All language subtitles for Let Joy Reign Supreme (Que la fête commence.) (1975) FR BRD 720p

"But all this love which I will give,
where will I take it from?"

Jacques Audiberti

Brethren, warn the field mice
to retreat within three days,

or we shall declare them cursed
and excommunicated! Amen.

Look! This one is the nicest.
Take it. Don't be afraid.

It's beautiful, right?
Let me show you another. You'll see.

Look at this one.
This one is the prettiest, the finest, look!

Her name is Julia, like my own girl.

Take me to your mom. Then your friend
will take me to her mother.

She's the same.

- So you're sisters?
- Yes. We'll share the doll.

Fine then, let's go! Here we go.

Wait!

Wait!

Wait!

Wait!

You wanted to abduct these girls.
Who paid you?

Confess! You are about to die!

He confessed before dying.

The Regent wanted
to deport your girls to Louisiana.

Your own daughters!
Fodder for the American savages!

Tomorrow that will be you,
deported or starved.

Give him a Christian burial.
Forgive his sins.

BRITTANY, PALM SUNDAY 1719,
4 YEARS AFTER LOUIS XIV'S DEATH

LET JOY REIGN SUPREME…

Don't forget that Spain…

Go on.

Spain has agreed to land troops
in Brittany.

But we're at war with Spain,
Mr. Pontcallec.

Not I. The Spanish monarch
is Louis's grandson and my real king.

The Regent is a usurper.

If you must appeal to Spain,
I am no longer with you.

But I shan't give you away.

Mr. Rochefort, then put your mask
back on before you leave.

Before calling on Spain, I suggest

we issue an ultimatum to the Regent.

- A delegation.
- Why? One man is enough. I'll go.

I'm of noble blood
and Captain of the Royal Dragoons.

Even the infamous Regent
respects the military.

No masks here.

My husband was unable to come.
He fell off his horse.

That won't do, my dear Helene.

We are among men. Exclusively.

And if I keep my beard?

Then… I have nothing against it.

- Of course, this trip…
- Off to Spain, my cousin?

Just to Paris, my dear, it's less costly.

Once again, friends,
I must ask you for funds.

Once again.

For bed and board, sir, and you know
I have a healthy appetite!

A bank note?

I've never seen one before.

You don't want it?

I'll take anything,
even the Regent's notes.

It's hard, Mr. Moutiers,
but when the wine is drawn…

it must be drunk.

Bring water. Hurry!

Please come back, Madame.

Look at this.

It's interesting and rare to see.

The brain is reduced
to half its normal size.

- She died of that?
- No, Madame. It's an old injury.

She may have been born with it.

The Duchess of Berry died of congestion
due to excessive food and drink.

Gluttony did her in.

- Mr. Chirac, please…
- Chirac!

I saved her life when she was six
with just herb tea.

She didn't drink wine yet.
It caused her death.

Or she died from your doctoring.

We might have saved her from death,
but not from you.

They say she had brain damage.
That would explain certain things.

- That she was mad?
- Mad?

No, Milord, but surely different.

That's why I loved her so much.

She'd have hurt you more.
They say she was four months pregnant.

I'd have accepted…
her husband, her marriage, her child.

Everything.

I'll miss the pain
she'd have caused me.

You have other daughters.

Death did not strike blindly.

It took what I held dearest.

- God is evil.
- Have you no fear, Milord?

Fear of what?
Could he be more cruel?

You may retire, Madame.

- You've had a long, hard night.
- So have you, Milord.

No, I slept. It's the day I fear.

The maid told me you were here.

I was surprised…
under the circumstances.

I don't feel sad yet, Dubois,
so I'm working while I still can.

I'm not sure Montesquiou
really grasps this Brittany affair.

So we have a few stubborn nobles
under the Marquis of Pontcallec,

dreaming of a Breton Republic
with no taxes to pay.

But a republic of what?

Poor country squires.

But peasants, the really poor, no.
Not one.

Peasant and nobleman
can't be brothers.

Even if they're both beggars,
they're different. They don't mix.

So I ask you…
where will they get troops?

From the King of Spain.

No. The Bretons won't ask for
foreign aid, especially from Spain.

Your own relatives did it
during the Cellamare conspiracy.

A plot you remember that
we calmly stifled without bloodshed.

We made them look so ludicrous

that no one dared participate.

You even rewarded your kidnapper
in Bois de Boulogne.

For bravery, attempting to carry off
a man of my weight.

I'm glad to see you so jovial.

Like my enemies,
you expected me to sink and drown.

But I will disappoint you all.

Quite the contrary, I'm delighted.

Who am I without you?
Not even Archbishop.

Tell Montesquiou to go easy,
to arrest Pontcallec if he likes,

but not a drop of blood
must be spilled.

Here! The provisions
for my daughter's mourning.

Did the autopsy show anything?

No, nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The King only mourns six weeks?

Six weeks.

Even that is too long
for a child of nine.

I know that girl.
She is one of La Fillon's whores.

They wouldn't screw in a church?

Not at a memorial mass for his daughter,
Joufflotte, the Duchess of Berry.

Tell me something.

Did Joufflotte
really sleep with her father?

That's not for a common
coachman's ears. Know your place!

I'm late because we got lost.

It always happens to me
in the country.

Thank you for coming.

I've never fancied mass,
but I'm glad someone remembers her.

Twelve people…
not so bad after a month's time.

They say she died a saint's death…

Took the sacraments in public…

There were many people.

She spoke like a queen…

asking forgiveness for her sins.

She was mad.

All my children are mad, poor Emilie.

My eldest became an Abbess,
married to Christ.

