Good people, feast your eyes on my fair merchandise!
Look well, for these goods are no trifles!
- Will it cure gout? - It'll stiffen your stick!
Come here, little girl!
Where can women relieve themselves?
The jakes?
The what? The jakes? Aye, the jakes.
The jakes!
For two pence, I'll take them there.
We overindulged in plums and grapes!
Quick, or I'll go in my drawers!
Me too!
I doubt you see much theater here.
No, Madame. We're too poor.
Is church your only entertainment?
That, and nature.
Is this it?
Yes, Madame.
Pull your skirts up high or they'll get mucky.
I'll guard the door.
Move over, pissant!
- No! I paid my penny! - I'll tell the priest!
What a good little girl!
Don't we get to see their titties?
Gorgibus! Push it the other way!
We"ll never be ready in time!
What do you want?
Food, Moliere!
I could eat an ox, couldn't you?
We have to get the stage up.
Are you never hungry?
God help me!
You should try some.
What are we doing in this rathole?
Don't blame me.
What do you mean?
It's what comes from your love of playing tragedy.
Is staging old Corneille's work a sin?
Speaking of Corneille...
Was I really that bad?
Not bad, but wide of the mark.
The apples that hit me were not!
- You overact. - And you don't?
No more than you.
We"ll give these folk something less subtle.
"The Jealous Lout"?
I could do a speech from "Le Cid" or "Nicomede".
- No! - Why not?
All the gold on earth would not suffice to buy this secret beyond price!
I'll ask her to come to Paris.
I saw her first!
Go ahead.
Quiet!
Wait your turn!
- Make way, old man. - You mean me?
Let me salute the graceful artist.
I am her father, Giacomo da Gorla.
Who is with her? A cousin?
What are you suggesting?
That you should stand aside, Giacomo!
I advise you to listen.
- Mind your business! - Mind this!
Peace, gentlemen. I suggest something else - the theater!
The illustrious Theater! Come.
You dance divinely.
Pray wait your turn and settle up with my father.
I settled him already.
He fell at my feet.
Will you come to Paris?
Hush! You're distracting me.
I'm stiff with admiration.
Please control your tongue, Monsieur!
I'm only saying you should act.
What do you think I'm doing?
You're dancing.
Quiet! I'm losing my faculties!
So tell me,
what "acting" would I do with you?
We are the illustrious Theater company, led by my humble self.
Damn short for the price, I say!
Are you the man they call "Molière"?
Sadly, no.
I'm only René Du Parc, alias Gros-René, his leading comic actor.
Did Mother tell you acting's my dream?
I saw it in your eyes. Your mother wrote your destiny in them.
Are you a mind reader to know my heart so well?
I want to marry you!
You don't mince words!
The truest words come straight from the heart.
What can I say?
Say yes.
Join the illustrious Theater,
and Paris will kneel before you.
Consent! Moliére's waiting and I'm hungry.
Is this an act or is your love sincere?
Do I look as if I'm lying?
Meet Marquise, my fiancée!
- Where's Moliere? - Gone to get the priest.
Marquise is joining us. She's an actress.
Meet Armande, Madeleine, Genevieve...
That's him! The fat one!
The vile seducer! Destroyer of families!
Butcher of honest men!
Marry them at once, Father,
or he'll refuse to perform in "The Jealous Lout"!
Give me back my daughter!
Give him his bride!
Are you trying to quarter me?
Hands off!
Father! Let's go to it!
Wait!
You need the father's consent!
He's right!
What says the girl?
I'll marry him if I can give up dancing, vertically and horizontally.
On with the wedding!
She's my daughter!
I detest cold food. It gives me gas.
Whoa, Father!
Giving up a daughter is a big decision.
I'm going to do it right, though it makes you fart all night.
Is it the "giving" that irks you?
No more than you, Monsieur. When you "give" a performance,
don't you count the profit?
I offer her my heart, a career in Paris!
For 100 pounds in gold...
her parents could be consoled.
What ails the player?
'Tis more than his life's wages!
'Tis God's will! My daughter is priceless.
- Twenty! - Prithee?
Twenty-five!
- Sixty! - Sixty, so be it!
Twenty-seven!
- Speak up! - Twenty-eight!
Thirty! Aye, thirty!
Not a penny less, for that odd fellow
is my friend, my brother and my son.
Thank you.
Accept! Or before the priest has done digesting
he'll bury you and marry me at the same time!
Thirty!
Father, please.
Marry them, quick!
Rene Du Parc, do you take Marquise Therese Gorla
to be your wedded wife for better or for worse,
till death do you part?
Il do.
Marquise Thérèse Gorla,
do you take this man to be your husband?
Il do.
What do you give her?
My word.
Very well. Amen.
Acting with Moliere!
Any mother would be proud.
Thank you, mother!
Begone, father!
And now, we give you "The Jealous Lout"!
"Gadzooks, my dear!
What a tun of flesh your father is!
How dense his wit, how dark his soul!"
"1 blush for him. I can barely believe that I am his daughter!
One day Fate will reveal that I'm of nobler birth."
"I believe it.
You have that look about you. I fancy I do, too."
Let's start again. "Gadzooks, my dear! What a tun of flesh..."
Tales of love!
Of jealousy!
You will see the Great Turk!
I'll sell my wife to the Turk for the agreed sum.
