thought not.
It's a potent aphrodisiac. . .
. . .isn't it, dumpIing?
Having power over another man?
Your wig.
You'II no Ionger spread your insidious gospeI.
From now on, you wiII not even write. . .
. . .your own ignominious name.
Are your convictions so fragiIe, they cannot stand in opposition to mine?
Is your God so fIimsy? So weak?
For shame!
Don't fIatter yourseIf, Marquis.
You're not the Antichrist.
You're nothing but a maIcontent who knows how to speII.
I saw her myseIf. She put the key in the Iatch, proud as you pIease.
(WHIP CRACKS)
Free her! Now!
Leave her duIy strung.
Maddy.
If onIy bIood wiII appease you. . .
. . .then shed mine.
-Abbé, no! -Go on.
Now!
That won't be necessary.
If you're going to martyr yourseIf, abbé. . .
. . .do it for God. . .
. . .not a chambermaid.
Now put your cIothes back on.
Had I known your taste in noveIs. . .
. . .I never wouId've taught you to read.
Don't say that.
Reading's my saIvation.
But why must you induIge in his pornography?
It's a hard day's wages, sIaving away for madmen.
What I've seen in Iife, it takes a Iot to hoId my interest.
Ah!
I put myseIf in his stories.
I pIay the parts.
-Each strumpet, each murderess. -Maddy.
If I wasn't such a bad woman on the page. . .
. . .I'II hazard I couIdn't be such a good woman in Iife.
This is no pIace for a chiId Iike you.
I'm sending you away from here.
We couId Iine the waIIs with Chinese siIks.
Or, if you prefer. . .
. . .a FIorentine tapestry.
Are you a Iiterary man?
Excuse me?
I do so admire men with an appetite for. . .
. . .books.
Madame. . .
. . .how couId you?
Have you actuaIIy read this voIume?
I've memorized it.
There comes a time in a young Iady's Iife. . .
. . .when she must cast books aside. . .
. . .and Iearn from experience.
That, monsieur. . .
. . .requires a teacher.
Maddy, what are you--?
Is something wrong?
Abbé.
Don't send me away, I beg you.
I shouIdn't refuse your kindness. . .
. . .but my heart's heId fast here.
By whom?
The Marquis?
Mother's not haIf so bIind as you.
Oh, MadeIeine.
There are certain feeIings. . .
. . .we must not voice.
Why not?
They incite. . . .
They incite us to act. . .
. . .in ways. . .
. . .we shouId not.
What have I done?
Go back to your room.
You'II hate me now, won't you?
I Iove you, MadeIeine. . .
. . .as a chiId of God.
Forgive me.
MadeIeine!
Maddy.
You don't fear the Marquis' sway on me.
You fear your own.
If you'II grant me a finaI favor, I'd Iike the chance to expIain.
Don't come any cIoser, abbé.
God's watching.
Maddy.
"Most esteemed Dr. Royer-CoIIard. . .
. . .at Iong Iast, your chateau is compIete.
You wiII find everything in its assigned pIace:
The chintz draperies, the EngIish beII puIIs. . .
. . .even the ivory doorstops.
OnIy one detaiI is missing:
Your wife. "
TeII him I'm no fooI.
A prison's stiII a prison, even with siIks and chandeIiers.
"By the time you read this, we'II be Iong gone. . .
. . .bound for EngIand or points beyond. "
TeII him if he discovers our whereabouts. . .
. . .you'II sIit your wrists, and I'II pIunge a hatpin through my heart.
You'd do that, rather than forsake our Iove?
No.
But teII him I wouId.
Sign it, quickIy.
Then you can ravish me again on Iinens for which he so dearIy paid.
And then, I beg you. . .
. . .on the bearskin rug in his study. . .
. . .and finaIIy, as a crowning gesture. . .
. . .we'II Ieave puddIes of Iove on the Peruvian marbIe.
Simone!
Stop!
Stop, I beg you!
I'II write dainty stories! Odes to virtue.
ChiIdren's verses. I promise!
Excites you, doesn't it, to hurt me?
You're soIid as a bone, straining your trousers.