I don't get along with my son-in-law
and my son who loathes women…

It's the Elevation, Milord.

I see you do believe in God.

If knees are all there is to it…

Look at the priest.

He thinks he saw the Devil
enter his room and fall upon him.

He says they fought like
cats and dogs.

If you believe in the Devil,
you also believe in God.

All princes believe in God.

I spent many nights in the quarries
at Vanves and Vaugirard,

calling on the Devil
and I never saw him.

Joufflotte feared hell too.

She often went to the Carmelites
for whipping after a night with us.

Once she asked me go along.

I refused.
I am too young to do penance.

She wasn't old either.

Only 24.

Perhaps she knew she was going
to die, like old people do.

And you never do penance?

Our penance is the clap,
a sheared head,

and death in the poorhouse.

Emilie, have you been shorn?

Yes, Milord… long ago.

I got 32 flies and a rat this morning.

Two young workers, barely 20, were
caught having it off in the street.

- You told the little King?
- No, not exactly.

They were caught.
No friends in Court,

so they were burned alive
two days after.

When you think what goes on here…
You may go!

Since they confessed,
they were allowed sulfur shirts,

to suffocate and suffer less,
apparently.

Pass me the broom.

And the leftover kindling
goes to the executioner.

Every little bit counts.

What did the little King say?

He said, "When will I be able
to see men burn?"

"When you're King," I said.
"But I am King!"

"When you grow up then."

Come see!

- Look.
- A map of France.

But he's too young.
- He's almost ten.

He's a real Bourbon.

Mr. Chirac.

Come here.

It's a map of France.

His Majesty's made a map of France.

No, Sire, it's nothing…
It is even a sign of good health.

I should be as sick…

A child is present, Mr. Villeroy.

Why? Did I do something wrong?
Is it forbidden?

To talk about, yes.

How did Louis sleep?

You look a bit pale.

- I think I'm sick.
- Why?

Chirac, you haven't bled him again?

It's forbidden to talk about it.

Why forbidden?

It's neither an illness nor a sin.

It's nature's gift, Louis,
sent to you in the night.

There are no sins in nature.
Man invented sin.

They shouldn't frighten you with that.
Other things are far more shameful.

Sire, I have 11 fingers.

Look. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
One, two, three, four, five…

Six and five, 11…

So I have 11 fingers.

I leave you to your arithmetic lesson.

I'll share your chocolate if I may.

But with lots of milk,
because chocolate constipates me.

You look tired.

- Did you sleep well?
- Not badly, how about you?

Admirably! I dreamt you made me
Archbishop of Cambrai.

120,000 pounds a year… you aim high.

But you an archbishop?

You've mitered
innumerable unworthy subjects.

I see you've come prepared.

- Troarn, two bastards.
- Commonplace.

True, but I've got better.

Mr. Chalais has 15 and he wants them
to assist him at Mass.

A touching family reunion.

And Mr. Entrague so loves the frock
that he wears only women's dresses.

And, finally, the prelates
who starve their peasants.

You surely wouldn't spoil the barrel.

But you as Archbishop of Cambrai,
it shocks me.

It should amuse you, as an atheist.

Does it amuse you to be Archbishop?

No, saying Mass will be a bore.

I'm a born pagan
and hardly a Christian,

but I think about my future.

A minister is ephemeral.
An archbishop is untouchable.

And the cardinalate
is but a step away.

No one can take away the purple.

But as long as I live,
you'll be minister.

What if you die before I do?

Then I'll be a mere apothecary's son,
not even an abbot.

Won't they laugh if I miter you?

They may shudder,
but they won't laugh.

If you made me duke or prince, yes,
but not archbishop.

An archbishop's power is heaven sent.

You believe in God now?

No, not yet,
but when I'm Pope, who knows?

- Show your teeth!
- What for?

- Regent's orders!
- Open wide!

Only one missing.

Fit for Louisiana. Lucky you!

A trip to Louisiana. Regent's treat.
On a beautiful boat.

But I don't want to go.

- Ten more crowns for us!
- So look bright!

Take him!

Up you go!

Here we go, so look bright!

Here we go!

- Lucky!
- Sweetmeat!

- Look bright!
- Look bright! Come on, hurry!

Stop or I'll shoot!

Catch those ruffians!

Hurry up!

Lucky, for the King!

- Goddamn it!
- I'm coming!

- Faster!
- God, the pretty wench!

The pretty wench,
the little hussy! Hurry!

This one's mine! Faster!

Catch her!

For the King!

Sweetmeat! Search the rooms!

Deal with the girl.

Out you go, whore!

- What?
- To Louisiana.

See here, we haven't even begun!
I paid in advance!

- Come on, both of you…
- My ham!

- What ham?
- My ham!

My clothes!

That'll do. Hurry up!

- Young lady! Take my hat.
- Yes.

- Take my hat!
- Hurry up!

Here! Your hat.

You don't know who I am!

I'm Clément-Chrysogone de Guer,
Marquis of Pontcallec,

delegate from the Republic of Brittany.

- Paris is Satan's city!
- Sir! Your hat and cloak!

- Your hat!
- Faster!

Forward march, Marquis!

Don't touch me!
I'm the Marquis of Pontcallec!

Hurry, Marquis!
Louisiana, here we come!

- Bretons are good sailors.
- To hell with Louisiana!

You don't want to go
with the pretty lady?

I didn't even get to know her.

We'll arrange a wedding.

I don't want to wed her.

I want my ham!

- Profession?
- Baker in Melun.

Write, vagabond in Paris.
Off with him!

My wife and children
are waiting for me!

Your turn, Marquis!

- I thought you took only volunteers!
- We're short on volunteers.

I'm a gentleman. You'll pay for this.

