THE CHILDREN OF PARADISE
PART ONE ''THE BOULEVARD OF CRIME''
Used clothes for sale!
Step right in! The Truth is here!
Step right in and see!
She will fill your thoughts, invade your dreams!
See Naked Truth with your own eyes!
You can pay as you leave!
Come in, gentlemen! The show is enticing!
Audacious! Inspiring!
For those with eyes to see!
For connoisseurs of beauty!
Step right in, gentlemen!
None of your ''Stage door, please''!
I know the trick!
You bluff your way in to catch the show for free
from a box seat!
It's the manager I want to see.
The manager! Is that so?
And why the manager?
It's simple. I want him to hire me.
Hire you! And why not put your name on the marquee?
In great big letters!
Why not, indeed, Still Life!
- Hey! - Exactly. I can see it, foresee it!
My name up there in huge letters.
Frédérick... Frédérick Lemaître.
Etch that on your feeble, doddering memory.
Frédérick Lemaître.
Look!
Not bad! You know her?
Not yet!
You smiled! Don't deny it! You smiled!
Marvelous! Life is beautiful!
And you're just as beautiful!
You've been running.
Yes... after you.
But you just came toward me.
Yes. I saw you a moment ago.
The shock! The emotion!
Then you were gone. So...
So?
So as I refuse to follow women,
I ran ahead to come to meet you.
Now I'll never leave you. Which way?
Simple.
- You go your way and I go mine. - They may be the same.
- And why not? - I have a rendezvous.
Rendezvous? O Cruel Fate!
Two minutes together and you leave me already!
Why? For another, of course!
And you love this other one?
- Oh, I love everyone. - I don't mind, I'm not jealous.
- But the other one is. - How do you know?
All men are... except me!
But let's talk of us. There's so much to tell.
- Is there? - Yes, there is.
First, my name. Frédérick.
- Now tell me yours. - They call me Garance.
Garance. How lovely!
- It's a flower. - A red flower, like your lips.
Well?
Well, goodbye... Frédérick.
You can't abandon me all alone on the Boulevard of Crime!
- When will I see you again? - Soon, perhaps.
Chance will tell.
Paris is so big.
Paris is small for those who share so great a passion as ours.
You smiled! Don't deny it! You smiled!
Marvelous! Life is beautiful!
PUBLIC SCRI BE
''My love, light of my life,
time weighs on my heart like a convict's chains.
Come back, I beseech you.
Never again, I swear...
Yes, I solemnly promise
never to raise my hand against you,
as I once did.''
- Will that do? - Will it? It's grand, moving!
If that doesn't bring her back, nothing will!
Poor fool!
You have to admit, it's something.
- What is? - Having an education.
- My poor Avril! - I mean it, Mr. Lacenaire.
- How d'you find the words? - Enough!
Down to business.
- Have you got the silverware? - Yes, Mr. Lacenaire.
It's sterling.
Sterling, indeed.
Spoons today. Clocks yesterday.
Here's my guardian angel!
I'll see you tonight.
Out of your well, my angel, my sweet?
No more well. And no more Truth.
So soon?
Yes, the customers got too demanding.
Truth, but only from the neck up.
- It frustrated them. - Those good fellows want more.
''The whole truth, nothing but...'' and a charming costume.
Maybe, but the same one every time.
How modest! How chaste!
It's not that.
They're just so ugly!
Ugly, indeed.
I'd like to stamp them out.
As cruel as ever?
I'm not cruel. I'm logical.
I declared war on humanity long ago.
Any victims lately, Pierre-François?
None, my angel. See? No trace of blood.
Just some ink stains.
But I'm planning something grandiose.
Don't smile, Garance. Truly, I'm not like other men.
My heart doesn't beat like theirs. Absolutely not!
Have you ever been humiliated?
No, never.
Nor I. But they tried.
That was enough for a man like me.
As a child, I was saner and more clever than the others.
They never forgave me.
I had to be like them,
talk like them.
''Head up, Pierre-François! Look at me!
Eyes down!''
They crammed my mind with books.
Old books.
So much dust in a child's head.
A fine youth!
Mother favored my stupid brother.
My confessor said,
''You are too proud. Withdraw into yourself.''
So I withdrew into myself.
And there I remained.
Left alone with myself to avoid dubious company!
The fools!
But what a splendid destiny!
To love no one, to be alone.
To be loved by no one. To be free.
True, I love no one.
Not even you, Garance.
But you are the only woman for whom I have no contempt.
I don't love you either.
How fortunate!
Then why these daily visits?
Because I don't demand what other men do?
- You're no coquette. So why? - I'm bored.
Do I amuse you?
Yes, all this talk. It's like a play.
It's entertaining and soothing.
You don't take me seriously.
If I were vain, I'd be deeply offended.
But I have no vanity, only pride.
And I have total confidence in myself!
I'm a thief by need, a murderer by calling.
My road is charted out.
I'll walk with my head high
until it drops into the basket.
My father said, ''You'll end up on the guillotine.''
Always listen to your parents.
Still writing plays?
Yes, in my idle moments.
''Misconduct.'' A tragedy?
No, a slightly ribald farce.
