The Fiancée of Darkness
At the beginning of the 13th century, in the south of France,
a strange religion, come from the Orient, seemed about to replace Christianity.
To the heretics who had embraced this new faith
and who had become worshippers of Death,
the name of the village of Albi was given.
In a merciless crusade, the great lords of the North
practically extinguished the heresy in Languedoc.
Yet certain initiates have preserved its condemned beliefs
and passed them down through the ages to our own time...
If it's raining, the battel continuse under the arsh
I shall be a great musician Roland Sanblanca 1920
Just passing through that door, I feel 700 years older in a single stroke.
That doesn't happen to you, does it Miss Perdrières?
It seemed to me like it was still the Middle Ages,
and crack!
- You'll excuse me, Mr. Toulzac. - Yes, yes, yes, I know.
Don't miss your train.
- Goodbye doctor. - Goodbye.
You too... you're in a hurry.
It's stunning. It stands to reason that you should have died 5 years ago.
And you believe that I am alive?
Thank you.
- Goodbye, commander. - Goodbye.
- And your wife? - Still off her feet.
Not feeling well?
It's nothing. I get emotional.
That old cowherd's song expresses so much suffering.
Yes. They had to resort to stakes and carnage to shut it up.
And they still wouldn't shut up...
Going through a rough patch, Mr. Delmas?
Oh... it's just that the exams are coming up
and I haven't marked the essays yet.
Ah, yes. I know how that goes.
Exam fever!
That takes me back to when I was headmaster at Montségur.
Ah yes! Well... until our next Sunday.
Whenever you like... I'm not going anywhere.
I'm not going anywhere!
I'm like a dead man.
They all come to view the body and then they leave again.
They have papers to mark, a train to catch,
a wife in a cast.
That's called living.
They come to forget that they're in hell.
But in your company, one can still believe in another world:
one comes to the end of the tunnel
and catches sight... of a light.
Oh, Miss Perdrières, stop!
In the end, it will just end by ending.
Tell me, have you brought something for me today?
Nothing much: some old registers,
some account books, a Gospel in Occitan.
Everything must be read.
The archives are not inexhaustible.
We can be sure of one thing anyway: that it exists, that sanctuary!
Do you want to carry on with the analysis?
Not right now. No, I want...
for you to perch yourself a moment at the window...
Yes?
The little fig tree in the garden... can you see it?
Yes, it is starting to bear figs.
It was Mr. Artozoul who planted it just before he died.
I had sent it to him from Montségur.
It had grown there all by itself in the heart of the school.
"I'll get even with you for that," Mr. Artozoul had sworn to me.
He worshipped you. He called you the holy man.
Ah yes, he left me his house, his garden,... his books.
I didn't deserve so much as that.
I'd only have to take three steps to meet with him again...
A hop, skip, and a jump, and there'd it be, the happy valley...
where it's forever break of day.
I'll say to him: "You did pretty good Mr. Artozoul. "
And he'll say: "Bah!"
We'll walk along...
very quietly.
I'll tell him: "I've done what you asked me to do,
"I've continued your research".
It will be crystal clear,
it will be calm...
It's time for your curds and whey.
Thank you.
Aha! How nice of Sylvie.
But for her, I wouldn't even know that it was springtime.
Brave Sylvie! She doesn't like to go out very much, mind you.
But she says to herself,
"I'll take a stroll for Mr. Toulzac. That will please him. "
It's true.
She is my eyes.
She is my legs. Without her...
But aren't you afraid that she's sacrificing herself?
She should have a lust for life at her age.
She certainly has, but the tragedy is that she's afraid, too.
When I talk to her about going down into town to see some people,
she looks at me with bleary eyes. She clings to me.
All the same, maybe I shouldn't speak to her of death and giving everything up.
The rest of us, Miss Perdrières,
we know that there is no hope on this earth.
But go tell that to a young girl
who see smiles on everyone's lips.
Go and tell her that it's an illusion.
She only asks that I believe, that's true.
But one day, she may regret it.
- Haven't you told her about my offer? - Oh yes. Ten times.
But she pretends she hasn't heard it.
I'd be very happy to take her place, if she ever decides...
shall we say... to quit on you.
I'd do my best, you know.
I know. I know that you have a kind heart.
But what prevents Sylvie from being a young girl like anybody else,
that doesn't depend on either you or me.
It's something inside her.
Hey! Good morning, Mr. Limousis!
Who's hiding in there?
Antoinette, the granddaughter of Mélanie.
Antoinette!
If you persist in saying hello to all of Carcassonne, we'll never finish.
Around here, we've got the time. This isn't Paris.
It was Mr. Limousis, the gardener.
Look at her.
She's like a goldfish who has rediscovered her bowl.
The image is a bit saucy, but... let's continue getting acquainted.
By marrying Roland, my dear lady, you gained a dozen or so uncles.
Uncle Dumas was passionate about barrel making.
- Hey... it's Francisou! - Hey, it's Toinette! You're back.
- Do you have anything for me? - Come and see?
- Antoinette! Who are you talking to now? - To the postman. He's my uncle.
There sure are a lot of uncles in the south.
Uncle Horace...