Got any papers to prove it?

I don't carry them on me.

But perhaps this will do.

He can't get it off.

What if it's stolen?

Well, we'll check it out.

At that price…
may I take the girl along?

Go ahead.

Gentlemen, had I more rings,
I would deliver you all!

Will you stay with me now?

I've other fish to fry.

You know where to find me if…

Hey! The cloak!

GERVAIS LAQUAIS
HUNG FOR PILFERING

Your cloak.

Well, take it!

Abbot!

There's a man in the park
asking after the Regent.

- What's he like?
- A Breton.

- How do you know?
- He peed in the hall.

Don't we all, my poor Leblanc?

His name is de Briquebec…

No… de Pontcallec.

Pontcallec?

I'm pleased with you.

Then could you get me into the police?

You already are. What's wrong?

- The pails.
- Is that so?

Ah! I know you,
Monsieur de Pontcallec.

- I don't know you.
- I'm Abbot Dubois.

I didn't come to see you.

The Breton nobles have sent me
to see the Regent.

The Breton nobles?

You, a chicken thief,
a third-class poultry snatcher,

dare speak of Breton nobles?

I've had a trying night.

- So take me to the Regent!
- I'm taking you to prison, Pontcallec.

Not for your half-hatched plot,

but for smuggling contraband tobacco
between Jersey and Brittany.

An offense that merits the galleys,

but as you were once an officer
in the Royal Army,

I shall merely deport you
to Louisiana.

Oh, no! Not Louisiana again!

I'll put up with
a knavish abbot's insults,

but I won't go to America
for no reason!

You can teach Breton to the savages!

Frankly,
I find your idea a bit strange

that the King of England, a Protestant,

should ask the Regent to name you
Archbishop of Cambrai.

Coming from him,
it will carry more weight.

Tell me, Abbot, why is an intelligent man
like you so keen on the miter?

You just called me Abbot, that's why.

Good enough.

But it's a ticklish request,
especially at the moment.

How come,
with the recent Breton uprisings,

there has been no intervention?

The rebels could well turn over
their ports to the Spanish fleet.

We just arrested Marquis Pontcallec,
the ringleader.

Arrests are insufficient.

One emerges
from the Regent's prisons with ease.

- Go away!
- Wait.

That's an air I always enjoy hearing

when it's sung by Souris Cadette.

Souris Cadette!

The best thing about our job
is that we can do it where we like it.

Unfortunately, I'm no music lover.

But you want to sing Mass.

And you shall, Abbot.

As they say in France, "Life is a song."

And that conspiracy
had best sing its swan song!

In short, you want heads to fall.

Oh, yes.

The door for God's sake!

- Is the Regent among you?
- Shut the door!

- Do you know if he coming later?
- No.

- Is he expected?
- Go out, Dubois, or come in!

I'm going.

- I think I heard him.
- Perhaps.

You run a brothel
and don't know who the hell's there?

- Come on.
- Milord!

- There's no milord.
- I'm here on pressing business.

The only pressing thing
should be to close the door!

It's a very serious affair.

Nothing's serious after 7:00 pm,
except the supper menu.

Keep your cares to yourself
and shut the door!

Yes, the door.

I'm going to the magic lantern.

Some advice.
Shut the door if you go in.

- What's wrong?
- My archbishopric is slipping away.

I had the vacancy,
Cambrai, a consecrator.

I'm unmarried,
a must when you go for this job.

The English King will back me
if I nab a rebel and I had him.

Where is he now?

Like an idiot,
I sent him to Louisiana.

Now I need him badly.

Maybe he hasn't left yet.

His Majesty hopes to save you,
brave colonists going to Louisiana,

from that shameful promiscuity
that reduces Christians to beasts.

He is pleased you have agreed
to wed before departure.

Due to your great number,

you will file quickly by in pairs
to say I do,

stepping aside for the next couple.

This ceremony may be brief,

but it binds you for eternity.

First couple, please.

I unite you in wedlock in the name
of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Amen. Next!

I unite you in wedlock in the name of
the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.

Next! Move along!

I unite you in wedlock in the name of
the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.

Faster!

In the name of the Father, Son
and Holy Ghost. Amen.

Hurry up!

- No thanks, not for me.
- Sorry.

- What are they?
- Just brass.

But the King is also offering a shirt
to the women and shoes to the men.

Good grief! And I'm still a bachelor!

Has anyone seen a man named
Pontcallec in this wretched herd?

The Marquis! It wasn't easy,
but he left a married man.

- So he left.
- Yes, last night.

Goddamn son of a bitch!

Go on!

Next!

Pontcallec.

Who could forget that firebrand?

He said he'd set Louisiana ablaze.

- And he will!
- If he gets there.

Oh, he'll get there.

He must be aboard the Hen Wren now.

He left three days ago.

- Captain!
- Wait, Milord!

It's Pontcallec's escort!

Well, what happened?

Go ahead, Sweetmeat, tell him!

He says they tricked us.
They all got away.

Pontcallec too?

- He says they all went to Brittany.
- To Brittany!

To Brittany. God be praised!
That's just where I need him!

500 pounds bonus
for letting your prisoner escape!

He'll wish he were in Louisiana.

Come!

Ah, poor Yvonne.

I had hoped to bring you
at least 18 people.

But the trip was long.
We're all that's left.

- Good, I've no food.
- Too bad! He's a good cook.

- The other is a hunchback.
- I see.

- Yes.
- Who is she?

She is… my wife.

- You're married?
- Yes. One of a number of mishaps.

- She's lovely.
- Yes, but she never speaks.

We have great news!

Go ahead, Amaury!