Selling too cheap is a sin
for one so skilled as you at turning pence into pounds!
Lucille will be mine, and cuckold's horns will adorn her little man's head!
Good-bye, Babooshi.
Good-bye, my lord Gabba-dabba...
Zounds!
That scoundrel will get his just deserts!
I'll sell that ugly old wench he calls his wife!
Unless! Unless...
I sell the rogue himself for ogling my lovely Lucille!
He wants to "horn" me but I'll "horn" him first!
Here's his housemaid.
Well?
Speak!
Go on...
Speak!
Did your mistress not send a message for me?
Do I have to guess it?
Must I tear it from your throat?
Lucille has nothing to tell me.
My lords, she has nothing to say! She has nothing to say!
Perhaps I should dance it instead!
Speak up! We can't hear a thing!
She's...
I don't know!
Armande! Quick!
There you are! I was wondering where you'd gone.
My master has two maids, one deaf and one dumb.
He sends one or the other to his mistresses' husbands.
One or the other?
Aye!
If a cuckold wants to protest,
he sends him the deaf one.
But if he wants to tell a husband that he's cuckolding him,
he sends this one - the mute!
For, as he says, nobody likes to be told of his own misfortune.
Hurry, hurry, my sugars!
Dear brother, consider the facts. Your plight is due to your acts.
Though your woes be ever so great, none will take pity on your state.
This affair is much to my liking.
Its moral is very striking!
A born cuckold, if ever there was one!
By hellish ruse I am undone
yet even Satan himself, methinks, is no more fiendish
than this minx!
The best of them are full of deceit...
the doom of every man they meet.
I abjure their sex henceforth.
Let Satan take them
for what they're worth!
Come to my house. You too, good sire.
Tomorrow we'll try to calm his ire.
If you have a werewolf spouse, send him for lessons at our house!
Marquise, Marquise! Listen!
Keep them awake until we're ready.
Take that off!
Remember, Versailles awaits us.
A chocolate, my dear?
- They're killingly divine. - No, thank you.
- What's she doing? - Upstaging us!
The sweet is upstaging the meat!
Does anyone know that beauty's name?
Have you suddenly acquired a taste for women?
Fear not, my dear. I'm merely curious.
Do you know her, Racine?
No, Milady, but I expect Lully does.
- Marquise Du Parc. - Moliere's mistress??
Presumably.
And Corneille's?
He wrote her a sonnet.
At his age, it's all he can do for her.
She is Gros-René's wife.
This angel, wedded to that tub?
They say the fellow is descended from Hannibal's elephant.
Is he from Carthage?
I said the elephant,
not Hannibal.
If that is a joke, Lully, try putting it to music.
Musician though I am, permit me to spell it out.
The elephant and husband both have big bodies and long appendages!
I don't care for your Italian sauce, Monsieur Lully.
Neither does Monsieur Racine.
Shall we go to Prince de Conti's dinner party?
I dared not suggest it.
You're ripe enough to eat.
You're tickling me, Monsieur Lully!
I'm fingering your luscious fruit.
Milord?
- Did you enjoy the play? - Very much.
How I laughed! So did Milady.
By Gad, I liked you!
All my friends will tell you how rarely I succumb to the charms of your gender.
May I introduce the other players?
No need. I know them already. Ancient history.
I have an idea.
Monsieur Lully?
For the King's birthday,
I wish you to compose a play with dances and pleasing words,
in which His Majesty may admire the youthful grace
of Mademoiselle Du Parc.
I'll get down to it at once.
We all know how my brother loves to dance!
When is His Majesty's birthday?
One week hence. Why?
"Lord, which dark star shone at my birth...
that bores harass me for all they are worth?"
"That bores harass me...
for all they are worth.
A new one is born each day..."
Go to the devil!
"But no bores compare...
with those of today." Is "bores" a word?
Of course! Everybody says it.
I'll come back.
Come in, now you're here. What do you want?
I'm so unhappy.
- Is René a bad husband? - No, far from it.
- Are you unhappy in Paris? - Far from it.
You're pregnant, then.
Far from it. I bleed each month.
"Far from it." Is that all you can say?
Far from it.
I want to be an actress.
Play dumb again, you mean?
I didn't give up everything just to go on dancing.
But here you'll dance to please the King!
- I don't care. - The chance of a lifetime!
I want to learn to act.
Then go and act with Gros-Rene.
He"ll train you. Go! I have work to do.
Madeleine, Catherine, all the girls, even the cook, say how much they owe you.
Really?
They said that?
- That you perform so well... - What else?
First, the audience must be comfortably seated.
Then the lights must go down...
and then, finally...
the curtain rises...
and we enter...
the crux of the matter.
The seashell opens...
To see, in this fair place,
the greatest king of the globe...
Mortals, I have come to you from my forest abode.
Music, maestro!
Meanwhile the naiads, satyr, centaur...
Armande! Come on, please!
There. Good.
Madeleine, go upstage!
Bores, begone!
Or if you must stay, let it be only to brighten his day.
This is no time to dawdle!
Eraste! Enter!
What dark star shone at my birth, that bores harass me...
We're not there yet.
Get changed!
Marie! Her costume!
Keep it going!
Where's my part?
You're the Forest Queen.
Don't I say anything?
You dance.
You said I would act.
- Don't blame me. - What do you mean?
Last night I was trying to work on your speech.