Oh! I wonder what could have happened to Uncle Horace's little nephew!
- Which little nephew? - My brother! Her husband if you prefer.
Papa? He went up to the castle. He told me so.
Hey ho! Roland's first vist to the old queen.
There's an old queen in the castle?
A very old queen with a pointed crown
and stone petticoats.
The image is a bit saucy, but...
I bet you found this in the attic.
Yes sir. It foretells the rain and nice weather.
- Antoinette! Who are you waving to now? - To Mr. Roland. He's here.
It's good, from time to time, to go back and drink from the well.
The image is a bit saucy, but...
- You know, Cimentin... - My name is Tristan, sir.
Good morning, darling.
- Good morning. The piano tuner is here? - Yes.
I was the best friend...
Oh, I hope that the citadel didn't let you down.
Let's just say... I've let myself down.
You know how it is when you suddenly contemplate the path you've beaten...
take a good look at yourself.
It isn't always pretty.
But all is not lost Marie-Claude. I'm 10 and I'm going to be a great composer.
- But you are a great composer. - Oh no, no. Up to now, I've...
I've composed with my head. I want to compose with my heart.
- Are you going to cheat on me? - Only while I'm writing the symphony.
Papa, papa! I want to play Cabaillou!
- Cabaillou? You're speaking patois now? - Antoinette has been teaching him.
Well then.. hold on tight, caballero! We're off to attack the wicked dragon.
- Giddyup! - You really are 10 years old.
I wanna go see the old queen!
What? You know about the old queen, Tristan?
Yes. In the castle. Mr. Fontvieille told me about her.
- Is he here? - He's been here... forever.
- Finally! Here you are. - I'm delighted to see you again.
I thought that you'd completely forgotten the way to Carcassonne.
If you only knew how sad it looked, a friendly house with closed shutters.
- Blame that on Marie-Claude. - Blame it on your hit.
Oh, that's true. You've achieved a magnificient career.
Oh ho.. magnificent... let's be honest.
But I hear you all over the radio. I'm proud of you, you know.
A Sanblanca composer! Well it's the flower of our genealogical tree!
The flower? What about me? What am I then? Dried fruit?
Oh, Dominique! Well... you're the full bloom of spring.
Ah... thank you!
Papa! I wanna go to the castle.
Sunday. I promise.
We're about to mount an attack, and I offer you your Uncle Cesar's sabre!
- Off you go! Sunday! - Ah, yes... you're very clever!
How about you, Fontvieille?
- Still writing poetry? - Always.
The Lovers of Mistral, The Games of Languedoc, my Express Chronicles.
- And you... what are you playing there? - Strange, isn't it?
The music of stones, the lament of ancient towers.
- I think I'll help myself to it. - Hmm, I think you'd better not.
- Why? - Because...
You're going to make fun of me, but some things are better left untouched.
You know what the country folk say?
There is a cowherd in a black robe who comes to round up the dead.
Well... what you're playing there, that's the cowherd's song,
the dirge of death.
You really believe in those tales?
Who knows?
At the time of the crusades,
the Albigenses would chant as they went to their slaughter.
They kept right on chanting as they went up in flames.
A pane of stained glass from the Fontfroide Abby.
- Mean anything to you? - No more than the others.
The Gospel according to St. John in Occitan?
It's odd to imagine Jesus speaking in patois.
Is that all?
One more:
on the state of repairs undertaken on the bell tower of Saint Vincent
Well, then. Nothing especially breathtaking.
Give it all here.
For the two of us at least, there's little rest until it's found, is there?
When Mr. Artozoul bought this castle keep at Trencavel,
he knew exactly what he was doing, you know.
Good evening!
Good evening, Eloi!
I've brought some wood. I've come to build a fire.
Thank you.
The days are still chilly, especially if you don't get around.
Otherwise... it's the month of May.
So Mr. Toulzac, nothing new in all your registries?
No. They're called "registers".
Yes, but registries is easier.
My legs don't want to take one more step.
1934 steps up,
1934 steps down.
That equals zero.
Yet somehow, I'm rather tired.
Sylvie...
you ought to go out a while. That would make me happy.
I need to know if there are any stars.
Go ahead, Sylvie.
I'll see them in your eyes.
If one reflects on it a bit, it explains itself.
To get to the citadel, he has to pass along the riverbank.
All through there, there are I don't know how many trees,
apples, peaches, pears and plums.
And all of them in flower.
In a sense, that explains why he smells of such pleasant scents.
- Who? - Autan, the wind...
Eloi, lower your voice.
Well, Sylvie?
It's a beautiful night, hmm?
Yes...
it's a beautiful night.
You sure don't need bedsheets for ghosts.
But all the same, there are some things that can't be explained.
I toss a stone into a cavern
and I hear it falling for an hour.
Badaboum...
badaboum...
and it never hits bottom.
During the night on the ramparts,
someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around...
Nobody.
The oldfolks in the country say that the ghost of fair Aude,
has been meeting, since 1000 years ago on this tower,
with the ghost of the knight Roland.
You wouldn't be the ghost of fair Aude?
You who say nothing?
Because, indeed, my name is Roland.
