A NETFLIX ORIGINAL SERIES
This gentleman is Jan De Lichte,
wanted for murder and desertion.
What's he worth?
Do you understand that I am your new superior?
Yes, I do.
Your workspace and your maid, Magda de Wispelaere.
My apologies, sir.
-I wonder if it wasn't Jan. -Jan De Lichte?
Maybe he has news of Emiel.
Can you take me to the forest?
Still the same girly face, I see.
Francis Tincke, you still can't fight.
They gather there from all over Flanders.
I advise you to steer clear of the forest.
Even City Watch won't go, Mr. Baru.
-What's that? -A gift from our mayor.
So we don't forget we're outlaws.
People may be barely keeping their heads above water,
but they should be damn glad to have water.
Welcome to Flanders and happy hunting.
Come.
Wait.
Anne-Marie Mestdagh.
-No work, no food. -I want to work, madam.
Where's my mother?
We're just trying to survive.
Day to day. Not everyone makes it.
Most don't.
Give that back.
Sorry, boss.
Don't.
Please, don't do it.
But they don't feel it.
He'll soon forget.
Without defects, you can't beg.
And I'm hungry.
What's wrong?
I won't do anything.
Two cents for only 14 hours work. Come on, guys.
-Only the strongest. -Get off that cart.
Come on, move it.
Not you. Beat it.
Don't push, men.
Cross-Eyes.
Jan, this is Cross-Eyes.
Delighted.
-Freckles. -Jan's one of ours, so you know.
I know him.
Klijster Licht, right?
-Have a good war? -Can't complain.
I heard those guys do nothing but booze and grope German bitches.
Your war isn't over yet.
It's not mine.
Good for you.
Saturday at the Velvet Monkey,
Anchor and Sun, only big bets. 100 florins per man.
-Don't miss it, Tincke. -100 florins?
OK, I'll be there.
You can leave your friend at home.
Get to work, men.
What is this? Or you can go back home.
-Do you work for Cross-Eyes? -I work for no one.
I find work for the men and take a share of their earnings.
Two cents for 14 hours? That's slavery.
Slavery? If you say so.
-What can you do? -Something.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
A little girl, perhaps?
She's often had it in her mouth. Look, it's discolored
and the edges are worn where she's bitten it.
I think she's in an orphanage.
-An orphan? -Yes.
The image is of the Holy Stella Maris. With the water and the waves.
It's possible that the Stella Maris orphanage here in the city
gives this sort of pendant to their orphans.
It's about all they'll ever get. Poor lambs.
Where is this orphanage?
In a foul place on the seedy side of town.
-Not bad. -Bravo.
Héloïse has all the virtues of the bourgeoisie.
The arts, and so forth. Graduated with highest honors.
I do not doubt it, Dean.
-Mr. Embo, may I ask you something? -Yes?
How's the press doing? Does it pay well?
-Father, please. -Son...
A marriage is always a matter of business. No matter what they tell you.
Michel.
If I may, Mr. Gelderhode, the art of printing is...
Art of printing? An art, you say?
Sorry, but art scares me to death. Truly.
It brings to mind attic rooms, the gutter, cholera, syphilis.
My dear Benoît, the Dean has just placed an order
with the Embo Printing Company. A new edition of the Common Bible.
I will give them free to the poor and the outlaws in the woods.
Bread and a bible for everyone. 2,000 copies.
You could also give Embo your printing work.
It's great quality.
You'll see how fast the figures improve.
I don't doubt it. But my sense of reality--
Dad.
-What have I said wrong now? -A little finesse, please.
It's not just about money, but also lineage.
That's why Michel and I have a pleasant surprise for you.
But not many people know this.
The Embo family is very discreet.
Look.
These are the Embo's patents of nobility.
Or should I say: "the d'Embaux family", as history requires.
You see, Michel d'Embaux, like his father,
and all previous generations, is a knight. Chevalier.
That makes Héloïse a lady. You're marrying into nobility.
Not bad for your little bourgeois family.
What better than to marry Lady Héloïse d'Embaux?
For a thousand years, noble blood has flowed in her veins.
How could you stoop so low, father?
Closing a deal with our title.
She has grit.
A thoroughbred.
Can you saddle her?
Goddamn. Pardon me.
It's true.
Why the hell did you Flemishize your name?
Why not shout it out as we would have done?
Nobility is discreet...
Sir.
We do not shout. Noblesse Oblige.
She's perfect.
Well, Stanislas, I think we can hang the marriage announcement on the church.
-Is it much further? -Huh?
-Is it much further? -Stop moaning, kid.
-You like that, don't you? -What?
Playing the eldest, feeling superior.
I am the eldest. And the best.
Sir...
Could you help us?
-Bailiff? -Director?
How may we help you?
Is this from here?