You kept me from writing all night long.
Braggart!
You fell asleep before the action had barely begun.
I've no time to prattle. Get changed.
Only fishwives prattle!
Lully will rehearse with you. I'm busy with the prologue.
From the beginning!
I will not dance.
Women!
Pretty!
Alas, I fear I drew a blank.
Allow me.
To do what?
Offer you my hand and knee to help you jump off the wall.
Isn't that what you want?
Take courage!
Go on, jump! The pond is deep, and you will drown, I swear.
What do you want with me?
I saw you dance the other night.
Exactly.
I am like you.
You're a dancer?
Like you, I need my talent...
for I have no title, no family, no income.
I am all that I have.
It's no use complaining that life is unfair.
God created the poor and the rich,
nobles and serfs, kings and slaves.
Then I have no hope.
You have!
Just learn to smile and be what people want you to be.
Look at me. I have no choice.
I dance in the hands of the mighty
as you will dance for the King tonight and bask in his radiance.
Who are you, Monsieur?
Why worry about a mere extra?
They'll quarter me!
I warned you.
I've got it! Look!
- I have the step! - No you don't.
If she dances, I won't play!
Not you too!
I've searched the gardens. I can't find her.
Couldn't you grant her wish?
She angered me.
You promised her. Vows made in bed should be kept.
You're telling me?
Sleep with Marquise, but don't hurt her, or you'll have me to reckon with.
You dare to threaten me?
You'll have us clapped in irons!
I have only one thing to say. I will act or die.
I solemnly swear that you will act but just for today, dance!
Look out! The King!
I am doomed!
Marie! My costume!
Go, go!
It will be all right.
Moliere! I'm waiting.
Music, maestro!
We're on! Let's go!
You're fine like that.
We're saved.
I'm afraid not, Monsieur.
Don't bother me!
You were in such haste...
I didn't have time to put these on her.
She's to do a cartwheel before the King!
May as well go hang yourself.
Your Majesty?
Come here, Moliere.
You have pleased us beyond measure.
Where fools and prigs
see only fantasy and make-believe,
you have shown us that the theater
is the fountainhead of life itself.
Law is the art of good justice.
I see good, but I do evil.
Where is Mansart?
Must I wait a century before Versailles is finished?
The frost, Your Majesty.
It ruined all the plaster.
Why wasn't it done last summer?
- We were not ready. - I am!
Don't try my patience.
Moliere! Come forward.
Your Majesty?
You must give up "Tartuffe", this new play you're writing.
I am informed it would offend the Church.
But Your Majesty!
When we read it to you, didn't you laugh at the pious hypocrites I mock?
True, but now the sun has gone in. You must abandon it.
Let me show Your Majesty the whole play, just once.
My duty is to the State. It must not be upset by that play.
Think up something new that will please both the clergy and my court.
Something new, Your Majesty? But how?
Plays do not write themselves, and we open in two days.
Two days is short, I grant.
God himself took six to make the world!
Your Majesty,
we could set "Tartuffe" in England.
And start a war against me?
Or in the colonies?
No, no. No niggers and savages here!
We could alter it to mock the Protestants, couldn't we, Father?
We'll see.
Milady speaks highly of Monsieur Racine.
You'll oblige me by staging his new play.
"The Thebans", I believe.
Is it a comedy?
I don't know. You'll see. I'll leave all that to you.
Besides, with you, we never know whether to laugh or cry.
Good grief! Would the King have us take the veil?
If he wants. A hanged man doesn't choose his rope.
Having to act a play by a novice!
Friends!
This is Monsieur Racine, author of "The Thebans"...
Mind your head.
Which the King has kindly asked me to stage.
A tragedy?
Is that a question or a rebuke?
Just wondering.
It's a tragedy.
Then it's a rebuke, but not to you.
A rebuke to whom?
Moliere.
By trying to help you he's not helping you or us.
He"ll have us back playing muddy villages again.
You know that none of us here are capable of playing tragedy.
It's a good play, Rene.
Our business is laughter.
I'm afraid this tragedy will become a farce in our clumsy hands
and a windfall for baked-apple vendors.
Is there a part for me in your play?
I would delight to hear you speak my words.
Are you not forewarned against me?
On what grounds?
I've never played a tragic role.
Pardon my presumption, but...
I believe you have.
Ladies, gentlemen.
Charles, you'll be Polynice. Not my ideal brother, but still...
Gorgibus,
you'll play Eteocle, the old king of Thebes.
Given his age, I don't see who else can do it.
Now... Brécourt
will be Hemon, son of Creon and Antigone's lover.
As for the ladies...
Madeleine will play Jocaste,
Genevieve plays Olympe, Jocaste's confidante
and Catherine is Antigone.
All right?
Ridiculous! Antigone's role is much subtler than Jocaste's.
I've always played the hardest parts.
Madeleine, even in olden days mothers were born before their daughters.
We'll have Marquise as Antigone next!
And why not?
I've read the play. Antigone is for me.
I'm the right age. I have the looks.
Madeleine could easily be my mother.
You'd make a good servant without even acting
and Genevieve can be the maid.
I'll play your lover but not your partner!
Don't worry, Brécourt. You"ll never be either.
To be my lover, you'd have to bend it double for thickness
and as for partners, I'd rather act with that wooden chair.
Then I give up!
Let Rene try his luck. She's his wife.