- I saw Cardinal Alberoni.
- Yes!

The Spanish king has ordered

three shiploads of troops
to set sail for Brittany!

I haven't suffered in vain! It's war!

Long live the Republic of Brittany!

We oust the Regent.

We install the Duke of Maine.

We denounce the Triple Alliance
with England and Holland,

another of that wretched Dubois'
abominations.

Put the pretender's fleet off
the English coast,

Prussia, Sweden and Russia
at odds with Holland,

we give Sardinia to the Duke of Savoy,
as a Papal State,

and crown Philippe V
king of half the world!

There.

Now, that's a plan with scope!

Yes.

- And the Bretons?
- The Bretons go Republic.

- What language does she curse in?
- I haven't the faintest idea.

Those are her first words.

It's a good day, my cousin.

Mississippi shares are up.

They're in great demand
on the market.

Mr. Law is decidedly a great man.

Your enthusiasm has already cost me
15 million this month.

Isn't that what I gave you
to support Mr. Law?

It had slipped my mind.

You cost me dearly, my cousin.

How many others in court supported you

when you tore up the late King's will
and seized power? Do you remember?

I remember each month.

Next month it's 20 million.

Let's be direct, a commoner like Law,
Scottish, commoner and Protestant,

would inspire no confidence
without blue-blooded support.

But he has my support.

He's in your government.
My motives are purely unselfish.

Your unselfishness
will leave me bankrupt.

I could lighten the burden,
were I the King's tutor.

- So that's it!
- Instead of that no good Villeroy.

Even his morals are dubious,
which is troubling in an educator.

I admire your righteousness,
my cousin.

He's a halfwit.

A German bishop sold him
funeral coupons for Mississippi shares.

I'm not surprised.

They also say he can't read.

So what?

- Hello, Louis.
- Hello, Philippe.

A gift from the Canadian Jesuits.

He's an Iroquois, but a very nice one.

He's been properly educated, look!

Our Father who art in heaven…

- He used to be a cannibal.
- We took care of it.

There's no such thing
as cannibal Indians.

But certain Jesuits were eaten alive!

- Good meal!
- We have many martyrs.

- Political ones, Father.
- We don't deal in politics.

Selling arms to one tribe
to kill another is political.

Even to destroy the enemies
of religion?

I know you applaud
the Spanish Inquisition's butchers

and regret
my halting the Protestant massacre.

What do you mean?
I'm a good Christian so I'm a fanatic.

A soldier of God, you might say.

De Villeroy… Excuse us, Louis.

You are an imbecile…

a pitiful general
and a third rate Christian.

That's between us.

You, however, proclaim that I poisoned
three members of the royal family,

usurped the Regency,
and plan to do in my nephew, the King.

You are so stupid that you even lock up
his butter and handkerchiefs

so I won't put poison on them.

You must admit I've displayed
great patience up to now.

You can't harm me. I'm loved by all.

Surprising with the number of battles
you've lost!

Talk all you like.
Only death can rid you of me.

Let me remind you, Marshal,
that I am as patient as you are stupid.

Look, Majesty!

This cannon is a newcomer
to our artillery.

She has the agility and ardor of youth

and being French,
to know her is to love her.

- Touch it. Just touch it!
- Nice speech!

It would be even nicer put to music.

Look at this budding young cannon…

Would Your Majesty care to fire it?
It's not dangerous.

- Do it yourself.
- Very well. Gunner!

Aim at that coach.

- Is somebody inside?
- A dummy, Sire.

That's no fun.

There's a surplus
of condemned prisoners.

Oh, yes, a condemned man!

Another time. Ready, gentlemen?

Heat the powder.

Whenever Your Highness is ready.

Whenever His Majesty says.

Majesty, we'll fire whenever you wish.

I wish it were already over.

Fire!

- A bit far.
- Just a bit.

It was Rabelais.

I'm taking over.

My sweetest sirloin.

My little mutton chop.

Some music would pass the time.

I don't need music to pass the time,
but some violins wouldn't hurt.

Sorry to interrupt the meeting.

Look. That spectacle's more worthy
of the cloth.

Fire!

Abbot, I am devoured by a question
I hardly dare ask.

Dare, Madame!

Is it true, like Saint-Simon says,

that when you were a teacher,
you used to feel up your pupils?

- Of course.
- It's only natural!

Boys and girls alike?

Indiscriminately.

Marie Madeleine,
your little house in Asnières…

That you so kindly gave me.

- And where you rarely go.
- It's a bit small.

I'd like to buy it back.

- With what's inside?
- No, especially not the paintings.

They're a bit lewd.

I'll leave you the religious ones,
which are in the attic.

And who is the proud new owner?

I'm in no rush, so why should you be?

- Now let's talk money.
- I don't want any.

I insist. It came from me,
but since I'm taking it back.

No money.
A piece of Louisiana or Mississippi.

Naturally, they're such pretty words.

Prettier than pound or crown
and more profitable.

Dubois, aren't you well?

I'm in great pain, Milord.

At times, I like to see you suffer.

I know, Milord.

I didn't say how much.

Then you'll get even more.

Who does he want to put in my house?

Anyone. He loves
like we go to the close stool.

Thanks. Now that
he doesn't touch you anymore…

Don't be offended, Marie Madeleine.

I meant he likes the necessary
in a woman, not the superfluous.

And the necessary
is what you wish you still were.

No, sweetie.

Now that he doesn't screw me,
I'm the superfluous and I prefer it.

The necessary will be this young girl
about whom I know a thing or two.

Yes?

She comes from a Breton convent.

She must be very young.

- A mere child.
- Then he's on his last legs.

He's been sad since his daughter died.