Forgive me if you are an apparition...
I'm well aware that it's rather crude, but it's nice, you know, to be alive.
You should try it.
My name is Sylvie.
- Oh, thank you! - What for?
Well, for having a name that resembles you.
A mysterious, elusive name.
Why have you been following me? I don't know you, you don't know me.
Well, no...
but... is that our fault?
Celebrated lovers, those who have loved each other their whole lives,
you'd think they've always known each other, but that isn't true.
It so happens that they too - one day - had to meet one another.
Just as we've done right now. And we were bound to meet.
Just look around: these towers, the ramparts,
this month of May, it was all arranged long ago for us, I'm sure of it.
And nothing has changed. It's still the Middle-Ages.
Aren't you going to say anything?
You're doing the talking. I'm listening to you.
Usually, I talk very little.
- But I am so happy tonight. - Because of me?
Yes. It's easy, happiness.
It's enough to be alongside one another.
That's true. Perhaps it is easy to be happy.
Tonight, for me, close to you, I'm sure of it.
Already?
What do you mean already?
I've been waiting a thousand years for you on top of this tower.
You sure took your time.
But my dear knight, I faced so many travails:
enchanters, potions, dwarfs, giants.
Don't laugh.
What if, after all,
for these thousand years, it has been our souls...
haunting in the howling of the wind on the ramparts, and through the woods.
Tomorrow, I'll be waiting for you in the Pretty Woods.
Ghosts aren't allowed to leave their ruins.
No, no, no. Those are simply the first words of a very old song.
that the troubadours used to sing to their beauties.
And the Pretty Woods is still there. It's still the woods where lovers go.
- I don't believe in fairytales. - You're wrong.
They're the only tales that are reliable.
Nice little old ladies, the simple-minded, little babies,
all of the reliable people, in fact, will tell you so.
Believe in them, Sylvie... in fairytales...
at least for tonight.
Just this once.
Here you are...
and I've been looking for you for so long.
Give me your hands.
There's nothing to fear.
Now, now.
There's nothing to fear, that old bulwark just wouldn't hold any more.
I saw you dead...
...dead because of me. It's horrible.
Sylvie!
Is that you, Sylvie?
Well?
- We'd better go to bed. - Look at me.
What is it?
You've been crying again?
Please forgive me.
Poor Sylvie. More of your sad old story?
I'm ashamed to cause you so much worry.
You've been so good to me.
- You took me in... - Oh, please!
I was just a foundling...
a lost little girl.
I can still hear those cries hounding me:
Witch!
And those stones whistling past my eyes, the windows shattering.
Montségur is a village full of superstitions.
Besides, you were too reclusive to benefit from a little public assistance.
They said that if I petted a dog, he would become feral...
that if I leaned against a tree, it would no longer bear any fruit...
that if I drank from a fountain, it would dry up.
No. I don't believe in happiness any more...
ever since the death of Jean.
Oh, that scene! I see it over and over again!
Jean!
I've told you, try to forget.
Your hand is soft.
Sometimes it seems like it could wipe it all away.
It was destiny, Sylvie. It was destiny.
And Jerome? Do you believe that that was destiny, too?
- Jerome? - Yes.
There's something inside of me that I don't understand.
I try so hard...
then all, of a sudden, it's as if a stone has fallen into a pond
and brought a forgotten corpse to the surface.
It seizes me like the need to vomit.
It's always here, inside of me,
my sad old story, as you say, it's always there.
- And Jerome? - Look, Jerome was the victim of an accident.
It was in the newspaper. I can't see...
What wasn't in the newspaper, and what I've never told you,
is that I was with him that day.
He died because of me.
Him, too.
What have you cooked up now?
I called to him
andhe crossed the road...
without even grasping that it was me calling to him...
or even seeing that it was me smiling at him...
The truck had already struck him.
Oh, it was horrible!
At a loss for words? Can't find anything to say?
The truth's right there poking you in the eyes!
What truth?
This terrifying thing that I carry around inside of me...
Death!
- Death herself. - Come now, come...
It's all in your imagination.
You spend too much time with me, Sylvie. Too much with yourself, too...
with your wretched childhood in the shadow of cursed Montségur.
You need to go out, see fresh faces.
Exist. Do you understand?
Look... for example, you should have a house with flower wallpaper.
Something besides this tomb.
You should have a husband, some kids...
I don't know... whatever you want...
But I do!
Oh, no.
No, I'm being foolish.
What would become of you if I left you?
Oh, me! You don't have to worry about that, you know!
Miss Perdrières can take your place.
She wants nothing more.
Of course, it wouldn't be the same.
You...
you're my sunshine.
That cannot be replaced. You give me a reason to live.
Are you listening, Sylvie?
Keep in mind what I'm telling you tonight.
If, one day, you should want...
ah... this is difficult...
well... to live your life,
make your home...
you have only to go and find Miss Perdrières
and put me out of your mind.
That's what I want right now.
If you could just be happy, I'd be very happy myself.
Look...
this must have opened when it fell.
Show it to me.
A secret recess in the binding.
What's this?
The arms of the Trencavels?
But this is impossible...
No! It's impossible!