You want me to play the mother?
Why not?
And me the servant?
And I'm to empty buckets!
Agreed! Now shall we begin?
After I kill you!
Enough, women! Do you keep your brains between your legs?
I am a mother, Creon.
His brother has my heart but I love the King in no lesser part.
Craven courtiers may hate him but I,
as a mother, cannot my instincts belie.
Your interests with ours run true.
The King's foes are not all hostile to you.
Creon, you're a father
and of those foes, one...
Creon, you're a father and of those foes, one...
Creon,
you're a father and of those foes, one
perhaps you imagine to be your son.
We all know how valiantly Hemon serves Polynice.
I know it, madam, and I do him justice.
I grant that he is no common man
and I hate him uncommonly as none other can.
I wish, in my anger
righteous and true
that as my son hates me, all should hate him too!
The play isn't over yet!
She'll kill you.
I was only helping her.
Don't act so naive.
Get rid of Marquise or I quit!
I'll tear her apart and save us time!
Where's she hiding?
I'll rip her tongue out!
She's hiding! Curse the little trollop!
She's not here. Follow me!
I want to hear your heart flutter as lightly as an eyelash.
It must come, not from here but from here!
Repeat after me:
"Hemon, see how love o'ercomes me. I cannot live except for thee."
Let go of me first.
- Go on! - I refuse!
Say it! The other day, by the pond,
your heart needed no prompting to speak.
"Hemon,
see how love o'ercomes me.
I cannot live...
except for thee."
Don't explain the words. Suffer them!
"Yes...
love, you hold my fleeing soul.
I hear the voice of my vanquisher.
My heart has lost all hope,
yet you are alive, and bid me also live."
I am among friends here.
Come.
Monsieur Racine almost became a lawyer.
I'd gladly file suit with him!
Mademoiselle de Ruy! Restrain yourself.
You are here at my request.
Milord wages a war of courtesies
while I marshal an army of damsels to serve the King.
- Do you take me for La Fontaine? - Why?
I feel like a fox in a henhouse.
Beware lest the hens devour you!
I want to see you here often.
In the royal theater, the best scenes are often played in the wings.
How ugly she is with her big mouth and small eyes.
And thick-witted, with such a low brow.
Doesn't she smell of the farmyard?
She stinks of vulgarity, in any case.
Apparently she showed her backside to the King!
How appalling!
Allow me to introduce Widow Catherine Deshayes,
an expert in powders of dispatch,
lethal brews, needles and other instruments,
devil-worship...
Is that a condemnation?
No, it's my vocation.
- All without risk? - I guarantee it.
The best shield against poison is to have your own poisoner.
Follow me, Monsieur.
My name's Elizabeth.
- A game of backgammon? - No thank you.
What will you give us?
A few lines from "Andromaque".
"Do you seek me, Madame?
May I cherish the hope?"
She's mad to show her to the Queen!
"Judging by their alarm, the Greeks..."
Ladies, the Queen!
Who is this new person?
Mademoiselle Du Parc, at your service.
So you are the one the King told me about.
Now I understand why
he graced me with his attentions twice last night.
You were upon his mind while he was upon me.
Serves her right.
Your Majesty.
Would you have us jailed?
They were sizing me up like a heifer!
Are you going to spend your life waiting for a role?
Are you going to spend yours currying favor with Milady?
Milady and her court appreciate good poetry.
Poetry? Is that a Parisian word for leading the bull to the cow?
I have no talent, only charms. Look at me.
Don't be so childish!
Come to my house tomorrow.
Your house?
We'll rehearse.
Don't forget. Your Andromaque is a widow but I'm not.
I haven't slept.
Nor have I.
Come in.
Pardon my state of dress.
Come.
Come in, sit down.
Have you finished your play?
Not yet.
I'm not sure it's worth it.
One moment I read my words and they seem like pearls.
The next, I feel that not even swine would swallow them.
I'm no good at words. I had too little schooling
but I trust you and commit myself to you...
by instinct.
"Ah! Stay, my lord. What would you do?
If you yield up the son, yield up the mother too."
"Phoenix will vouch that I gave my word."
"What shall I say? What words are my lot?
Source of my woes, prince who knows them not,
Sire, see the state to which you reduce me..."
I didn't write that.
You didn't? It sprang to my lips.
You'd rewrite my play?
Her words are mine, her voice is yours.
It's out of the question. I won't allow it.
Moliere could teach you humility.
A pox on Moliere!
Gros-René has often invented lines on stage, which Moliere kept
as a precious token of their friendship.
Is that how I should take your lines?
"Sire, what shall I say?"
That you are mine alone.
"Source of my woes, prince who knows them not..."
I know everything. I'd die for you.
"See the state to which you reduce me."
No, not yet.
Don't refuse. You have no right.
Finish the play and I will be yours.
Don't torture me. I love you.
I love you too. But I wouldn't want our embraces
to leave your page as white as a bedsheet.
What ails you, dearest?
A pain that gnaws at my heart.
Am I the cause?
No, my love.
I don't mind what you do or who with as long as you love me.
Nothing will come between us.
Not even Monsieur Racine?
Won't you answer?
I'm afraid.
Of him?
I'm afraid of myself.
Do you love him?
" Am no ogre on the prowl ever returning home to growl!
Nor an arrant, brutal fool who seeks his wife to rule!"
I love you, my giant.