It must be his stomach.
Sadness is always in the stomach.

I want an escort sent to Brittany
to bring to Paris a girl for me.

Yes, my goddaughter.

I want her out of harm's way
in case of an uprising.

So you take the Breton plot
seriously now.

It was your last memo.

Is Spain fool enough
to put three frigates off Brittany?

The sea's too rough to debark.

The Bretons will die in vain.

We'll need two regiments.

Pontcallec has 3,000 men
in the forest of Lanoué.

Drink less milk,
and your nose won't itch.

I have got an acid stomach.
I can no longer tolerate wine.

I'm not sure if I can hold the Mass.

You're not laughing, Milord.

It's not funny.

Three thousand.
I hope they lied to you.

No sense knocking.
They're dead and buried.

- All three?
- All three.

- At the same time?
- Of the same thing.

- What?
- How do Bretons die?

From hunger.

And I've got two more death notices
to nail up.

But I need men for my army.

Hurry or you'll find only skeletons.

It looks bad, friends. A dead dragoon
at the village entrance.

You'll all be strung up,
or sent to the galleys.

- We're innocent!
- All's fair in war.

- We're not at war!
- That's your mistake.

Join my army
and you can kill with impunity.

I'll arm you with mistouflets,
the sword that's a gun.

But first, we'll dine on this horse.

- Sure the meat's good?
- I'll have it boiled.

Away!

For God's sake, you sluggards!

What are you waiting for?
Bring on that apple cart!

Where is the bell ringer?

As soon as the alarm in Vannes sounds,
that'll be my men arriving.

So, you ring the bell.

Hey! To arouse the people.

With a little luck,
we'll win before the Spanish arrive.

The birth of the Breton Republic!

We ambush Montesquiou's coach.

I kill a few, capture him,
Talhouët marches on Saint-Brieuc.

With only 100 men?

Once we get Montesquiou,
we'll be thousands!

Go on!

Go on! Listen!

The alarm! That's a good sign!

Hurry, the rest of you!

Nothing like apples to fell horses.

Who pays?

The money in Montesquiou's coach.

Come here, Montlouis.
Take a letter to the Regent.

Milord…

By a stroke of extreme daring…

I have taken General Montesquiou.

Withdraw your troops at once
from Brittany

and recognize the Breton Republic,

or the general will be hung!

Isn't that a bit premature?

But if I die in this affair…

I'll at least have had the joy
of signing it.

You're alone, my cousin?

And your 50 peasants?

They chose to stay home.
They said it was a noble's war.

We'll do without them.

And Montesquiou took a physic
and canceled his trip.

The gods are against me.

Montlouis.

Another letter to the Regent.

Milord, the Parisians must be cowards

if no one has the courage
to assassinate you

as you indulge in your orgies
and debaucheries.

There! Send only the second one.

Stop, bell ringer!
It's for another time.

Come on!

The rest of you, regroup.

And no pillaging!

I got a letter from Pontcallec.

Unfortunately, there's no return address.

To hell with you vermin!

- You never give?
- Too many of them.

Rich as you are?

Avarice, Milord, is the only free vice.

Still there? For God's sake!

Finished, Abbot?

They'd take your last farthing,
the little bastards!

You make a perfect satyr!
It's the real you.

You promised no more damn charades.

Really, Dubois!
You share all that La Fillon takes in.

Were I less weak, you'd be less rich.

Look, a Jesuit in a brothel,
but a short one.

Yes, Milord. Do you object?

- Not if it's for the glory of God.
- Who knows?

I've seen friars and recollects
in a brothel, but never a Jesuit.

- We usually come in lay attire.
- That could explain it.

Philippe.

Would you mind if Father Burdo,
my confessor, joined us?

- Tonight?
- Of course.

He'll see everything
and I won't have to confess.

- Marie Madeleine!
- Genevieve!

- The beast!
- Is the stuffing ready?

Give us this day our daily bread…

The comedy, Madame…

Here you go!

- I love the large size!
- At your service.

- Can you open oysters, Father?
- A Jesuit can do anything.

- Do you have a knife?
- Not since Ravaillac was murdered.

Long sausage, short mass,
as Mother used to say.

How pious, isn't it?

- Is Picard coming?
- Yes, I just shaved him.

We had a lovely screw, you know?

- But I was there, Madame. I saw it.
- It slipped my mind.

- Extraordinary!
- He'll screw anyone!

Candles away, all cats are gray.

No, Joufflotte's seat remains empty.

Superstition!

And fucking on Good Friday,
what's that?

Champagne, Marie, quick!

- Lackey, open the oysters.
- That's not my job!

- What is your job?
- Mirebalai.

What does a mirebalai do?

Every battle needs fresh troops.

We're the fresh troops.

And when the lights go out…

What an amazing vocation!

So, Father, those oysters?

It's an ordeal, Milord.
I've only opened three!

There are hundreds.
Is that what I came for?

How shall we disguise him?

- As a satyr.
- A little satyr!

That's a costume
for a bearded ecclesiastic.

With one eye, he'd be a nice Cyclops.

No, no, I see myself as a fishwife!

Me! Queen of the fish market.

I scrub and I scale.

I tickle the newts.

I'm delighted with my confessor.

How ghastly.

Picard's brother is clever in bed too.

- How come?
- What was that, Emilie?

- I said…
- Not on Joufflotte's chair!

Pay him no heed, Emilie.
Joufflotte's place suits you fine.

You liked her, didn't you?

- She didn't scare you?
- She was good to me.

I remember, not so long ago,

when you first made love to me
in the nook.

It was dark.
She brought a candle and you said…

We don't need light.

She said, "I want to see you."