It's too good to be true!
Mr. Artozoul...
we've found it...
- But what have you found? - Sylvie,
do you know what is written on this parchment?
It's in Occitan, the language of the Albigenses.
It means:
"On penetrating into the way to Montsalvat"
Do you understand?
The secret passageway!
The underground cathedral! The Holy Grail!
The entire past shall be resuscitated!
I must translate all of this.
The devil take me if there I can't work it out!
Sylvie!
But you don't seem to understand.
This is an incredible day for us.
Our dream was no dream after all!
Have you nothing to say?
- What are you thinking about? - Nothing.
What you were just talking about.
- The Albigensian sanctuary? - No.
About the house with flower wallpaper.
Ah, yes.
Of course...
All night long, I wondered if you actually existed.
You thought what? I'd melted away in the sunlight like a snowflake?
No. But up on that tower, in that setting, your mind can play tricks.
You appeared and you disappeared. It was so strange.
As strange as finding each other here?
Oh, that! That's not so strange.
I confess, Sylvie.
It wasn't without designs when I spoke yesterday about the Pretty Woods.
I'd hoped to find you here. And you see... how wonderful!
Here you are!
You've taken pity on a poor composer searching for his muse
Oh no, Roland. I am no muse.
I'm a poor daughter of the soil, quite ugly and unrefined.
And what if she pleases me unrefined? And if I like the soil?
Between us, it's not so bad.
So they say, but at bottom, it's dirty and cruel.
It may not bind our feet to the ground, but sooner or later, it overpowers us.
In the meantime, happiness exists.
And I only want you to be happy.
Happy... The prettiest word under heaven above.
But what's wrong?
That bell. Forever that bell.
That's how it goes, just like in the old legend,
Love and Death follow the same course.
For the living just as for the others, there's only one earth,
so one simply has to make due.
Well I've had enough of old legends, ruins, and ghosts.
I'm suffocating!
Roland. Roland, help me. Make the bells stop.
Tell me the world is beautiful, so I can dream.
Tell me I have the right to love like anybody else.
But this right... do I have it myself?
No Sylvie. I ought to confess...
It doesn't matter. I want to live. Live with my eyes closed.
I'll ask nothing of you, you'll ask nothing of me.
- We'll have no past. - But no future, either.
We'll live from day to day.
Roland, Roland, I do so want to be happy.
To be happy, forget myself, be happy like anybody else
as if I were someone else.
Do you know how to dance, Sylvie? Tomorrow it's Sunday...
- Good morning. - Good morning.
Wait!
- I'm a bit late. - No. I was just early.
When I borrowed this bicycle from the grocer in Prival, I lied.
I told her I was going to Barbaira to see a friend of my godfather's.
And then the tire blew out.
It's terrible how complicated things get once one decides to live.
Say, have all those young girls lied in order to be there?
- I'm afraid so. - And you, do you ever lie?
- You really are lovely, Sylvie. - No. But I want terribly to be so.
I so want it that the old grocer could see it in my head.
She squints after her bicycles.
Here. Look at what she sold me.
It's called a compact.
- It's pretty nice, isn't it? - Hmm no... dangerous...
The devil often dresses up as old grocers who lend out bicycles.
Well, I'm not afraid of the devil.
I have the impression that everybody's watching us, that everyone knows.
There, did you see that? He threw us a knowing look.
See? The whole world approves!
Come on, Sylvie. Let yourself live. It's Sunday!
Oh! It's like music!
I wish I could understand these little jots.
It's very easy. All of these are you.
You, face forward.
You in profile.
You in a dress glowing like the moon.
do re mi fa sol, through the Pretty Woods we stroll.
- Roland, I want to dance. - But I thought you didn't know how.
- You'll teach me. - Good. Let's go.
One could say that you narrowly escaped, huh?
Heavy-handed of him, all the same!
Witch!
Let's dance.
Get ready, Eloi. It's almost time.
- Do you have the stakes? - Yeah, yeah!
Mark out the four corners.
It's just that...
It's time.
Very well.
So? Have you got them in place?
Yes, but it doesn't seem right, right in the middle of the garden.
Right beside the statue of Mr. Artozoul, you know?
It will be as if Mr. Artozoul is there, overseeing all we do.
Now start digging. Too bad for the lettuce!
It's a pity they have to die.
So... I'll ask them to forgive me...
Well... considering that Mr. Artozoul...
Dominique, that piano... But what are you doing?
I'm trying to understand. I'm as worried as you.
But I'm not worried. Worried about what? About whom?
If I knew how to scan notes, I could tell you.
- Where did you get these sheets? - From my brother's pocket.
- I'm nosey for both of us. - You love scenes. A born actress.
How about you? Always shh! Quiet now... we're beyond reproach...
When he comes home, you'll put on your sweetest smile:
"Good evening, Roland. "
And you'll pay him lip service: "You're not annoyed are you?"
"Oh, darling! We've had a marvellous afternoon. I adore this house!"
You detest it.
Hey ho, li'I sprout! Oh! You're as handsome as a prince.
- Madame. - Hello, Mr. Fontvieille.
A reminder that it's this evening. Roland isn't here?