No man is half the man you are, in heart, soul or body.
Ah, my wench!
"...as my son hates me..."
Lean back! That's it.
"...all should hate him too!"
Stop this at once!
Are you drunk to interrupt us thus?
Moliere, I put no dancing in my "Thebans"!
Use your buffoon
to weigh down your farces, not my tragedies!
Your "Thebans" made barely a pound last week.
You should thank Rene and Marquise for doubling the take.
You too, no doubt, for penning a popular version!
Yes, Monsieur! When Moliere plays, people applaud.
With Racine, they yawn and get bored!
More likely you're afraid the King will think me better than you.
Ambition blinds you, young man!
I'm trying to save your tragedy.
Again! 7, 8... 1!
Save it? By debasing my verse and Marquise's talent?
Do you judge an actress's talent by her hips
and the way she thrusts them at you?
You don't deserve my play. I take it back.
And I throw it back!
I vomit it back at you!
I've come to lay Andromaque in your hands...
and my soul at your feet.
The ink is still wet.
I've waited so long for this!
Floridor is ready to stage it.
Is the part still mine?
Is the baby yours?
No, Moliere and Armande's. She's thrilled. Duc de Créqui is to be godfather!
- Will you be godmother? - Not me.
Princesse d'Orléans, no less!
By Jove!
I added some orange water to help him sleep.
Go on, be off! If Moliere sees you, he'll kill you.
I am Moliere's man.
I won't desert him.
- You're too loyal. - You're ungrateful.
I owe him nothing. To him I'm just a dancer, a mistress.
He only takes. He never gives.
And me?
What would I do in "Andromaque", supposing I broke my word?
- Pyrrhus. - Don't make fun of me.
- It's a big part. - Whoever wants it can have it.
- Won't you even read it? - I do no big parts, only fat ones.
Rehearsals start tomorrow.
If all goes well,
in three weeks, the King and all of Paris will applaud you.
All France will know your name.
Yours, you mean.
The same thing, as you will be mine.
The candlelight bothers me.
Is that better?
I can't leave Moliere.
I'll talk to the King.
It's not Molière. It's Gros-René.
Where does he come into it?
He's my husband, remember.
Since when do husbands interfere?
You offered me Andromaque. Now take me, as I promised.
Get dressed.
Have you lost your mind?
No, it's saving me from the lures of my senses.
You'll be mine when you're Andromaque.
I'll burn my play before I give her to another.
I love you.
I'll wait.
Are you praying, Madame?
I'm pissing.
In church?
You're almost an hour late and charity inspires me
to share what God so generously put in my bladder.
The problem is the lady loves her husband.
The delicate problem you mentioned is actually child's play.
I have some chocolates here.
If they don't work I'll make more, free of charge,
until your wishes are fulfilled.
And if they work?
You pay me a share of your royalties.
I'm told you'll soon be greater than Corneille and Moliere combined.
I despaired of seeing you.
I've been thinking since that night.
What is that?
Some chocolates.
Let Milady and her maids enjoy them. You can't bribe me.
- They're not for you. - Not for me?
They're for Gros-Rene.
You think you can buy him with sweets?
No. I hoped to present my respects and say with this modest gift
how much I admire his loyalty to Moliere.
Never mind Andromaque.
It's not every day that a playwright can salute an actor's honesty.
Moliere should stage it.
Floridor only wants money. Moliere squanders it,
but beneath his mask he knows about the agonies of love.
May I see Gros-Rene?
Alas, no. He took ill last night.
He's very sick.
Does it happen often?
Never before, thank God.
Did he overeat?
He won't even touch food.
Give me those.
I want to talk to you alone.
You love Marquise, don't you?
I cannot...
"I cannot"?
Three meager syllables. One quarter of a hexameter.
Make it up to a third. Do you love her?
Yes.
Then I entrust her to you.
But first, swear to me you'll never do her wrong.
Never.
She is so fragile.
She will love you.
She denies it, but she will.
Don't hurt her. Swear it.
Swear it!
I swear.
Let us scrutinize
the humors first, before we proceed
to take the measure of the hard and soft.
I agree we should apply our noses to the task.
But not our fingers. I suggest we let blood.
Then let us apply leeches to the prominent parts.
I'm dying!
Indeed, Monsieur.
Leeches, glasses, incisions,
ten liters of enema...
I'm dying.
Gros-Renée...
Call a doctor, quick!
- I'm dying. - No.
No, my love. Don't die.
Don't do that to me.
Don't leave me.
He's dead.
Speak up! We can't hear you!
He says he's dead!
Medicine killed him!
Out! Get out of my room.
Moliere has set aside a role for you.
What kind of role would he give me?
He's never believed in me.
Racine declares you'll be Andromaque.
He says it to console me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't.
Why not?
I'm tied to Moliere's company.
Racine has obtained your release.
The role of Andromaque awaits you!
So much kindness, all for nothing.
Bestir yourself, Madame...
before you're dried up and unwanted.
And forget Rene?
Not forget him...
just replace him.
You have a heart of stone.
If I were begged, as you are, I'd know where to find love.
Go on! What are you waiting for? Take the role yourself!
Whether your grief is real or feigned...
it won't bring Gros-Rene back to life.
Do it for him, if not for yourself.
For him?
To be sure! Whenever Marquise appears on stage
the name of Du Parc will be applauded.