Then she knelt down by me
and caressed me very gently.

I don't know which of you
made me come.

Maybe both of us.

Goddamn son of a bitch!

Pay someone to cuss for you.

How? 500 francs this month for candles
in summer!

Your damn paper money
has doubled the cost of living.

But the brothel's more successful
every day!

That's for my consecration supper.

When you're archbishop,
I want to be Abbess of Montmartre.

You're kidding.

If a pimp can be an archbishop,
a whore can be an abbess.

Senseless as a dove.

- Yes, but doves are tender.
- Not in the Bible.

- Abbot… You know the Bible?
- From hearsay.

Milord is ill.

- And you left him alone?
- He sent me away.

Stupid ass!

Move!

Out of the way! Make way!

Take that helmet off! It's indecent.

Get out of here! All of you!

What is it, Milord?

- I feel sick.
- I'm cold.

I've lost my shoe.

You've hardly brought him luck!

- Thank you.
- And if we bled him?

No. He just climbed off his trollop.
It would kill him.

Liver pills, then.

His Highness wants Emilie.

I was afraid, but I'm better now.

I thought it was the end.

Don't move, Milord.

They say you should lie still.

Tell me, Emilie…

do you really believe in a God,
a hell and a paradise?

Yes, I do.

The life you lead
must make you unhappy.

I trust God will have pity on me.
I have hope.

You're fortunate.

Above all, stay cheerful. It's a measure
I proposed for the plague.

But it's good for any other disease.

Take the poor. They die en mass,
because they're sad.

Let's write a book about it
to instruct the poor.

Unfortunately, Chirac,
the poor can't read.

- Wash the linens. Kill the rats.
- Yes, Abbot.

Dubois!

Chirac stole another statuette.

He can't help it.

I wonder what they'll say
when we're gone.

How will we be remembered?

Henry Ill had his minions.
We have our little suppers.

It's better than nothing.

They'll say I was devoted,
with my ulcer and bad bladder,

going to your damn suppers
just to please you.

Do you think they'll mention you?

If they mention you,
they will mention me.

They'll say we made an odd couple.

That I used to do your homework.

Later you found women for me.
It was more enjoyable.

And you saved my life
at the Battle of Neerwinden.

I had my reasons.
I had my future in mind.

Every apothecary's son
should save a great man.

Here, drink this.

I prepared it.
I won't poison you. I still need you.

No! Every drop, Milord!

- It tastes horrid.
- Courage.

You know, that girl in the Breton convent…

For whom you bought the house
from Madame de Parabère?

- You knew it, you rogue?
- Yes.

There's no point having her come
if I'm like this.

A girl of 15… it would distract you.

Sixteen. Of course. I'm tempted.

I'd be tempted too.

But a future archbishop
has to watch his health.

It would certainly be
a pleasant way to die!

Ah, death.

It's man's last folly.

Best delay it as long as you can.

Dubois,
a few hours after my father died,

I heard the King, his brother…

singing opera
in the corridors of Versailles.

He sang so badly.

Search over there!

Search everywhere!

- Do you girls want water?
- Yes.

Open the door! Quickly!

Soldiers are searching the convent!

Hide your bottom, mischief!
Into the tubs with you!

Quiet, girls!

A dangerous outlaw is hiding here.

- Every room must be searched.
- There's no cupboards here!

And the tubs? We'll shut our eyes
and look with our hands. Go on!

Captain!

Pardon me, Reverend Mother.

You obviously don't know who I am.

I think you should.

Before you search me,
look at the medal on my dress.

- Is it familiar?
- It's the Regent.

Miss Martinpré is his goddaughter.

His Highness pays her board,
generously.

Then I assume she would not hide
a man bent on killing her godfather.

Assume what you like, sir! I don't care.

Come on!

- You're the Regent's goddaughter?
- Yes, Sir.

But he's my mortal enemy!

This adventure is unexpected,
highly agreeable…

and perfectly lovely.

Aren't you ashamed?

How could I be ashamed…
before such a pretty vision?

I hope you forget it.

Not a chance.
I don't have many memories like this.

I want to keep it.

You see, if I ever meet the Regent,
and I may…

maybe I'll spare his life…

in memory of you.

And as a parting wish…

may you keep as long as possible…

your pretty little tail.

Now, farewell
and… thank you, Reverend Mother.

Tell the Spanish that I haven't
provoked the Regent's troops so far,

deliberately avoided contact.

But tell them I can't keep
my Bretons down for long.

But, Pontcallec…

- I know it's false.
- It's the opposite.

Yes, but you can't say my men ran,
that the peasants refuse,

that I'm alone with my three dragoons.

Four dragoons facing an entire army
that won't budge… God knows why!

The Regent might hesitate
to exterminate four dragoons.

But don't tell the Spanish.

Because if they know we're dying,
they won't come.

Tell them to hurry, though,
or I'll have to win without them.

Come with me.
You can tell them better than I can.

They predicted
my death would come by sea.

- You prefer it by land?
- No.

If it must come,
I want to be with my three dragoons.

Careful. No rash acts!

Staying alive is rash enough!

Your weapons!

I have no sword. Just this mistouflet.

- Is it a weapon?
- Can't you tell?

Take this!

A letter for the Marquis of Pontcallec.

A letter for you.

It's from my wife.

I can't make out this word.

May I?

- It's Wednesday.
- Wednesday?

Yes, Wednesday.

- May I reply?
- My pleasure. By all means.

Do you have a pencil?

My dear wife…

I cannot come to dinner…

on Wednesday.

I have just been arrested…

by Captain…

La Griollais.

In two words.

If you say so.

Now I'll show you her room.

Our Mother Superior
would rejoice to see this.