- Still at his castle. - He spends his days there.
- He's in the throes of inspiration. - I know how that goes, myself.
You believe in that, Mr. Fontvieille? Inspiration?
My little Dominique, you're forgetting that I'm a poet myself.
Oh. I wanted to remind you that it's tonight...
- Well I don't believe in it. - Please, Dominique.
She thinks I ought to be jealous because...
Roland's been neglecting us a bit lately.
Jealous? But you can't think about it that way!
One can't be jealous of a muse!
A muse... there's no such thing.
It's a little sunshine that beams, a little rain that drops;
it's the wind on the ramparts.
But a muse is not a woman, you know.
A muse...
Until tomorrow!
So Eloi?
- You should see the keys. - All in good time.
To think that he was stretched out under my lettuce, this knight!
Let's see if I can remember...
The first one... That's this one here.
One... two...
three...
One, two, three, four...
five.
Here we are, Mr. Toulzac!
Alas! What's this!
- Mr. Toulzac! Mr. Toulzac! - Come along!
The knight! He stood up by himself! He's stood straight up, like a man.
The Knight of the Holy Grail!
There's a stairwell descending into the ground.
The stairwell of the Albigenses!
A real mouse hole!
Don't even think about it!
With your heart, you won't get three steps before you drop dead.
- I might die just from the light. - Oh! We're not there yet!
Now, if you want me to...
But it's pitch black in there.
I'd better go find a lantern.
No Eloi. We're not going to undertake any exploration.
It isn't that I'm afraid, mind you.
This is a religious matter.
It's a matter of recovering the Holy Grail.
Do you understand? No.
The Holy Grail is the sacred vessel which contains the blood of Christ.
The Albigenses used to say that it contained the truth.
- Do you know who the Albigenses are? - Sure. The habitants of Albi.
Oh no. This will take some time to explain.
Push me to the tower, would you?
They lived during the Middle Ages.
They had no love for life because it involved suffering.
- They were all killed. - I gather somebody did them a favor.
All but one.
Before me, there was Mr. Artozoul.
After...
Sylvie must have been detained in Barbaira.
You don't mean that she should be the one to go down there?
Yes... her...
Ordinarily, we only light tapers when there's been a death in the house.
A death...? You say "a death"...
when there are thousands down there in the sanctuary, right beneath our feet.
The purest of the Albigenses.
But one day... they'll be resuscitated.
So it is written on this parchment.
"One day, Esclarmonde shall come back again among human beings.
"And his shadow shall make love take flight...
"One day, the Holy Grail... shall shine upon them,"
and perhaps I'll live to see that day.
Then, we'll all realize that life is a subterfuge...
...the birthpangs of an infamy,
and that there is no light besides death.
Holy death... death of God.
To those who will speak to us of living, we shall reply, dying.
This world must end, if one wishes for the other to begin.
The citadel's final defense is death, without a single nail.
I've just rung Miss Perdrières' bell. No one is answering.
- Oh? - What is it?
- Miss Perdrières... - She's at Mr. Fontvieille's.
- Do you know where that is? - On the market street, the last house.
Written over the door: "Fontvieille, man of letters".
Laure of Ventadour, the she-wolf, the Indian maiden,
the blondes of Aquitaine, and brunettes of Garonne,
All of the girls from Languedoc shall confirm their faith
in the flashing shadow of Esclarmonde de Foix.
- Ravishing! - Oh, no! Passé!
"Flashing shadow"... the image is a bit saucy, but...
...apt.
Dear master, I was just telling Delmas: you have surpassed Hugo.
All the same, Hugo...
I couldn't help but bring along a copy of The Citadel of Martyrs.
Would you inscribe a dedication?
Most certainly, Miss Perdrières, with the greatest pleasure.
Excuse me a moment, I'd better go see if the beautiful Juanita is ready.
She's the consul's niece. You'll see her dance...
it's all of Spain in a single person.
What beautiful verses, Mr. Fontvieille.
All that's left for you is to set them to music.
Why not.
- Roland! You're not leaving? - No I'm not leaving.
- Do you know him? - Somewhat. He's my brother.
I saw him this afternoon at the dance on the canal with that woman his wife.
- With his wife? - Well... with a woman.
You'd better let me examine it a little.
The Sanblancas have always had vulnerable throats.
Year in and year out, they bring me their three soar throats.
I'll use the occasion to offer you a little port
and show you my collection of snuff boxes.
You'I see, it's interesting, very interesting.
- Excuse me...
I'd like to spend a little time with you but you're plunging into your memories.
- Scolding me? - No, Roland.
- You're always with me. - That's the trouble...
all of these people knew you before me and know so many things about you.
And me? I only know that I love you. So I feel like I'm in the way.
- Are you angry? - Not angry... sad.
It seems like I'm the envy of the whole town...
only everything's conspiring to come between us.
Someone's ringing. Shouldn't somebody go open it?
I shall do the honors.
- Is this the home of Mr. Fontvieille? - Well yes.
Oh, excuse me...
I didn't expect to find all of these people here.
I was told at Miss Perdrières' that she'd be here.
Just a moment.
Someone is asking for Miss Perdrières.