I loathe tragedy.
Such an inferior genre.
Characters who kill one another, yet never get hurt.
How depressing.
Here comes Judgment Day.
It's Jupiter.
Alias Jericho, because of my horn.
Alias Medusa, because of my gaze.
Greetings, Lacenaire.
My respects to Beauty.
What do we have today?
How much?
I have no secrets from the lady.
- My compliments. - Not at all.
How much?
Twenty francs.
You're joking!
Remember, they call me the Tightwad,
the Niggard, the Rat,
'cause I scavenge like a rat.
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!
A franc for the boxes if you're well-to-do,
four centimes in the Gods if you're badly off.
Come in and see...
''Perils of the Virgin Forest'' or ''Crime and Virtue.''
A pantomime that's magic,
exotic, pyrotechnic!
Come in and see a girl of 15
pursued by a mountain lion!
A forest fire!
An abduction by balloon!
And you shall see me, the one and only,
the inimitable Anselme Debureau,
who performed in the harem before the Grand Turk
and his 82 Turkesses!
But fear not! Inside you won't see
this one here.
Because he's a do-nothing!
A dolt!
A sleepwalker
even sitting down.
A nincompoop!
A blockhead!
A good-for-nothing!
And this, alas, is my son.
Here sits the shame of an artistic family,
a famous father's despair,
the root of his gray hair.
When I say my son, luckily I exaggerate.
One night, during a full moon,
he fell from above... into a bucket.
When I got home it was already too late.
But I won't wash dirty linen here.
The show's about to begin! A unique show!
For the penny-pinchers,
tightfisted, miserly, or parsimonious...
the management, sparing no expense,
leaves them Baptiste, free of charge!
Baptiste! If you've any pups, save me one!
He really looks stupid, doesn't he?
I think he has lovely eyes.
Lovely eyes!
That deserves a hand!
My watch!
My watch is gone! My gold watch!
She did it. It had to be you!
Thief!
Let go of me! You're crazy!
And she insults me! Thief! Police!
Officer! Someone!
What's going on?
This gent no longer has a watch and blames it on me.
Why? A mystery to me!
Naturally, you're innocent.
Like a lamb.
Are you sure of this?
Absolutely! Arrest her!
- It wasn't me! - So you say.
- Any witnesses? - Me!
- I'm a witness. - What did you see?
The whole thing.
What do you have to say now?
Why, nothing.
I'm sorry. Error is human.
Not judicial errors!
- May I go now? - You're free.
Fine, because I adore freedom.
You're on next! Look alive!
What are you in stitches about?
Artists don't laugh here, the audience does.
Here's Jericho, alias the Trumpet,
alias the Flask, for my drinking,
alias Woe-Is-Me, for my hard lot.
Greetings, stage manager. Here are the props:
A hunting horn, a royal blue tunic, three skulls,
gold epaulettes, two pairs of patent leather shoes
and a wedding gown.
Hear that, Nathalie?
It's contagious! Another pillar of salt.
Ah, love! It cheers the heart.
- Same old story? - Same old story!
- Her father against it? - He wants what she wants.
No, it's that dunce. He should count his blessings.
I'll have to do something.
It's no business of yours!
They also call me The Spark, The Stoker, The Dove-keeper,
because I like to keep turtledoves together.
How now, my lovely. Show us your palm.
An amazing fate line!
Oh, fate and me...
Don't be silly.
It says here it will all work out.
Take it from a wise old pappy.
You'll marry the one you love.
- Do you think so? - It's plain to see.
And when you set up house,
remember old Pappy has sterling
at a reasonable price.
I'm sorry to interrupt your daydream,
but I'm looking for the manager.
Is it important?
I'm warning you, the manager's in a foul mood.
Then maybe I'll try him another day.
But he's always in a foul mood.
Well, then, I'll try my luck.
Wait here.
What a charming playhouse!
What a fine profession!
It would be, if it fed us properly.
''Speak to me!'' About nothing, probably!
This fop here?
- You're on! - Yes, young man?
Remember, post the fines. ''Seraphin, two francs:
On-stage drunk and swearing.''
There they go again!
- What's got into them? - They sense a storm brewing.
You can't imagine! My theater is torn by hatred and jealousy.
We perform on a volcano.
This isn't pantomime, it's a vendetta, a corrida.
They're worse than the Horatii and the Curiatti.
- Worse than... - The Montagues and the Capulets.
- Never heard of them! - It's Shakespeare. Romeo...
Don't know him!
Alas, few know and appreciate Shakespeare.
Who knows you? Who appreciates you?
What do you want? I keep asking you!
What I want...
I want to act.
Act! Act!
You have the wrong house. We're not allowed to act here.
We walk on our hands.
I can do that.
And you know why? They bully us.
Why? They fear us.
If we put on plays, they'd have to close
their great, noble theaters!
Their public is bored to death
by museum pieces, dusty tragedies and declaiming mummies
who never move!
But the Funambules is full of life, movement!
Extravaganzas! Appearances, disappearances,
like in real life!
And then... wham!...the kick,
wham!...the slapstick... like in real life!
And the audience!