Don't you see, you seIf-righteous fuck. . .
. . .the Ionger you continue your vexations, the deeper you root. . .
. . .my principIes in my heart!
Haven't you seen. . .
. . .a man naked before?
The abbé's sending me away.
Yes.
Of course he is.
Marquis. . .
. . .teII me one Iast story.
How do you propose I do that?
With dust, upon the air?
Whisper it to me now.
ChiId, that's far too dangerous.
I may never see you again. Let me transcribe. . .
. . .something to remember you by.
This is neither the time, nor the pIace.
We've Iost.
Never thought I'd see you defeated.
-I've thousands of stories to teII-- -Then teII me one.
(INMATE YELLS)
Perhaps I can.
Tonight, go to the Iinen pantry with ink and a quiII. . .
. . .and you shaII have a story that wiII make the angeIs weep. . .
. . .and the saints aII gasp for air.
BOUCHON: She's here.
Dauphin!
FRANVAL: CIeante!
Psst, CIeante, are you ready?
Are you ready?
Marquis, is that you?
For fuck's sake, who eIse wouId it be?
-Have you aIerted the others? -I'm no Ionger a man.
I awoke to discover I'd turned into a sparrow.
Is that so? I awoke to discover I'd turned into a cat.
If you don't do as I say, I'II sink my fangs into your drumsticks. . .
. . .and suck the marrow straight out of your bones.
At your service, count.
"To my beIoved reader:
Prepare yourseIf for the most impure taIe. . .
. . .ever to spring from the mind of man. "
Off your hump.
Dauphin!
"To my beIoved reader:
Prepare yourseIf for the most impure taIe ever toId. "
"To my beIoved reader:
Prepare yourseIf for an impure taIe. "
FLANVAL: Bouchon. -Huh?
"To my beIoved reader:
Prepare yourseIf; I've an impure taIe to teII. "
BOUCHON: "Prepare yourseIf. "
(ROCKS GRAZING)
Bouchon?
MADELEINE: What did you say?
"Prepare yourseIf. I've a taIe. An impure taIe. "
"Our story concerns the prostitute Fanchon. . .
. . .whom nature had equipped. . .
. . .with a tight and downy fissure between her thighs. . .
. . .and the most fineIy cIeft ass. . .
. . .ever moIded by the hand of God. "
(THUNDERS)
"Fanchon was a prostitute. . .
. . .with a tight and downy fissure between her thighs. . .
. . .and. . . . "
-The most fineIy cIeft ass! -"The most fineIy cIeft ass. . . . "
My gIorious prose, fiItered through the minds of the insane.
They might improve it.
"It's about a harIot named Fanchon. "
"It's about a harIot named Fanchon. . .
. . .with a downy fissure. "
"One day, Fanchon's first cIient was a surgeon.
MARQUIS: He ran his fingers across her naked skin. . .
. . .puIIing apart foIds of fIesh. "
CLEANTE: "He ran his fingers across her naked skin. . .
. . .puIIing apart foIds of fIesh. "
DAUPHIN: "PuIIing at her foIds. "
FRANVAL: "And ran his fingers over her naked skin, puIIing at her foIds. . . . "
BOUCHON: "FeeIing over her naked skin. "
"Her naked skin. "
-Naked. -Yes, I've got that bit.
"'What shaII I make ready?' . . .
. . .asked Fanchon. 'My mouth, my ass or my succuIent oyster?' "
"'What shaII I ready?' "
"'--my ass or my succuIent oyster?' "
"'None!' cried the surgeon with his scaIpeI. "
-Yes? -"'Which hoIe?'
My mouth, my ass. . .
. . .or my succuIent--
SuccuIent oyster!' "
"'For I'II carve new orifices where there were none before.' "
-"'None!' " -"Cried the surgeon.
BOUCHON: 'I'II carve new--
New orifices where there were none before!' "
"With that, Fanchon expeIIed a scream so extravagantIy pitched. . .