Sylvie...
- It's nothing serious? Mr. Toulzac? - No, he's fine.
Oh, thank goodness. Well come in then. I'll introduce you.
No. Please don't. I'd like to see you alone.
Could you spare me a few minutes?
Oh... well of course.
That's her, the woman from the dance on the canal.
Allow me to introduce our charming Juanita.
Then you know her, Mr. Fontvieille?
That, my little one, is one of the myseries of Carcassone.
The mysteries?
Yes. I don't know her personally, but I know she lives in the castle.
She's the adopted daughter of the last Albigensian bishop.
- The last Albigensian bishop? - There are still Albigenses?
- Where have they been hiding? - Who are you talking about?
About someone who should be of great interest to you.
You were with her this afternoon. But now that I think of it...
she asked for Miss Perdrières.
But perhaps it was you whom she wanted to see.
You're being foolish.
Tell us everything, Mr. Fontvieille.
But a religion's story can't be told in two words since it was indeed a religion.
Oh, Mr. Fontvieille! It must be fascinating!
Very well. It's essential begin with the legend.
You know that Carcassonne was their Jerusalem
and that it took nothing short of a crusade to suppress them.
According to the Albigenses, we are in hell.
That was the basis of their creed.
What followed from this first was that perpetuating the world, having children,
was the work of the devil.
Second, "Long live Death!", if I may speak so boldy.
But that's horrible! They should have been burned alive!
Rest assured, Madame, they were burned alive.
I was a coward. I should have spoken to him.
But I suddenly felt all of the weight of the castle upon my shoulders...
and this terrifying impression that death itself was inside the house
that it was stalking me,
that it was fluttering around us like a bat...
I couldn't stand it any more, I'm suffocating.
So I thought of you as my last chance.
Tell me, Miss Perdrières, do you really wish to take my place?
Please, I beg you, don't give me false hopes.
I had such a fright just now when I heard my name.
I don't know...
a premonition.
And now suddenly, my dream will be realized.
Well he's very fond of you, you know. I'm sure you'll take good care of him.
Without you, all of this would be impossible.
As for me, now my mind is made up.
I might as well tell you,
I'm in love.
I want to live!
Mademoiselle Perdrières?
Mademoiselle Perdrières!
Witch!
Did you hear them? "Witch! Witch!"
They won't leave me alone.
Miss Perdrières is dead.
Have you nothing to say?
She died right before my eyes.
She died as I was talking to her.
Because I was talking to her.
Because I needed her in order to live.
- To prove to myself that I am cursed! - You must not say you are cursed.
Yes, I must. I know very well this isn't simply my imagination.
I so wanted to listen to you. I was dreaming of happiness.
I dreamt about that house with flowered wallpaper you're always talking about.
I believed that I was going to be happy. And you see?
Say something.
Say that she was old, that she was ill, that it was emotion that killed her.
Tell me it wasn't my fault.
And what if you are the good messenger?
She who delivers genuine happiness.
- Deliverance. - No... no!
Ah, I've been blind, Sylvie.
I refused to understand.
I hope you'll forgive me.
I've quite simply loved you with an old man's needy love.
I was frightened by your sacrifice.
I wanted you to be a woman like any other.
But you are not a woman like any other.
Now I know.
I can see you clearly.
While you were off searching for happiness in this world,
where it has never been and where it never will be,
here
we have found the passage to the other world.
You've found the entrance to the underground?
Yes.
And it has been for me like a flash of light.
I've reread that parchment with new eyes.
Everything has become clear.
I recalled Montségur.
The death of Jerome.
And that presence that you sensed deep inside of you.
I suddenly understood that you are the one
whom the Albigenses have awaited for seven centuries.
Yes, Sylvie. Now I am sure of it.
You're the one designated in the prophecy.
The prophecy?
Listen.
"Once you have long called to me, faithful to death,
"I shall descend amongst you who are my people.
"I will choose to embody myself in the most reclusive of your daughters. "
"Her shadow shall make love take flight. "
No... no... no!
It's thanks to you, Sylvie, that our religion is going to be reborn.
You will descend into the sanctuary where the last Albigenses are resting,
waiting for you, calling to you.
I don't want to. I don't want to!
Do you still believe in this world?
I don't believe in the other world, either. I believe in nothing.
I know.
You are still suffering.
But one day,
sooner than you think, you'll come to me and say:
"I am ready. "
which will mean:
"I am pure,
"I'm going,
"I've given everything up. "
Tell me that I have the right to love
like anybody else.
Sylvie.
Happiness is easy:
it's enough to be alongside one another.
And her shadow shall make love take flight.
Do you hear that?
Yes.
Strange.
Doctor Estival and the philosophy professor,
they're back from the burial of Miss Perdrières.
It's more extraordinary, the more you think about it.
Don't start back up with the mysteries of Carcassonne.
Doctor Estival was quite plain: stroke, death by natural causes.
Too natural not to be supernatural.
- I don't follow you. - That's quite clear.
Look, the girl in black asked for Miss Perdrières.
You, yourself, you were overcome by a feeling of...
uneasiness, weren't you?
Yes.