Sure, they're poor, but they're pure gold.
Look, up there
in the Gods!
Watch out, the old fogey!
The king of the desert!
Shut up! We can't hear the mime!
He hit him too hard!
Did he?
You animal!
You snake!
You'll pay for this!
Friends! They dare strike Anselme Debureau!
Help, Barrignis!
Curtain!
Fine everyone 3 francs!
Pull them apart!
The wretches! Curtain!
Stop this instant!
It's shameful!
What's shameful is a lowly Barrigni striking a Debureau,
treacherously, in public!
I demand an apology.
Yes, an apology.
Apologize, and on with it. The audience is waiting.
The Barrignis don't apologize.
We're leaving for a better offer across the Boulevard.
You're not serious! To work for Saqui?
Yes, right this minute!
Come, Barrignis!
This is a fatal blow! A plot! A disaster!
Stage manager, a chair!
O Deceit! Treachery! A stab in the back!
Curtain! Curtain!
What a disaster! Listen to them!
My dear audience!
Refund! Refund!
How's that? Refund?
Never! I'd rather... I don't know... anything!
Or anyone? Fine. I'm your man: I'm anyone!
I'll slip into my character's skin and show my stuff.
But I don't know you.
Have you played anywhere? What parts have you done?
Lion parts.
I've done the whole lion repertoire:
Gulf of Lions, Richard the Lion-Hearted, Pygma-lion.
Thieves! Thieves!
Hurry or they'll tear the place up.
The voice of the people! The Christians demand a lion.
Disaster upon disaster!
- How much... - Wages, already!
No. How much time on stage?
As little as possible.
I'm warning you: It won't be easy to call me off.
Relax, I know the plot.
- Enter Pierrot... - Pierrot!
We lost our Pierrot! Disaster!
- Disaster! - What about Baptiste?
Baptiste? Never!
Never will my unworthy son tread the boards with me.
They loved him out on the street.
- You saw it? - The cashier saw it.
The cashier? Vox populi!
And she's never a centime off! Get Baptiste!
- I protest! - And I command.
Go on.
The Funambules is sinking. The rats abandoned ship.
Storm winds blow, the audience howls.
I'm sole captain on board, under God.
I'll make an announcement.
Ladies and gentlemen!
Prepared for any sacrifice,
the Funambules Theater
is proud to present, for the first time,
at no extra charge...
What is it, Baptiste?
Nothing. Why?
Yes, there is something.
You're handsome.
You know you are, because I love you.
Today, you're even more handsome.
You're shining.
What's that flower?
A flower.
Are you happy to perform at last?
Perhaps.
I'm happy, too.
I have such faith in you.
Oh, Baptiste, if only you wanted to, we could be so happy together.
But you don't love me.
Oh, I know.
You like me.
I don't want to be liked.
I want your love!
Loving is so easy.
You resist on purpose.
Or you're in love with someone else.
And what's that flower for?
Someone gave it to you?
Who was it?
Answer me, Baptiste.
Remember,
you said I was your friend, that you had no secrets from me.
Answer me.
Was it a woman?
Where did you meet her?
Do I know her?
What's her name?
I don't know.
I was gazing into a well.
Others were looking, too.
But only I saw her.
Still dreaming and laughing at me.
It's true. What more can I say?
I saw her again, by chance. She gave me this flower. That's all.
That's all. Well, it's not much.
- And you love her. - Oh, yes, I love her!
How you said that!
Ah, my little lambs, you're on next.
You look fine, Baptiste.
A nice touch, the flower! It should get a laugh.
You know the plot: You love her, she laughs in your face.
Play the fool. Nothing to it!
Look alive, children!
This mulled wine is splendid!
It goes down like a seraph in red velvet tights.
To your health, Baptiste.
And to yours, friends.
Tonight you drank with Julius Caesar.
Julius Caesar or another.
Charles the Bold, Attila,
Henri IV, Ravaillac.
Yes, I know it!
It's my destiny to revive the giants of this earth.
They played their parts. It's my turn now.
Let me have my chance.
Rise, Julius Caesar! Frédérick is before you.
I'll dust him off,
and cast his shadow across the boards.
He'll live again to astonish the world once more!
Thanks to me!
Go ahead and laugh.
I won't end my days at the Funambules in a lion's skin.
A lion who can't even roar.
What torment, when inside you
there's an entire orchestra, a whole universe!
Words and phrases leave you cold.
You tell your story without speaking.
And you do it so well.
You really astonished me.
Your legs speak, your hands answer.
A glance, a shrug, a step forward, back...
and they understand up in the Gods.
They understand, though they're poor.
I'm like them. I love them, I know them.
Their lives are small, but their dreams are vast.
I don't only want to amuse them.
I want to move them,
frighten them, make them weep.
- All that without saying a word? - Without saying a word.
- That's difficult. - You think it's impossible?
No, difficult. It's not the same.
Barkeep!
Consider yourself lucky I can pay for the drink.
- But not a bed. - Try the Post House.
- A hotel? - No, but they let rooms.
- On credit? - If not, I'd live elsewhere.
Are you sure you don't want the second-floor flat?
No, really, a small room is fine.