How I love you for thinking of that!
Stay, my lord! What would you do?
If you yield up the son, yield up the mother too.
Just now, you vowed me such amity...
No, no, no! For pity's sake, Marquise!
We're not on the Pont Neuf, playing to the vulgar masses.
Give it style, forsooth! Grandeur!
Art!
Let's go on.
Lord! Can I not now appeal to your pity?
Is he doomed? Will my plea be unheard?
Phoenix will vouch that I gave my word.
You, who once braved every peril for me...
Then I was blind.
Now I can see.
You could have saved him from his fate,
had you but asked. Now 'tis too late.
The die is cast.
My lord,
you heard how I sighed
for fear that my request would be denied.
One question, Marquise.
Is this how you plan to act?
Yes. Why?
Perhaps I misread you. Forgive me.
Is this poetry or a woman's words scribbled in haste"?
You are jesting.
No, just wondering. Are we to play for the mob?
Play it so the Court will hail and adore us.
If Marquise plays it her way
they won't hail and adore us, they'll ignore us.
Can't you tell great Floridor, as you told me,
"Don't act the words, suffer them"?
For heaven's sake, let Monsieur Floridor act as he sees fit.
He's not fit, he's deaf
so he shouts and sprays me with spittle!
Crowned heads have been content, in the heat of the moment,
to bathe in my glory.
Count your blessings. You'll act for the King
with the greatest thespian alive.
You ridiculed Moliere for less when we played your "Thebans".
Molière is a mere comedian.
Here, Madame, we are performing tragedy.
Floridor is right. I bow to his wisdom and so should you.
You shouldn't betray yourself to win favor.
Do as he says. If you can't respect him, do it for me.
It's not easy to die of love for a senile, impotent old fogy!
Do you mean me?
He admits it!
I'm glad to see you still possess a grain of mental lucidity.
Enough to perceive that your mouth is better at taking than giving!
She's mad.
Monsieur Racine, it's past noon.
Come in.
- Take it away. We're not hungry. - You've had nothing for two days.
I'm starving!
I can hear your heart.
What is it saying?
It's saying
I love you...
and you love me.
Be quiet.
Isn't it saying that?
Yes, but...
- But what? - I'm hot.
You're lying.
Didn't we swear to share everything?
To keep no secrets from each other?
I don't want to hurt you.
Who can hurt a dead man? You have slain me.
You may have mastered the secrets of the soul
but women have depths that you have yet to fathom.
Such as?
You make love the way Moliere acts tragedy.
You raise your voice, puff up the lines,
recite when you should speak and run when you should walk.
You excite me.
The way tragedy excites Moliere.
You have to control yourself or it's no good.
- You have no right. - I have every right.
I love you.
Hurry! The King has arrived. Get into your costume!
I have the trots! Stage fright! I'm too excited.
I'm sorry. Go and pay your respects.
We can't keep him waiting.
I'm not like him. I can't perform on a toilet seat.
You're killing me.
Who's this? Who's this?
Who can it be?
It's my Finance Minister!
No, you're much softer than him.
What's this you're giving me?
My, what a surprise!
We can start in a moment, Your Majesty.
These damsels were saying their charms surpass
those of Du Parc, who keeps us stewing here.
On slow coals!
Mademoiselle De Ruy was claiming that her bosom
is so much fuller than Du Parc's, my armies could maneuver in it.
I agree, Majesty.
Madame de Renéville was vaunting her legs and thighs,
which all of Versailles would not tire.
I don't deny it.
Show us the way to the spring where I love to bathe.
It's so soft!
Admit that they all surpass the grace and beauty of your Du Parc,
who's beginning to exhaust my patience.
I do, Your Majesty.
You see?
You are, ladies, without a doubt the crest on His Majesty's coat of arms.
Nevertheless,
though you bend over backwards to equal Miss Du Parc,
you will only be pale imitations.
If your eyes contained a quarter of what lies in hers,
would you need to flaunt your bosoms and bottoms thus?
"Flaunt your bosoms and bottoms"!
Racine, among my army of flatterers you are beyond doubt
the field marshal.
We're ready, Majesty.
What luck!
Du Parc has the grace to be just one hour late!
Let my son admire those who gave him birth.
Encourage him to imitate their worth.
Tell him about the feats which won them fame
for noble deeds outweigh a noble name.
Remind him each day of the virtues of his father...
and, now and then...
remind him of his mother.
Urge him not to avenge our fate. He'll have a master on whom to wait.
Let him not boast of the blood in his veins,
though of great Hector is all that remains...
and for those remains
I myself, in one day,
my blood, my hate and my love gave away.
Do not come with me
if your heart fears that it cannot contain its tears.
Someone is coming.
Dry your eyes, and do not forget
Andromaque's fate depends on you yet.
It is Hermione.
Come.
Let us flee her wrath.
Rise, Madame.
Take your triumph standing up.
Well done!
You made me weep!
I feel I've met my match.
You have! She has age on her side.
Look at my hands. They're red from clapping!
I'm so happy for you!
Marvelous!
Didn't I tell you?
What can I say, except that I was wrong?
You liked my performance?
I never dreamed that tragedy could be acted so naturally.
But you set out the rules in "Les Précieuses"
The King just spoke to me about you-know-what.
May I hope?
Have I ever failed you?
Never, Milady.
I remember when I first saw you dance.