Severine's departure
worries her somewhat.

Out of a convent
into Parisian life and its perils…

She's such a devout child.

So I wanted to shelter her.

She'll be safe here.
Did you notice the guard?

Yes, he has a strange face.

It's his silver nose.
He lost his at the Battle of Denain.

I must take leave now, Milord.

In two weeks,
Severine will be with you.

- Goodbye, Milord.
- Goodbye, Mother.

Shame on you, Milord!
Leading a little nun astray.

If I could only hide in a mouse hole…

Why hide? You'll be with us.
I'm trusting you to tame her.

I'll teach her everything.

Then one day when
we're in bed together, you burst in…

You pretend to get angry,
whip us both…

and then take her before my eyes.

- If she wants!
- I'll hold her if she doesn't.

But I'd be surprised.
You have all the women you want.

I don't want them all.
Just those who want to.

Lucky girl, your Severine…

I'd like to have a house like this.

But no pious paintings.

- They were Madame de Parabère's.
- Of course.

All wanton women
get churchy in their old age.

Old? She's not even 30!

I'll leave the party long before that.

A whore is good until 25.
After that, it's the clap for sure.

I tell Picard
when he screws the ladies,

"That's what a mirebalai is paid for,
but don't give me a disease."

That's why I want us to marry
and retire to the country.

That way, I lose you both.

Not entirely. Picard said
I can see you sometimes, if you wish.

But you're unfaithful, Milord.

On the virgin bed?

Is Picard a better lover?

Yes, but you fondle more.

Philippe the Fondler…

Nice name for a King.

Or Philippe the Lewd.

You don't like debauchery,
just the noise it makes.

Don't genuflect, Milord.

It's too late now!

Up to the altar with the right foot.

Then you lean over to kiss it.

And walk towards the missal
to read the Introit.

Yes. Sacerdotes tui domine…

Shit!

This bloody Introit is impossible!

Patience, Milord,
the rest is infinitely more difficult.

Ah, yes, the altar cruets!

Dubois!

You'll become deacon, priest, bishop
and archbishop all in one day!

Oh, please, Milord, don't bother us.
It's hard enough as is!

Chin up, Abbot.

Why not get baptized
while you're at it?

Try again.

Sacerdotes tui domine…

- Such a tiny stoup.
- It's all I've got.

Justitiam!

There. I'm all yours, Brunet d'lvry.

So Brisson asked Pontcallec
if he had received money from Spain.

Pontcallec's reply was, "I received
4,000 pounds to raise and pay troops."

"Eight pence a day for each man
and 20 crowns a gentleman."

Question from Brisson. "You were also
to turn over ports to Spain for…"

- Still there, you?
- But I…

I have to show Milord how to disrobe.

Well, get lost!
We have serious business.

Start over, Counselor.

"… turn over ports to Spain
for a future landing and…"

Good. I've heard enough, Counselor.

That's all we need.

I want a public execution.

Execution? They haven't been judged.

I want a public execution.

For the sake of spectacle.

Four heads fall straight away,
20 others after.

I'll send you
some Parisian executioners.

Derois and Delguedre.

Why spend so much?

Breton executioners are excellent
and cheaper.

Eighteen pounds for four heads
with the block thrown in.

Let's not be stingy.
Paris executioners.

We owe the Bretons that much.

Set up the scaffold before the castle.

Aim six cannons at the town
to avoid a riot.

A riot? But no one takes
Pontcallec seriously!

Don't minimize the plot, Counselor.

We all know it was gigantic!

We've quelled a fearsome revolt.

I want 12 cannons, eh?

Curiosity killed the cat!
Scram, all of you!

I can't seem to find Louisiana.

I've never been able to.

And I've got 50 million shares
in that land full of Blacks!

That's Africa, Milord.

Louisiana's over that way,
in the Americas.

They're still Black, Grattelard.

His Eminence, the Cardinal.

Have you heard? Cardinal Rohan
is to miter Abbot Dubois.

And that's my right!

Squabbling over who miters the pimp!

It's the principle of the thing.
I'm Cardinal and I have precedence.

As for the pimp, Milord,
it's high time he were Archbishop.

He'll no longer be a threat
to the Church.

He'll convert?

Our hopes are humbler.

That he makes the Regent
give up his infamous project,

more pernicious than public schools!

Obliging the Church to sell land
she's possessed for 120 years!

At a price the peasants can afford!

You'll still get a tidy sum.

And for the rest, a tax increase
that will be devastating!

Buy Mr. Law's shares.
They're tax free.

Worthless paper.

But good for gold
when the wind changes.

How can we tell?

It may be changing now, Milord.

Surely you know
that some of your friends

have withdrawn gold from the bank.
Very few.

Just a warning…

It's not a plot like in Brittany,

but a legal way of showing
our disapproval of a policy

that's undermining our power.

After all, we are pillars of the bank,
hence of the state,

and if the pillars give way…

Careful, gentlemen.
Hurry and please be careful!

Hurry up!

Go! Quickly!

Three carriage loads of gold!
You are going all out, Milord.

All for a simple warning.

I never do things by half.

You changed at least 20 million.

No, 25.
Count it and send it to Switzerland.

In Switzerland?
But everyone will do the same, Milord!

This is why I took it all.

Still alone, Mr. Brunet?

- Where are the others?
- They left.

Decidedly,
I shall never know my judges.

Kneel.

I only kneel before God.

He's here.

If you say so.

De Pontcallec.

You are convicted
of high treason and felony.

You are condemned to be beheaded.

I protest! This trial is an infamy!

Gag him… with this!

They say,
"Confess and your life is saved".

Then they assassinate you!