. . .that the surgeon was obIiged to tear out her tongue. "
"Fanchon expeIIed a scream with such extravagant pitch--"
"With that, the extravagant bitch screamed so Ioud--"
"She screamed so Iong and so Ioud--"
BOUCHON: "She screamed, so he feIt he shouId--
Ought--"
"To seaI the wound, he took a poker from the fire--"
-"A poker! " -"To tear out her tongue! "
"He took a poker from the fire! "
Fire. "From the fire! "
"He took a poker from the fire. "
From the fire.
From the fire. . . .
"He took a poker from the fire! "
FRANVAL: Dauphin. -From the fire.
What's next?
MADELEINE: Bouchon, the words.
TeII me the words.
Dauphin?
-Dauphin! DAUPHIN: Fire!
What's the next bit?
-Fire! -What's the next bit?
Fire!
DAUPHIN: Fire! -Just teII me the next bit!
TeII me the words!
(FIRE BELL SOUNDS)
Fire!
Open aII the doors! Let the patients out!
Chase some water! Move yourseIves! Move on!
Get some water!
It's hot!
-No! No! -Nice fire!
Nice, nice, Dauphin, fire!
Where's that water?
VALCOUR: Get Dauphin! Stop him!
DAUPHIN: Fire! Fire! Fire!
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Bouchon?
Bouchon!
Remember your manners, Bouchon.
Don't--
MadeIeine.
MadeIeine!
-MadeIeine! MadeIeine! MARQUIS: MadeIeine!
CLEANTE: MadeIeine!
MadeIeine.
MARQUIS: MadeIeine! CLEANTE: MadeIeine! MadeIeine!
(SCREAMING)
(GLASS BREAKS)
COULMIER: Maddy!
MadeIeine!
Maddy!
It's her fauIt the DeviI's unIeashed himseIf upon us!
It's her fauIt!
MADELEINE: No! No!
(MADELEINE SCREAMS)
No! No!
MARQUIS: MadeIeine!
We must save Charenton!
Keep the chain going!
We've got to stop it before it gets to those beams!
-MadeIeine! -MadeIeine!
Guards!
Guards! Guards!
Are you aII right?
MadeIeine!
Go! QuickIy!
MadeIeine!
Where are you, Maddy?
"She screamed, so he feIt he ought to tear out her tongue. "
Bouchon, wait!
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, abbé. I couIdn't heIp it!
No.
Oh, my God!
No.
Oh, no!
HORSEMAN: MadeIeine!
(PRAYS IN LATIN)
Now, now, don't be shy.
We have a nice surprise waiting for you.
VALCOUR: There's a good boy.
Sorry.
Wait!
I promise I won't do it again!
I promise!
We mustn't bIame Bouchon.
He is mereIy one of nature's experiments gone awry.
No discipIine. No conscience. No moraIity.
In fact, it is our duty. . .
. . .to provide such things on his behaIf.
Is it not?
As you say, doctor.
He was so impressed by the Marquis' taIe. . .
. . .that he chose to reenact it, yes?
Upon a certain chambermaid.
Perhaps you'II be so kind as to remind me of her name.
I beg you, doctor, don't make me say it.
Her name, abbé.
MadeIeine.
TeII me, abbé. . .
. . .when you are caIIed before God. . .
. . .how wiII you answer for MadeIeine's death?
Murderer!
Your words.
-Your words drove Bouchon to-- -For fuck's sake, abbé!
Suppose an inmate tried to waIk on water and drowned.
WouId you condemn the BibIe? I think not.
An innocent chiId is dead.
So many authors are denied the gratification. . .
. . .of a concrete response to their work.
I'm bIessed, am I not?
-It's no secret that you Ioved her. -I wanted to fuck her, that's aII!
-And did you? -It's not your province to ask.
-Why did you not take her by force? -Who's to say I did not?
-Was it impotence? -Never!
Then it must have been Iove.
I fucked her, countIess times. . .
. . .and aII the whiIe, she pIeaded for more.
We inspected the body.
She died a virgin.
Give her a proper buriaI. . .
. . .in the churchyard. . .
. . .at my expense.
Do not inter. . .
. . .her sweet body. . .
. . .in the same ground. . .
. . .as the deviIs who inhabit this accursed pIace.
Your terribIe secret, reveaIed.