I've a dozen here with that round their neck.
Stella Maris is our patron saint.
Along with Dean Pycke.
It's from one of the girls who, earlier this week, at the castle--
Did Coffijn send you?
Yes.
Are there complaints?
I understood they were happy with the servants.
-This one escaped. -You see.
They want servants for parties. I send them.
Whatever else goes on is not my problem.
Well, don't tell Coffijn that. I have said nothing.
The price was correct. It was all correct, as usual.
Three of them didn't come back. I'm not complaining.
I'm glad a few go off looking for happiness elsewhere.
We don't have enough food for all these mouths.
Anne-Marie Mestdagh. Good luck with her.
She always had that thing in her mouth. Liked to suck, I guess.
I'm glad she's gone.
One rotten apple ruins the whole basket.
Come.
Isabel Mestdagh.
-Do you care nothing for them? -No.
-You should be ashamed. -Why so?
They may look like angels, Mr. Baru...
but they are she-devils.
Tincke, I've got her.
We've got the little bitch.
-We caught her. -Good lad.
-Can I cut out her evil eye? -No, but you can watch.
-I'm gonna cut it out. -I want to do it.
No fighting.
-No, please. Hey, Tincke. -Ho, wait.
Take it easy. Easy now.
I didn't do anything.
-So. Show us what you've got. -He won't hit it.
Nice shot.
That way.
Well?
Héloïse? Love at first sight, right?
That's the best. What do you think of him?
He can care for you in the manner you deserve.
-I'll think it over. -The decision is already made.
Without my say.
As confessor, I know you better than you do yourself.
You have to admit,
rich, handsome men don't line the streets in this dump.
Excuse me.
What are you going to play now, Héloïse?
What would you like to hear?
Albinoni is my favorite composer.
After Pachelbel.
The Adagio in G minor?
Our love theme?
Albinoni wrote it because his heart was broken.
Ouch.
That's why it's beautiful.
I think it's good when spouses...
betrothed...
have the same interests.
What else do you enjoy?
-Hunting and shooting. -You?
My brother taught me.
Emiel is a hero to me. As he is to everyone.
I've followed his war exploits for years.
-Thank you. -Don't mention it.
I haven't hunted since he went to war.
I do not claim to have your brother's shooting skills,
but many wild boar have been devoured thanks to me.
Would you like to come?
If you dare to hunt with a woman.
The City Watch of the future will use their brains.
They'll work systematically and investigate before acting.
The time when dumb city watchmen impose their authority by violence is over.
We want to tap into the progress in big cities.
London, Paris.
To help with my own work, but also to sharpen your own insights,
I will ask you each to give me a review.
Your personal assessment of crime in this region.
Who works with who? What are they up to?
It may be obvious to you, but highly enlightening for me.
Those who have trouble writing can dictate to my assistant, Magda.
Mr. Baru, I think, and I believe I am not alone...
In feeling dumbfounded?
The awareness of ignorance is the start of wisdom,
Watchman Goorissen.
I promise all will become clear if you give my system a chance.
Yes?
One more thing.
Look at yourselves.
Just look.
Look. Look at yourselves.
Your uniforms are sloppy, your boots dusty, your hats dirty.
You leave your weapons lying around. A city watchman sets an example.
From now on, in public you will appear in a washed and ironed uniform,
with shiny boots. Otherwise, stay home.
To combat crime...
Remain seated, men.
Go on.
To fight crime, we must always appear capable,
every moment of the day and night.
We are servants of the law and the people.
Bravo, Baru.
Fantastic speech. Right, boys?
Great. May I invite you to my office?
-Certainly, Mayor. -Come on.
The meeting is over. Beautiful.
There, Jan. The best whorehouse in Flanders.
If you're coming looting with us tonight, you need to empty your balls first.
-My treat. -In that dump?
It used to be a rabbit farm.
And there's just as much breeding going on now.
What's that?
That? Our secret weapon.
It protects against all fuck diseases. Right, Vagenende?
Tell us what you put in there.
Take a dozen vine slugs
and mix them with horseradish, deadly nightshade,
nitric acid, beer... Very important.
Let it soak a couple of nights and you get this.
Clients come in, dip their cock in the barrel.
They never get sick. I swear, no one.
This is the healthiest whorehouse in the lowlands.
There's only one drawback.
Welcome to the Yellow Dick.
-A glass of port? -A little early, isn't it?
I find it warming.
Cheers. To good relations.
I heard, Baru, that you have good relations with our services.
Indeed.
If I have learned one thing,
it is that a woman's perceptions are finer than those of a man.
A man of progress.
Cheers.
A gift from Marshall Batthyàny.
The lion is king of the jungle.
I have great respect for the lion. I'm a lion too.
The Lion of Flanders.
Baru, I'll tell it to you straight.