What a shame!
It's perfect for a bachelor.
But I'll show you the rooms upstairs.
- I'm sorry it's so late, Madame... - Madame Hermine.
Don't apologize. I usually turn in late.
I often read for hours... in bed.
Love stories, no doubt?
Oh, Mr. Baptiste, this young man knows a woman's soft spot.
- After you, Monsieur... - Frédérick. Frédérick Lemaître.
No, after you.
Oh, please.
Well, good night, Frédérick.
Good night, Mme Hermine.
Going out at this hour?
Yes, he goes out every night.
A real alley cat, Mr. Baptiste is.
''Silent, stealthy as a cat in the night,
he slinks through the shadows towards love's light,
to his beloved, his heart's pyre,
his naked companion, atremble with desire.''
How beautiful, Mr. Frédérick!
And slightly...
- And slightly... - And slightly?
Mr. Frédérick, you'll make me say something silly.
- After you, please. - After you.
Here are the rooms.
This one's quite nice.
Yes, quite pleasant, cheerful.
Or if you prefer this one.
- It has a double bed. - Yes, a double bed! I'd prefer that.
A double bed.
Poor Frédérick.
All alone at night in a big bed.
But beds are for sleeping, no matter the size. Not so?
Of course, Mr. Frédérick.
Well, I'll leave you.
Good night.
- The key's in the door. - I always leave my door open.
Really?
A pretty lady might wander in.
''A pretty lady.'' Young people are so demanding today.
Did I say you were homely, Madame Hermine?
Alms for a poor blind man!
Why tiptoe by?
To avoid me? So as not to give me anything?
Why won't you give alms to a poor blind man?
- Why? - I have no money.
No money?
Hear that, bird? That's a good one.
Folks strut around with their pockets full.
Easy to pick when you can see.
It's not my trade.
His trade! Hear that, bird?
Doesn't have a sou, but he's got a trade.
A fine trade that feeds a man.
A fine trade, even so. May I sit here a moment?
I've walked a lot and I'm a bit tired.
What are you doing out at this hour?
Looking.
Hear that, bird?
- Looking at what? - Everything.
Say, you're nosey. Too curious, you are.
Say, pilgrim, would your trade be...
Oh, no! Don't worry.
We're not worried.
We just don't like informers, the bird and me.
So, where do you work?
At the Funambules.
The Funambules! You sell oranges?
- No, I perform. - Perform?
Yes, pantomime.
Oh, I love pantomime!
- I often go. - You?
Sure, I can't see it,
but a friend describes it all.
So that's it.
You're an actor.
Why didn't you say so? Let's celebrate.
Sure, let's get a drink.
And when I say a drink...
Thank you, but...
Thank me when we're good and drunk.
Let's go, bird.
Your coach is leaving.
We're not going far. It's right nearby.
''The Red Breast.''
You're curious, so you're in for a treat.
- Shall I lead? - No, thanks. I know the way.
Nice name, eh? ''The Red Breast.''
On account of the former owner.
He got bled one night behind his bar.
So the name ''Red Breast'' stuck.
Take a seat. This is the place. This is home.
- Hullo, Silk Thread. - Hullo, Little Louis.
Rotgut and your best grub. I've got a guest.
- Something for the bird, too? - Naturally!
Is this gold or imitation?
I'll check.
Gold. You didn't get taken.
Good. Thanks.
Can't believe your eyes, funambulist?
It's quite simple.
Out there, I'm blind. A hopeless case, blind as a bat.
In here, I'm healed. A miracle.
So I do some appraising.
Jewelry, stones, gold.
What d'you say, artist?
Nothing? You're smart.
Keep it to yourself.
Do you dream about cats? Do you dream about dogs?
Have you seen troubled waters?
Here's the key to your dreams, bound and illustrated.
Greetings, boss.
Lacenaire's on his way with his jolly crew.
- Mum's the word. - Sure, thanks.
Here's Jericho, alias the Trumpet, alias the Sandman,
alias Sweet Dreams, because he cures nightmares.
Do you dream about snakes, fires, new-born babes?
Believe it or not, Silk Thread, a real collector's item.
Well, I'll be! You here, Baptiste?
You in a place like this?
What would Debureau say? And Nathalie?
Don't mention Nathalie!
So gentle, fresh as a rose, pure as a lily.
I won't listen! I don't like you!
I told you so. Leave me alone.
Hear that, Silk Thread? Try and be helpful...
What I said's for your own good.
Here comes high society!
Greetings, Mr. Lacenaire.
It's wonderful!
What's wonderful?
Everything. Life!
His lawyer says: ''Keep quiet!''
The priest: ''Confession is half remission.''
He confesses.
The judge: ''You killed and confessed. Fine.
Off with your head.''
The man, disappointed, protests:
''But confession is half remission!''
The judge: ''True, but Justice must be done.
So off with half your head!''
That's a good one!
Why so sad and silent, my angel?
Life is beautiful.
Then why do you always harp on death?
Never fear. I talk mostly of other people's deaths.
Mine is for later.
What can I say? Life is like that.
Philosophers think of death, beautiful women think of love.
So, that makes you all philosophers!