Mommy, are we done? Can I go play?
Yes, my darling.
Five minutes later, Miss Perdrières was dead.
Deep down, everybody thinks what I do...
- but no one dares to say it. - What?
You wouldn't want that girl in black to come asking for you or for your son.
I'm begging you Dominique, keep your ravings to yourself.
You have no idea what power that girl in black weilds.
That girl in black is...
- Roland, no. I'm begging you. Don't go. - You'd better let go of me.
Think about little Tristan, your wedding anniversary.
But don't you understand? I've been going insane these past three days.
But if you see her again, you'll be ruined.
Roland!
I am ready.
This means a lot to me, you know.
Just think. We're going to be the first in seven hundred years.
I say we because I think that I am going to descend, too...
without budging from my wheelchair.
Come and give me a kiss.
You are brave indeed. You've had quite a struggle with yourself.
Oh, Sylvie.
For three days, I've waited for you turning things around in my head.
I kept saying to myself, "she is struggling with herself,
"she's struggling with her shadow, she's going to kill herself. "
It's been a terrifying battle.
There are some things that just don't want to die.
Everything is dead.
I am no longer of this world.
It's going to become clear in you.
I cannot say goodbye to you.
I'm coming along with you.
I'm coming along with you, Sylvie.
You are not alone.
I am here. I am speaking to you.
Sylvie!
Don't you turn your head back.
Don't regret shunning the sunlight of men.
It will seem small to you, you'll see.
It will seem cold to you once the sunlight of God has arisen in you.
Sylvie!
Listen to me, Sylvie.
At the end of the night, there's a passage opening beneath a garden.
Remember the Albigenses.
They followed the same path that you're following.
Sylvie!
Don't stop, Sylvie.
Don't stop.
You must still pass through the most difficult initiation...
The rites of the consolation.
I know that dawn waits beyond the darkness.
I know that beyond hopelessness there is hope.
Help me to come near to you.
I know that the road is long and the agony slow.
But you, knights of the Holy Grail, who died upright in your armour...
Sylvie!
Can you hear me?
If you can no longer hear me, you are lost.
Sylvie.
Look at me.
Answer me.
It's a beautiful day up on Earth.
What have you come looking for down in the depths of this tomb?
I want to know.
Go away, Roland. I would only kill you.
I may kill you just by glancing at your face.
Why have you come back?
I've been calling for you since Sunday. Can't you hear me any more?
- I've given everthing up. - I'm not giving anything up.
- You mustn't, Roland! Leave. - I want to help you.
- There's nothing you can do for me. - Yes there is. I love you, Sylvie.
Do you hear me? I love you!
Roland!
Sylvie, open your eyes. The sky is open above.
All is mild, all is calm.
It's the happy valley.
Don't forget that tonight's the Tournebelle festival.
It's going to be wonderful.
If you're headed for the Tournebelle festival, I should warn you right away,
there are no more rooms in the hotel, all of the houses are full of guests.
No matter. We aren't headed for the Tournebelle festival.
It's just that... I could offer you the annex.
Ah, yes. You'll notice that it's a little messy and very dusty.
Okay, the deck's falling into the lake and the chimney's stopped up.
Ah, yes. There's no glass on the windows.
Nothing to block the stars from entering the room.
- So? - Yes?... So?
I'll show you the way.
Here is what I can offer you.
Would you trouble yourselves to step inside?
Apparently, the well's gone dry.
There's a pitcher of fresh water on the kitchen sink.
It's as simple as that. Make yourselves at home.
Apparently, the door has no lock.
No matter: all the nuissances are at the festival.
Should you ever need anything,
I must run.
I'm starting to wonder if we're still on Earth.
Heaven still springs to mind so long as we're happy.
We have a vast journey of happiness ahead of us.
- And once the journey's done, Roland? - It will never be done.
Oh. I forgot... if you want to go to the Tournebelle festivities...
take to the pathway along the lake.
You'll notice that it isn't the shortest way but there are flowers all along.
You'll notice that it's all quite extraordinary...
That's because it's the Tournebelle festival.
The table is set for two. In paradise, everything is always set for two.
It's an old custom.
You have so much to learn.
Have you ever really seen an apple tree in bloom? I'll teach you how.
And birds hovering over a lake?
And sunlight passing through your glass?
The nightmare is over, Sylvie.
The darkness is over.
- Isn't that so? - Yes.
Give me a sweet smile.
It seems like I'm smiling for the first time.
Aren't you coming to the Tournebelle festival?
The masked ball is about to start!
This evening...
It's wonderful.
I've had eyes yet I haven't seen a thing.
Neither apple trees in bloom, nor birds hovering over the lake,
nor sunlight passing through my glass.
Nor yourself in someone else's eyes.
How very odd... your head's upside down.
Stop moving.
Wait, wait, wait. You need a pretty backdrop.
Not that one. Something artistic.
To each couple, their own mood.
The Acropolis?
The pyramids? No!
The Eiffel Tower, perhaps? No!
Palmyre.
What do you say about Palmyre?
The Orient, the 1001 nights.
- Will we receive the photo right away? - Oh no. Not right away.
Never!
The photo's for me.