You were sent here by the States of Flanders.
I had no say myself.
Frankly, I didn't see the point. Why do we need a new bailiff?
But you're here now, so...
I hope, after all the pompous rhetoric I just heard,
that you will remember that the City Watch imposes its authority,
acts decisively, and strikes fear into the people.
Am I wrong?
No. No, no.
Then we will work well together.
I think so too.
Pleased to have met you.
Pretty, huh?
Is she any good?
Try her.
You must be used to better, Jan.
You think I slept in palaces.
I spent four years in a hellhole.
Mud in Silesia, mud at home. Mud is mud.
I'll drink to that.
And you?
People will always want to fuck, Jan.
True.
-The wine used to be better. -Things change.
As you must have noticed.
Will you stay?
Where will you look for your happiness?
America.
You and a million others.
For the bailiff.
Mr. Baru,
the men are wondering what you want with all this information.
When we hear of a crime we intervene promptly.
On April 23rd, Antonius Van Wesemael claims
that his brother-in-law, Gustaaf de Korte, stole three gold rings.
He claims he caught him in the act
when he, and I quote: "went downstairs at night
because I heard something weird coming from the ceiling."
Your advice?
I'd say only 20 lashes if he returns the jewelry.
And next time he steals, he's banished.
If we then read in another report made by one of your colleagues
after a skirmish in the bar The Pump, that on the 22nd of April
a fight broke out after a lost game of Anchor and Sun,
in which Antonius Van Wesemael
lost a bet of 15 golden florins and three gold rings...
Do you not think there's a connection between these two cases?
That Van Wesemael did not dare tell his wife
he had gambled away her gold jewelry and invented some tale?
And when we read, in another report,
that Antonius Van Wesemael
made a scene at the wedding of his sister to Gustaaf de Korte,
because he felt he was an unsuitable match...
Do you not now think your lashes strike the wrong back?
Yes. Yes.
Connections. And the only way to see them,
is via thorough administration.
It stinks in here.
I can't smell anything.
We're too late.
This was your great tip, huh? A place that's already been raided twice.
-I'll visit the tipster later. -You'd better.
Or I'll put you in the Yellow Dick.
Christ.
So this is what you're up to?
-What? -This is what you do?
Tincke's great gang?
-Got a better idea? -This will get you nowhere.
He's right.
-Tincke... -Why get all worked up,
when the richest one is right here, under my nose.
Come on, Tincke, let's go.
Tincke.
Two on the sun, two sixes.
Throw it, yeah.
Who is all that for? Uncle Tincke. Thanks, men.
Boss, it's time to call it a day.
Don't think so, Shoe. I've just got started.
Here, let's go wild.
Fifty on the sun, double six.
-This won't last. -You think?
What is it, Cross-Eyes? Scared?
Just watch out.
You, pal? Where's all your pennies?
Are you done?
Again.
Joske. Another bottle. The boys are thirsty.
Everything on the sun.
Tincke?
The Spaniard wants to see you.
Lucky you.
I went away to make you proud.
But there's nothing to be proud of.
FOR EMIEL EMBO
YOUR FATHER
I did something terrible.
I had no choice.
Turnover at the Yellow Dick could be better.
Must get better, Tincke.
We're working on it.
I'll bring your cut tomorrow, Spaniard.
I'll take it now.
While you still have it.
Here.
To unwind.
-Thanks. -I have something for you.
Lotus flower waste.
Leaves and stalks mixed with tar and resin.
Sell that to your paupers.
Low price, big volume. So they can forget their troubles.
Opium for the people.
Hi. Jan.
Do come in.
I came here to tell you...
that Emiel is dead.
What?
I'm sorry.
How?
Were you with him?
On the way to Magdeburg, we ended up in the hell of Höhenfriedburg.
Two fronts, a big offensive, all or nothing.
Opposite us was the Prussian ammunition depot.
Emiel decided to blow it up.
I said I'd do it, but he wouldn't have it.
He sneaked out, crept between the lines.
He was suddenly shot in the back.
A Prussian sniper had spotted him.
I ran over to him,
to drag him to safety in our trenches.
We lit the wick. And the depot flew into the air.
I looked down into Emiel's face.
He lay in my arms
and he smiled.
He was happy.
Because it worked.
He's a hero.
He'll always be a hero.
He asked me to give you this.
I'm sorry.
Jan.
We could prepare the guest room for you.
No, thank you.
A deserter. A murderer.
I like you, Tincke. You have more class than the others here.
Greet God for me.
We're here with a proposition for Iron Simon.
One in three Americans are African slaves.
Those 33% do 100% of the work.
We live in the century of the slave.
Only time will heal this sorrow.
Meanwhile, Héloïse, we must carry on.
When they realize how strong they are, they'll turn on the city.