Why not?
How cheerful, charming and tidy your philosophy is!
And love is cheerful, charming and tidy, perhaps?
A sight better!
I've seen 'em lovesick, but you take the cake!
I'm not one to moralize,
but if you want to wake up alive, you'd best leave now.
The former owner... they're the ones who did him in.
I shouldn't tell you.
She doesn't love him. It's obvious she doesn't.
- Must you go? - I'm tired and bored.
This is serious. Never have I felt for a woman...
Love, Pierre-François?
Spare me your nonsense.
I want you, that's all. But I have my pride.
So you want me to make the first move.
Your head's too hot, and your heart's too cold.
I'm careful of drafts. I watch my health.
A pity! We could have done astounding things together.
I'd spill torrents of blood to give you rivers of diamonds.
I'd settle for less.
What a lovely hand!
May I, Lacenaire?
Your future, my beauty?
If it amuses you.
- But I only believe in what I like. - Such as?
Oh, anything, anyone.
Still, if you foresee any journeys, I wouldn't mind.
That's just what I do see: A journey.
And a long one, too.
To India, maybe?
Why India?
Because it's far away.
The consultation's over, Jericho.
But explain this for me: I had a dream about you last night.
You were on the street, shouting:
''Ragman! Clothes for sale?''
But in my dream I heard something else:
''Rat-on-the-man! Friends for sale?''
Do you really deal with these ''gentlemen'' and sell friends, Jericho?
Lies! As sure as I'm called...
''Snitch,'' ''Forked Tongue,'' ''13th at Table''!
That's spiteful talk.
It's not spite, but I suggest you be more discreet.
You'll betray me, my angel. It's your right.
You're wrong.
Yes, you will, my angel, and, if need be, with my help.
Leave me alone. You tire me.
I came here to have fun, to dance...
Would you dance with me?
How 'bout that, Mr. Lacenaire?
- Who is he? - Nobody.
An actor at the Funambules.
An actor! What a breed!
I can see why they're buried at night.
I didn't recognize you at first.
But be careful.
They're vicious. I'm warning you.
I don't care. What could happen to me?
I'm so happy.
Well, Mr. Lacenaire?
If that's your pleasure.
Monsieur.
Let go of him!
- What about my window? - Come now!
Can't we have fun at ''The Red Breast''?
Oh, Mr. Lacenaire, I didn't mean to...
It's late.
I'll take you home if you like.
Poor Avril.
- What do we do? - Nothing.
Unless someone disagrees.
Lacenaire doesn't complicate his life over a woman.
No great deal, women.
Back to serious matters.
Once a month, bank messengers carry small fortunes.
Attacking them on the street is common and risky.
And one might catch cold.
Best to work at home, by appointment.
Oh, Mr. Lacenaire.
So I rent an apartment, and when the bank messenger calls...
He gets the message.
You catch on so quickly, Avril.
You don't look that strong.
- I'm not strong. - But back there...
I had a rough childhood. I learned to defend myself.
- You were unhappy? - When I was, I slept.
I dreamed, but people don't like that.
So they beat me to wake me up a little.
Luckily, my sleep was heavier than their blows,
and I fled them in my sleep.
Yes, I dreamed,
hoped, waited.
For you, maybe.
- Even back then? - Why not?
I surely saw you in my dreams.
Stop smiling.
By throwing me that flower you may have awakened me for good.
You're a funny fellow.
You're so beautiful.
No, I'm just alive.
The most alive of all.
I'll never forget this night and the light in your eyes.
Just a glimmer, like everyone else.
Down there,
look at the lights of Ménilmontant.
People sleep and wake.
Each has a glimmer that glows and fades.
It's nothing much.
I can't even find the room I lived in with my mother.
In Ménilmontant?
I was born and grew up there,
very happily.
Yet Mother was poor and my father left.
She worked for others as a laundress.
She loved me, I loved her. She was lovely and gay.
She taught me how to laugh and sing.
Then she died, and everything changed.
You were left alone.
I was 15.
Around here, a girl who grows up too fast
doesn't stay alone very long.
Please don't be sad. It pains me.
Me, sad? I'm as happy as a lark.
- I love your laugh. - So do I. I'd be lost without it.
And me, without you. Tell me your name.
Garance.
You're shaking. Are you cold?
I'm shaking because I'm happy.
Happy because you're here, near me.
I love you.
Garance, do you love me?
You talk like a child.
People love that way in books, in dreams. Not in real life.
Dreams, life... they're the same.
Else life's not worth living.
But it's not life I love. It's you.
You're the nicest man I've ever met.
I won't forget tonight, either. I like you.
I love you.
Love is so simple.
- A storm! - You'll be soaked.
- So what? - You've no coat.
- I'll take you back. - Where?
- Home. - I don't have a home.
I quit my job. The lodging went with it.
I can get you a room where I live.
A room?
Yes, do come.
Madame Hermine!
Don't wake the house for a room.
Where is she?
Coming! Coming!
Oh, it's you, Mr. Baptiste. What is it?
Mademoiselle.
I'm sorry, I was upstairs.
Someone's ill. Nothing serious.