I remember too.
- The air was raw. - I caught a cold.
Did my rays not warm you up?
Alas, Majesty, the sun lights the world but its touch burns the moon.
Are you so bold as to refuse me?
I've become even cheekier since we first met.
Milady and Racine seem to share every secret.
Why are you moving everything out?
Who sent you bullies here?
It's been seized - by me!
You slimy toad!
The creditors have seized the theater.
Quick, while he's not looking!
- Where's Moliere? - At the White Sheep.
Friends! Here comes an angel.
Heaven sent her to us. Come, my lovely.
- Give him a drink. - No!
The King won't let the dogs eat you.
The King can't help me.
Appeal to him.
What for, Marquise?
To save your theater, your troupe, your life.
You're such a child.
The King must humor the Church, I must humor him,
you must humor Floridor.
Come drown with us, Molière.
Well said. Come on, Lully.
Let's go.
What can we do? Art, literature, theater...
It's all just empty, hollow vanity.
My soul is sad. My life's sad. This wine's sad!
Hush!
I'm still here.
That's true. You're here.
Madeleine's here too, holding the strings of my empty purse.
And Catherine, Genevieve
and Armande, my little Armande...
Only women? You're doomed!
Women are more help than drunken, smelly old composers.
Smelly old composers live forever!
No woman ever composed music...
or wrote for the theater.
"I'm still here."
"I'm here for you!"
If only Gros-Rene were here to give me courage and make me laugh!
I can tell jokes and play the fool if it keeps you from drinking.
I love you, Marquise.
You haven't let me down.
That's why I love you.
Do you want to drown with me?
Do you?
Let's go.
What about Racine?
He surrounds me with old men.
He deserted me for Floridor.
He'll desert you too.
He's a natural born deserter.
Aha! You're more jealous than the ogres in your plays.
Let's do a play for René.
- Let's jump in the Seine. - Let's ask the King.
Let's die first and talk later.
What do you say, angel?
I say you're our best author.
Italians can't take French wine!
Begging the King for favors is not a part I like to play.
The Ottoman Ambassador!
You have no appointment.
Please stand aside.
Do you know this man?
To say I do not would be to insult the theater.
Please ask the King to give him an audience.
I'm afraid he is already giving audience.
They say you have balls, Monsieur.
Prove it by letting me in, and I'll let you in
somewhere else, whenever you please.
Will you really?
I beg you to buy back Moliere's theater from his creditors.
Madame, you irritate me.
Are you aping Andromaque or just being insolent?
Andromaque is a woman, not an idea.
She isn't brave on stage and weak in life.
Is it her bravery that incites you to nag poor Floridor,
whom my grandfather so admired?
Your grandfather was young then and Floridor already old.
Your sarcasm, Madame, amuses us most highly.
Let the merriment continue.
Our dear Racine...
You can't imagine what he was willing to do for you.
I know what he's willing to give up.
Poisoning Du Parc to make you a widow held no fear for him.
Majesty! I never dreamed...
I hear that you signed away a third of your income
to a woman notorious for dealing in lethal chocolates.
Your Majesty, it's a malicious rumor.
It's true, Racine writes tragedies which poison my life
but Gros-René -
forgive me, Marquise - was a tolerant husband.
Majesty, I admit I sometimes wished René dead,
but what lover would not kill for his beloved?
He loves her. She loves him. They are thwarted...
so he draws his sword
and slays the bore who stands in his way.
You see?
It sounds more like Corneille than Racine.
Tragedy writers Kill many people, but only on paper.
Your generosity and mettle will always endear you to us.
I thank Your Majesty.
As for you, Racine... Step forward.
Kindly desist from signing anything but your plays.
Why are you crying? Didn't we triumph tonight?
It's nothing, Madame.
Look at me.
Repeat after me: patati, patata.
I'm too miserable.
Go on, say it.
There! You're smiling.
Now tell me what's wrong. Blow your nose.
You act so convincingly.
Is that why you're crying?
I wish I could act like you!
Say a line from Andromaque. Any line.
I don't know any.
Why are you lying?
"Although the Greeks may remonstrate,
you are still mistress of your fate."
First, stand up.
Don't breathe from here. From here! Go on!
Although the Greeks may remonstrate,
you are still mistress of your fate.
Again!
Look into my eyes. Pretend I'm your lover.
I'm a virgin.
Use your imagination.
I want to feel your stomach swell
and your heart burst from your breast!
Suffer it!
Or I'll tan your rump until my palms are raw.
Go on!
"Although the Greeks may remonstrate,
you are still mistress of your fate."
"Alas, see now what your words have done.
I have no choice but to doom my son."
"Madame, with your husband you have kept faith.
Do not let too much virtue lead to death.
He would have urged you to be mild."
See? Acting is easy.
You just have to die on stage every night.
Good. Now help me dress.
Were you waiting for me?
Congratulate me!
I'm to be the King's historian!
I wish you luck.
Is that all you can say?
I'm going to lie down for a while.
- What's the matter? - Nothing.
I'm worried. I was nowhere near my best last night.
Nonsense! The whole audience wept.
Tonight we play at the King's command.
If I'm strong enough.
Hush! Like last night, you'll be splendid.
Let's go.
I've had enough.
- Walk out on the King? - I feel sick.
Marquise, please!
If ever I can't perform,
swear you won't replace me.