I collect couples, all couples. I've had all of them over time.
Daphnis and Chloé, the child soldier and the maid, Paul and Virginie.
All of them, I've got them all.
And Tristan and Iseult.
A little more to the right, no... to the left. Uh...
But...
Now I know what that word means that you taught me
the other day in the lovers' woods.
- Which word? - Happy! Happy! Happy!
Oh! Excuse us.
We're on our way to the Tournebelle festival.
- We're lost. - Yes!
- Perhaps you could tell us the way? - The path along the lakeside.
- Thank you. - You'll notice, it isn't the shortest route.
- But there are flowers all along! - Thank you very much.
I'm late for the festival at Tournebelle! I've got to hurry.
Sylvie, it's a wonderful party.
Listen.
I'm taking you to the Tournebelle festival.
We're departing on a gondola.
Admire the reflections of the Venetian lanterns.
It's the party always dreamt about and never attended... Tournebelle!
It's very gay.
And a bit sad.
Here is the rock candy carousel.
Pay attention, Sylvie: you're going to recognize them as they pass.
All of the characters from the storybooks of our childhood,
and the harlequin, the children of the Countess de Ségur,
the maidens in their organdy gowns,
and the giant caked in flour.
They're all to be met with at the festival of Tournebelle.
But it's thanks to you, Sylvie, that I'm able to do all of this.
When I saw you for the first time, you looked like you'd
descended from the clouds.
And there was a music all around you.
You were delivering my symphony to me.
Yes Sylvie.
Before you, I had what is known as a career.
Nothing to speak of. Now I'm going to create a great work.
And if I'm truly succeed in pulling off something beautiful,
something of greatness,
it's you, Sylvie, who will guide me.
Here you are...
I've got the warmth of your hands on my cheek.
Say something.
I can scarcely breathe. It's so nice to be by your side.
What a wonderful moment.
All the happiness in the world can be grasped in a moment.
You know, Sylvie, I seem to be... moving along on the side your tragedy...
...without understanding it. And yet...
never before have two beings been so close to one another.
Isn't that so?
The wind's picking up.
It's true Marie-Claude. Marriage for you, it's...
Dominique, darling, you're a guardian angel, but a rather preachy one!
But what I've been saying is older than 2000 years, that's sufficient grounds.
Roland doesn't even know any more that you're his wife.
When he meets you on the staircase he says, "Oh! It's you Marie-Claude?"
Well, yes. I hope he'll spend his entire life being surprised to find me in it.
Our marriage, you see, has been a very long engagement.
A single day which goes on forever.
No, no, no! No need to trouble yourself, Antoinette. I'll just be in and out.
Happy anniversary. Happy anniversary to all the Sanblancas.
- Past, present, and future. - How kind of you, Mr. Fontvieille.
- But won't you stay with us? - Oh no, no, no. I must be off.
- Roland isn't here? - He's a little late.
Oh! I wanted to give him a hug.
You'll hug him for me. And he'll lose nothing in the switch.
You're looking very beautiful, the two of you. Goodbye!
To the eternal newlyweds.
You're smiling.
That trust of yours. But open your eyes finally.
Roland won't be coming back. He won't be back because he's with a woman.
- You're lying. - And you know who she is.
It's that girl in black I let in on Sunday at Fontvieille's.
They were dancing together at the ball on the canal.
That's not true!
It's not true. Oh, my darling!
Oh darling!
I'm sorry, Marie-Claude.
I didn't think that you loved him so much.
I'm being foolish. Roland's going to come back.
Don't cry. Don't cry any more.
Witch...
Miss Perdrières?
Miss Perdrières!
If you cannot hear me any more, you're lost...
Goodbye, Roland.
You must not be angry with me for leaving you.
This is the greatest proof of my love that I could possibly give you.
I truly do, you know. I love you. I can tell you so because you're asleep.
You'll still have hair full of sunshine.
There's the festival going on in your head.
I had so wanted it, too.
Life, happiness, that's you through and through...
I'll still have my black dress.
It will still bring on the night within my heart.
Oh! I was frightened!
I couldn't hear you breathing any more.
You see? You see, I must go away.
If I were to stay, I would surely bring you unhappiness.
Goodbye Roland. Goodbye.
She has always returned before nightfall.
Though it's true that down there,
whether day
or night,
nobody has ever returned from the bottom of that tomb.
If you'd like, I could go find Felix and Marcelaine.
- The three of us... - No.
This must remain a secret.
Oh, be that as it may, look...
it wasn't that knight bolting upright in the garden that frightened me,
it was how much you love her, Miss Sylvie.
You needn't worry about that, now. I always know where to find her.
I'm on my way, Mr. Artozoul.
- Excuse me. - Mr. Toulzac is dead.
Dead.
But... is Miss Sylvie in?
She left this morning...
for good.
And... can you tell me... where?
She left without leaving an address.
Without leaving an address...
Say, François. Want to be my horse?
Go ahead, mount!
Tell me Antoinette, when is the party?
- As soon as your papa comes home. - When is papa coming home?
- Tonight. - It's not true. You always say tonight.
- Tristan! - Papa!
Papa!
subtitles: depositio