- Can I help you? - A room. She was caught in the rain.
Of course. Caught in the rain.
She's charming. Take her to room 10.
Luckily, I left the key in the door.
Have a good night. And no bad dreams.
You're drenched, Garance.
It's nothing. The storm's passed.
I'll hang my dress out to dry.
Turn around if you're embarrassed.
It's not bad here, though it's a bit sad.
Why sad?
It's always sad when you sleep alone.
You can turn around now.
Lovely costume. It reminds me of India.
You're so beautiful.
But I must let you sleep.
I'm not very sleepy.
Remember: You could work at the Funambules.
But I can't do anything.
I'll help you. You need work.
Why not? I could show my legs.
The audience doesn't ask for much.
But I love you, Garance.
Please don't be so solemn. It chills me.
Don't be angry, but I'm not the way you dreamed.
You must understand me. I'm simple, so simple.
I am what I am. I want to please those I like.
And when I want to say yes, I can't say no.
I prefer moonlight, don't you?
The moon?
Of course, the moon.
My homeland, the moon!
''He's not one of us. He's not like us.
One night during a full moon, he fell to Earth.
He dreams of the impossible.''
Why ''impossible,'' if I can dream it?
Garance, you don't realize
I want you to love me the way I love you.
''Yet I'll not shed her blood
nor scar that whiter skin than snow
and smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then...''
Yes, let's put out the light.
Good night, Desdemona.
Good night, Othello.
I am as I am
I'm made as you see
When I feel like laughing
I laugh heartily
I love those who love me
Am I really to blame
If the man that I love
Is never the same?
Charming outfit. But I prefer the other.
- To each his own. - Exactly.
Do you live here?
Of all places to meet!
''Paris is small for those who share so great a passion as ours.''
You're alone, I hope.
Alas, all alone. Left to do penance.
Poor Garance.
You're not afraid, all alone at night?
The sun will be up soon. It's an early riser.
- And you? - Oh, me!
What does it matter?
If it's up before us, we close the shutters.
Is your door locked, my love?
I'm not afraid of thieves. What's there to steal?
The incomparable Baptiste, my own son,
his father's pride,
is the sole author
of the show we present today:
''The Palace of Illusions'' or ''Lovers of the Moon.''
Unique in the annals of the Funambules Theater,
the show, ladies and gentlemen, is in its fourth week,
for ever more select audiences,
at still reasonable prices.
Only 1.50 francs for a box, 30 centimes in the Gods.
Have you ever seen such a splendid creature?
She's ravishing, incredibly ravishing.
Now I know where you spend your evenings.
And nights!
Wrong, as usual.
I've never even met the young lady.
Unbelievable!
Perhaps. But absolutely true.
I haven't dared.
Hey there, Baptiste!
The laurels adorning his father's brow
have sprouted overnight on my son's.
A family of prodigies!
And him? Isn't he prodigious?
He's clearly gifted.
But he's no mime.
- What is he, then? - An actor!
Bravo! It's marvelous!
Quite amusing.
How funny!
Those people are amazing, simply amazing!
Baptiste!
Someone shouted on stage!
A three-franc fine! No! Five francs!
- Who was it? - Nathalie!
My daughter? Then just three francs.
What got into you to scream?
You know it's forbidden. Do you want to shut us down?
Answer me, Nathalie. Why?
- I was frightened. - Frightened of what?
Baptiste frightened me.
He frightens me.
You don't understand.
You don't see, you don't feel.
You don't see how he's changed. He's not the same.
The way he looks right through you now,
as if he were lost.
Lost forever.
Nonsense!
Never has Baptiste been more cheerful and alert.
A father knows best.
You may know him,
but I love him,
and I see his torment.
And that rope!
That was his idea.
- A fine idea, no? - A splendid idea!
The son is worthy of his father!
Mine thrashed the craft into me, with the motto:
''A kick in the ass, if well delivered, is a sure laugh.''
It's true.
There's an entire order, a science, a style of kicks in the ass.
Alas, traditions die out.
Audiences always want something new.
Something new. Novelty!
What does that mean?
Novelty is as old as the hills!
Torment... That's meaningless.
Are you tormented?
- It's not the same. - Why?
- Because I have faith. - Faith?
Yes. I hope...
I believe one day you'll love me.
You're sweet, Nathalie.
So are you, Baptiste.
We're not to blame for the situation.
But it's so stupid and unfair.
We run in circles, like circus horses.
I love you. You don't love me.
You love Garance. She loves Frédérick.
How can you say she loves Frédérick?
I don't know. Because they live together.
That proves nothing.
If all couples living together were in love,
the earth would glow like the sun.
They don't live together.
They only pretend to live.
Your pantomimes are killing me!
I'm dying of silence, like others die of hunger or thirst.
As a boy in church,
I wanted to speak from the pulpit in the priest's place.
Don't get angry. You gave me a fright.
I thought you wanted a raise.
I've such expenses! We'll work it out.
You could be the sideshow barker occasionally.
That might tide you over.
Sideshow? Why not?
Anything, anywhere, but not dumb shows for deaf-mutes!
I'd rather play a cripple, dancing in the streets, singing ballads.