You're a man, after aII.
I've opium to numb the pain.
Our intention is punitive.
If we numb the pain, what's the point?
Abbé de CouImier.
I'm here.
WouId that I were so easiIy siIenced.
VALCOUR: There's a good boy.
(MARQUIS SCREAMS)
My, my!
You have exceeded my expectations.
Have I?
I'm not the first man to shed bIood in God's name.
And I'm not the Iast.
WiII you sIeep soundIy tonight?
No, sir.
PIainIy put, I never expect to sIeep again.
MADELEINE: Don 't send me away, abbé.
Abbé. Abbé.
Abbé!
CHRIST: Abbé.
VALCOUR: Abbé!
Abbé! Abbé!
You'd best come quick, abbé.
He's written aII over the waIIs!
Used his own fiIth! Made himseIf a kind of paint.
Dear God!
The stench!
-Free his mouth. -Mustn't do that, sir.
I must grant him his Iast rites. Give me your dagger.
Leave us.
I faiIed to save your souI in Iife.
I won't faiI in death.
Dear HeavenIy Father:
Prove Your infinite mercy, and open Your gates to this man. . .
. . .no Iess Your chiId than any other.
There is. . .
. . .in each of us. . .
. . .such beauty. . .
. . .and such abomination.
No man is exempt.
Forgive him.
Forgive us aII.
Kiss the cross.
Marquis!
(MARQUIS CHOKES)
No!
COLLARD: WeIcome. -PIeased to have the post.
Are you?
Our endowment has shriveIed to a mere pittance.
We are the Iaughingstock of aII France.
However, on a happier note. . .
. . .the hospitaI is now in my soIe command.
My poIicy here is that each man must earn his keep.
The "Charenton Press," abbé.
We produce books for the discriminating coIIector.
The compuIsive inmates set the type.
The IistIess ones do the binding and prepare the ink.
It's remarkabIe, doctor.
The patients are so subdued, so dociIe.
Yes, they are at peace.
They have the satisfaction that onIy a hard day's Iabor can provide.
I don't beIieve it.
The Marquis de Sade. You're actuaIIy pubIishing his noveIs.
Yes.
Ever since his death, there's been a surge of interest in his works.
Of course. . .
. . .I wiII use the profits to restore Charenton to its former gIory.
CHARLOTTE: Oh, doctor.
We have a meeting with Herr Becker at 4:00.
He wants to pubIish a Swiss edition. . .
. . .on giIded paper, bound in caIfskin.
-Thank you, CharIotte. -My pIeasure.
Have a Iook at page 205. I turned the corner down. . . .
VALCOUR: On your Iast one! Come on!
Next one! Come on, get these books onboard!
Next boxes up there. Move yourseIves, aII right!
AII right, oId mates, that's it! See you next week!
COLLARD: Of course, everything is not quite as harmonious as it seems.
I hope you have a strong constitution.
My years tending Iepers have steeIed me for Iife's grisIiest offerings.
We stiII have a few Ione incurabIes.
Prone to vioIence and perversion.
So. . .
. . .you're my successor, yes?
Successor?
Listen to me, abbé. . .
. . .and Iisten weII.
I've stared into the face of eviI. . .
. . .and have Iived to teII the taIe.
Now I beg you, for your sake, Iet me write it down.
Gibberish. He rants and he raves.
If you've an ounce of Christianity, you'II bring me parchment, ink. . .
. . .and a quiII.
No, this patient poses a grave danger to himseIf and to others.
Are you aII right, sir?
-Do you not see, abbé? -Do you not see, abbé?
Some men are beyond redemption.
No, wait.
PIease!
PIease bring me a quiII. PIease.
Wait, I'm sorry. Oh, goddamn you, abbé!
A quiII!
A quiII.
Use it weII.
You owe her that.
MARQUIS: Beloved reader:
I leave you with a tale penned by the abbé de Coulmier...
...a man who found freedom in the unlikeliest of places...
...at the bottom of an inkwell...
...on the tip of a quill.
( COULMIER HUMS)
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.
SubtitIes by GeIuIa/SDI
[ENGLISH SDH]