How often must I tell you? Only you can be Andromaque.
Mansart!
Lift our spirits. Will we soon be in Versailles?
If Your Majesty would ask Milord not to fire his musket at my scaffolding,
you could move in by Christmas.
He has maimed two of my workers and blinded another to amuse his friends.
How irksome. I assure you it won't happen again.
I thank Your Majesty.
As of tomorrow, Milord will take musketry lessons.
It is unworthy of a prince to miss his mark.
Racine! Step forward.
Hold this and summon Miss Du Parc.
I will show her a sight as rare as the one she showed us.
Here she comes, Sire.
Can you imagine? My doctors have told me to take a bath!
A bath? How horrible!
I know. Some years ago
I had a very strict tutor who inflicted one on me.
To mark the event, I have penned a short poem.
Would you comfort me by reciting it as I take the plunge?
If it pleases Your Majesty.
Is it a King's duty to sacrifice himself?
It is, Your Majesty.
Gentlemen, I commit myself to you for the glory of science
at the risk of my life!
Have you ever taken a bath?
No, but your example may encourage me to try one.
"'How lovely it is to see the grace and beauty of this mere
as, cradled in a bed held dear, its gentle tides flow sleepily."
Forgive me, but I hear you poorly!
How lovely it is to see
the grace and beauty of this mere...
Your water cure is softening my ears. I can't hear a thing!
Some wine will clear my voice.
I beg your pardon?
Is this close enough or shall I send for your ear-trumpet?
"O Eyes! Let us draw nearer
to the peerless chimera displayed in this glassy pool.
Let us admire the beauty and might
with which its waters clear and cool
enchant and beguile our senses and sight."
Wicked man, making you catch your death!
My back is burning, my lungs and throat are on fire,
my nose is dripping, my ears ache...
By God!
I'll have to act through my asshole tonight.
It's time you got deflowered.
- How can you act if words offend you? - You're delirious.
More cups
- and don't lecture me. - I'm cupping.
- Do you want leeches too? - No!
- I hate those creatures. - I adore them.
I'd love to see them purge you of your meanness.
Mean? Me? Because I mock your cherry?
Look to your health instead of corrupting me.
Take them off. I have to go.
So soon?
Look.
Look at my eyes.
Don't they seem to glow with rapture
like the eyes of a tortured martyr?
They do.
Quick! Before I recover and their feverish glow goes out.
Hurry up and dress me.
You know you shouldn't go on.
Of course I know.
How I wish I could be like you!
Madame,
judging by their alarm, the Greeks will soon give you fresh cause to weep.
What urgency provokes their fright?
Has some poor Trojan made good his flight?
Why be stubborn? Unleash your tongue!
- He swore to yield my son. - 'Tis not yet done!
Whether I weep or not, he dies.
Does she not even deign to turn her eyes?
What pride!
I'm only fueling his rage.
Let us away.
Is there no stand-in?
No-one stands in for Marquise. Who could?
I know her role!
I've recited it backstage every night,
matching the movements of my lips to hers,
following her steps, copying her gestures
until I don't even know who's acting - her or me.
Put on the dress.
I'll tell them we'll go on.
I won't allow it!
Moliere's through with you. If I go bankrupt, you're finished.
You have no right.
Marquise will be well tomorrow. She told me to step in.
Put on the costume.
Madame, judging from their alarm, the Greeks
will soon give you fresh cause to weep.
What urgency has caused their fright?
Has some poor Trojan made good his flight?
They fear not that he'll avenge his father
but that he'll dry the tears of his mother.
With him, no spouse or father would I need.
Yet I must lose all,
and always by your deed.
Be still. You have a fever.
Where am 1?
At home, look.
How long have I been here?
Three days.
Where is Racine?
Shall I warm you some broth with a little hot wine?
Has the play been stopped?
No, why?
They can't do "Andromaque" without me.
Marie is standing in for you.
Marie? That pup who still sucks at my breast?
She has made progress.
Racine won't let her.
And yet he does.
I don't believe it.
She's a child.
There are no children.
She might tempt him for three or four days...
The fourth day is almost over.
What does the King say?
He has somewhat deserted us.
We're actors to the end, you said.
Did 1? I refute it. If not, I dispute it.
Don't go.
Don't forget me.
Remember how Pyrrhus, with eyes of fire,
made of our palaces a funeral pyre,
trampling my brothers' corpses on his way,
dripping with blood, urging his men to slay!
Hear how the victors yelled!
Hear how the victims cried
as, choked by smoke and gored by sword, they died.
Picture Andromaque amid the bloody strife.
That is how Pyrrhus came into my life.
Tragedy actors suffer a terrible fate.
They are born at the start of Act One and die at the end of Act Five.
In the meantime, what must they do? Suffer, suffer...
suffer.
So they flee the stage because...
they are afraid of all this suffering.
But then they see there's nowhere else for them...
nowhere else than the stage...
for them to live out their suffering,
their anguish,
their tragedy.
One day, you will understand that to act is to agree to die.
Did I say my lines well?
Very well but hush, now.
You replaced me too soon.
She acts a role. I acted my life.
Why did you do this?
A pregnant woman's whim.
You're pregnant?
Four months.
Why didn't you tell me?
I didn't want you to replace me.
Hush, hush.
I love you.
Look.
I'm dying happy in your arms.
Kiss me.