Or play hospitals for the blind.
Joan of Arc was lucky... she heard voices!
Voices! I don't ask for much.
I'd be glad just to hear my own from time to time.
Garance, sweet nightingale, where have you been?
At last, rose of my days, light of my nights.
My raven-haired blond Isolde. My sweet, gentle Iphigenia.
Let me know when you finish.
Ingrate, you'd still the voice of love itself.
The voice of love.
What are you thinking about, lovely sphinx?
Nothing.
A lot of things.
I was thinking that all over the world,
there are lovers who make love silently,
or else they use simple words, ordinary words.
How beautiful.
Are you not happy with me, Garance?
You're not happy with me either.
Me?
If you were, would you joke all the time?
If you thought me happy, would you strive so to amuse me?
Not happy, not unhappy. We're somewhere in between.
We're not in love. No one's to blame.
Still, Frédérick, it's nothing to be proud of.
''A gentle moonbeam in her pitch-black hair.''
Would you rather I badger you with questions,
delve into your memories,
spy on you, follow you in the street,
hugging the walls where I've written your name?
Or shake you awake at night to ask who you're dreaming of?
No. Besides, that's unnecessary.
- Why? - You dream out loud, my love.
- Out loud? - Yes, my love.
Take last night. You talked in your sleep.
- What did I say? - Oh, nothing much.
''Baptiste!''
I said ''Baptiste''?
Yes, my love, that's what you said.
- Anything else? - Nothing.
Just ''Baptiste.''
- That's all? - That's all.
What do you mean, that's all?
But isn't it enough to fill my heart with despair?
O perfidious creature! Othello killed Desdemona for much less.
For nothing
Othello became a widower by his own hand.
For nothing.
For a trifle. A little handkerchief.
A batiste handkerchief, no doubt.
Mademoiselle Garance, someone insists on seeing you.
Why all the flowers?
Has someone died?
Yes, Mademoiselle, someone died.
An overconfident man who thought he'd seen everything.
And you killed him.
Please, you're frightening me.
Have no fear. Because of you, another man is born.
He entrusts his life to you.
To do what?
As you wish.
I am your prisoner. Do with me as you will.
All that I possess...
and I possess a great deal...
all that is mine, I lay at your feet.
Forgive me, Mademoiselle.
Never have I been so moved, so overcome.
I express myself poorly.
I realize I speak in platitudes, banalities.
What I say is of no importance.
What matters is your reply.
One word can change your life.
Tomorrow, if you wish,
the most feted beauties will bite their lips bloody
hearing your name.
Their rarest jewels will pale next to yours.
- The finest equipages... - I'm afraid of horses.
I beg of you, don't say no.
Why say yes if I don't want to?
Then say nothing. Let me hope.
While you do all the talking.
And being overcome, you'll spout more banalities.
Diamonds, horses, the strap, the oats, then the harness.
The easy life!
If it all fell from heaven, I might say yes.
But the way you talk:
''One word can change your life.''
So my life is a trifle.
A bagatelle of a life.
What if I enjoy my little life?
But you just walk in and take over.
You take inventory.
I appeal to you. Fine and dandy.
What if someone loved me?
Impossible.
You're much too lovely to be truly loved.
Beauty is exceptional,
an affront to an ugly world.
Men rarely love beauty.
They pursue it to blot it out, forget it.
Are you a hunter?
Don't misunderstand me. I'm being serious.
I merely offer you shelter.
Shelter?
Yes, I've changed.
It's regrettable, but I can't help it.
Ever since I saw you,
I've been dreaming absurd, childish things.
I'm getting old, or else lightning struck.
I no longer exist, I'm shattered,
listless, made of air, cardboard, like this chicken.
Yes, lightning struck.
And that's thunder. A three-franc fine.
Again, my apologies.
I know how troublesome I've been.
Who sounded the thunder?
- I did. - You know the fine: Three francs.
You owe me three francs.
But there's no rush.
I have work and enough to live on.
Enough to live on. I hope that's true.
I'll leave you now.
Forgive me if I've made a fool of myself.
Your beauty alone is the cause of my confusion.
I haven't introduced myself. Unforgivable!
Count Edouard de Montray.
Do keep the card, Mademoiselle.
One never knows. Misfortune strikes at random.
Someday you may need help or protection.
If you do, come what may,
I remain your servant, body and soul.
You can have total faith in me.
Flowers. A wreath.
Just as I said, a funeral.
Mine, perhaps.
You're mad! Why talk like that?
Why shouldn't Baptiste have his funeral?
Like everybody else.
It's true, Garance, I think of it sometimes.
A good idea: Baptiste takes his secret to the grave.
Stop it! It's stupid to speak that way.
His secret.
His little glimmer.
The memory of the night he thought he'd be happy forever.
Don't look like that!
A funeral's not so sad.
A few rays of sunshine and everyone's happy.
Look at it this way.
It's merrier than a wedding with just a groom
and no bride.
I don't like this wedding bouquet.
I hate these flowers!
I hate everyone!
That man who was just here!
I hate Frédérick!
I hate myself!
Baptiste? Who's this Baptiste?
Since the one he loves doesn't love him,
he's a zero, a will-o'-the-wisp,
an automaton, a bogeyman.
No more Baptiste!
Here lies Baptiste.
Life gave him a red flower,
a good beating,
a pinewood overcoat.
Who says I don't love you, Baptiste?
I say so.
How would you know?
When it comes to Baptiste,
I know, see, understand, feel.
- I forbid you! - It's true. You have nothing to say.
Of course, I don't mean you're lying.
But I know.
All the love in the world for Baptiste is mine, mine!
There's no room for others.
It's fate. It's written.
I have it all. That's how it is.
Go ahead and smile.
- I always do. - You're lucky.
I hardly ever smile anymore.
Nor do you, Baptiste.
You were so lively, devoted to your work.
Stop it, Nathalie, please!
Leave me, leave us alone.
Get out, do you hear? Go!
It's your fault he's like this.
Forgive me for saying that.
It's not just jealousy,
but I have so much faith.
I'm absolutely certain
Baptiste and I were made to be together.
Mr. Forestier?
Second floor, rear.
Places! Our prey is here!
The hamper's in place. Fine.
You give me the creeps.
Remember: He knocks, I let him in, you hit him.
If necessary, I finish him off.
He's in luck. Mr. Forestier's rarely in.
In the two weeks he's been here, I've seen him twice.
- What's he like? - A gentleman.
Recommended by Mlle Garance, oddly.
- You don't like her? - I ignore her.
She bamboozled poor Mr. Frédérick!
But I rented the flat.
A well-bred boarder is a nice change.
Murderers!
- What is it? - Just a drunken brawl.
I'll get the police.
Murderers!
Poor Avril. You were as white as a sheet.
Like the victim!
His face was so close, Mr. Lacenaire! His eyes!
You should've hit him sooner.
- What will you have? - A stiff brandy!
A hot chocolate. With cream.
Like a lion, you hear!
Quiet, please.
You say this ''Mr. Forestier'' knew Mademoiselle Garance?
An odd name, no?
I fought like a lion!
They thumped me, but I held my bag like a lion!
- My head's solid! - Please!
A solid head, all right. It took the shock!
- You were saying. - I don't know. I'm in such a state!
Mr. Forestier. Such a gentleman!
But when I asked Mademoiselle Garance,
she said, ''Don't know any Forestier!''
Thrown from the third floor!
Horrible! A father of six children!
The third floor!
Jumped from the third floor... because of a woman!
What happened?
A man threw his wife out the window. Horrible!
A mother of six!
- You can't go in. - I live here.
All right, then.
That's her.
- Mademoiselle! - I know her!
I arrested her over a watch.
She went free, but it was suspect.
Better and better!
Anything you say may be used against you.
I'm not talkative.
We'll see about that. Sit down.
- What do you call yourself? - I never call myself.
I'm always here. There's no need.
But others call me Garance.
- That's no name. - It's a flower.
My real name, my maiden name, is Claire.
- Claire what? - Claire as the day.
Your surname!
My mother was Reine.
Madame Reine. She didn't have family.
A foundling, as they say.
- Your trade? - I'm an artiste.
I'm surprised Madame didn't tell you.
Put down ''artiste.''
Artiste...
in the boudoir.
- Why so rude? - We're not rude.
We're just joking.
Where do you perform? And since when?
The Funambules. About three weeks.
Just passing through town.
- And before that? - I posed for painters.
- Sure. Who? - Mr. Ingres, for one.
- Don't know him. - He's a bit like you.
- He fiddles around. - None of your jokes, my girl.
You joke, too.
I imagine I needn't ask the lady what outfit she poses in.
A beauty like that?
- Some question! - This is my inquiry!
You're inquiry's done, since I'm safe and sound.
He threw his wife out the window?
He doesn't look cruel.
That's enough!
What did I do wrong? I don't understand.
You'll understand soon enough.
But first tell us who this Mr. Forestier is.
- I told the lady I didn't know him. - The nerve!
But you may know him by another name.
Young, dark clothing, manicured hands,
very mannered speech, and impeccable white shirts.
Ring a bell? White shirts?
You know, I used to be a laundress.
A respectable trade, at least.
Yes, and it could even be pleasant
if folks were cleaner.
Chief, I saw the fellow with her!
I did! The day you stole the watch!
- So you deal in watches, too? - It wasn't me. You let me go.
I was sorry I did.
If it wasn't her, it was him. And they were together!
Why the face? This watch business is nothing.
Just an appetizer before the main course:
Attempted murder.
Accessory. That'll get you five or six years, at least.
It's for your own good. We're only trying to help you.
We set the table. Now fork out!
- Hands off! - Respect, is it?
- Why not? I'm innocent. - That'll do!
Pack her off!
Pack me off! Careful!
Fragile: Work of art!
Use a bit of tact, please.
You don't know who you're dealing with.
Kindly inform this person there's been a judicial error.
END OF PART ONE
COMING UP: PART TWO
''THE MAN IN WHITE''
''The mime Baptiste Debureau 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 IN 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 Divine Justice.
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.
A young 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, Iago, 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, Iago!
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!