Your goods
will be forfeited for the Crown.

All signs of lordship
in your homes and manors

shall be pulled down and obliterated.

All moats shall be filled in.

All trees shall be felled to nine feet.

Take him!

I've three others to see.

Lower your rifle!
I must see the Regent.

- I have orders.
- I'm Abbot Dubois.

Even the Pope…

What makes you say that?
People like you tend to die young.

Take care of this, guard.

By the light of the moon
My friend Pierrot

By the light of the moon
My friend Pierrot

Lend me your pen to write a word…

- What is it, Dubois?
- Serious business.

No cause to sing off-key.

We need your signature.

Return when I start work at six.

Impossible. Someone is pressuring you
to delay the execution.

Indeed.

If the Bretons aren't beheaded
by Holy Tuesday,

we have to wait till Pentecost.

That means 40 days.

40 days is better than none.

- It's a stupid custom.
- Why?

You'll change your mind 40 times.

- Show some respect!
- Mind your business!

She's minding mine and I approve.
She has good judgment and a heart.

I know the odds aren't even.
I beg to speak with you alone.

Leave us, Emilie.

You might hear ugly things.

- Shall I wait?
- Yes. Go to the guard. He has a fire.

You look like a beadle.

Wait downstairs.

No, Dubois!

I won't execute the Bretons.
The trial was a disgrace.

No open court, no counsel,
or hearing for the defense!

All four were innocent of murder.

You made me believe
there were 3,000 in the Lanoué forest.

There were less than 100 and unarmed.

You are right. Any other time I would
advise clemency, but not today.

But it's against my policy!

Change your policy.

England dislikes your leniency.

You want that miter!

Yes, it's true
and I get money from England.

But having an alliance with a Protestant
country has made France richer.

They say money has no religion.
Wrong! Money is Protestant.

So these four Catholic heads must fall.

- They won't fall.
- Then please accept my resignation.

You've never threatened that before.

And it takes guts.
I'm afraid you'll accept!

- You'd give up the miter?
- Unwillingly.

But I would.

Once you sign, you can recall
that idiot Montesquiou

and pardon all the condemned.
There are many.

Thank you for your generosity.

I'll make it up to you.

I'm counting on it.

- Damn it!
- At it again?

Yes! I am still behaving, as you see.

- Glad to have your miter, scoundrel?
- Oh, yes!

For Christ's sake! Damn it!

Ten bucks is not much, eh?

Even that, they repay you.

To a worker…
but they pay back the nobles!

So I went to the bank.
We tried to break in.

And they opened… Four dead.
And the value is lower every day.

It bothered me.

You should keep your paper.

The notes will go back up in value.

Besides, bank transactions
on Good Friday aren't Christian!

And a little sale between friends?

- It depends on the object of the sale.
- A miniature by Klingstedt. In gold.

- I'll give you 50 pounds.
- It's yours.

Stop by the Hotel Entraigue
to get paid.

I am
Count Antoine Joseph Marie de Horn.

- The Regent's cousin?
- In person.

Does the broker Le Blanc live here?

First floor, there.
First hall on the right, second door.

Milord.

Stop, thief! Murder!

Murder upstairs!
I'll get the constable!

After him! The thief!

Get the murderer!

Let me go! I'm not the murderer!

It was him. He held the knife!
He killed to rob!

I'm a count! You can't arrest me!

He has 100,000 francs in pounds
and bills and a miniature.

- It's mine. He stole it.
- Idiot!

You'll lose the 50 pounds I would have
given you tonight when I'm set free!

I refused to pardon Pontcallec,
an honest man

and I'm to pardon
this profligate Horn? Never.

You seem almost eager to kill him.

Yes. He'll die when the Bretons do,
the same way,

so no one can say I judge
with double standards.

But the Bretons lose their heads!

Their crime is not vile.

The wheel is too good for Horn.

A nobleman on the wheel!

I consulted my librarian.

There's no trace in any book
of a similar slap to the nobility.

Cousin, "The crime, not the scaffold,
is the disgrace." Corneille said it.

Who cares what Corneille says?

What could that commoner
know about privilege?

If you wheel him, you know that
the first three generations

can obtain no abbacy
or sovereign diocese.

It's not only an atrocious slur,
but a terrible loss of money.

I gave my orders. Count de Horn
will be wheeled tomorrow at noon.

- At noon, to draw a crowd.
- Indeed.

You don't mind wheeling
a member of your own family?

I'll bear the shame,
the same as the other relatives.

Do you know what Abbot Grattelard,
my librarian, says?

He says it is a revolutionary measure.

Horn's crime was unspeakable.
His death will be the same.

For killing a speculator!

Too bad it wasn't you
who assassinated him.

But, Cousin, I'm of royal blood.

You couldn't do anything to me.

I'd give amnesty to the man
who avenged the victim.

Is it your habit
to kill family members?

No, it's a desire that seizes me
when I look at you.

This execution's a scandal!

They plotted with Spain.

- Who?
- The Bretons.

I don't care about them.
Are they nobles?

Must be to be decapitated.

Excuse me, my son,
I didn't understand.

I can't confess.
The noise is unbearable!

- Regard it as penance.
- You can't hear my sins!

- God hears them.
- So you say!

Pontcallec, what's that animal called?

An elephant.

And they said
my death would come by sea…

I'll never trust
a fortune teller again.

I'd lift my hat, Father,
but they took it.

What did they do with our hats?

What use is a hat?
In an hour, you won't have a head.

The Breton Republic was short lived.

It figures!
It was a republic of nobles.

You'd rather have a peasant republic?

I'd rather not get involved
in all this.

Listen. They're already done.

Must be a shoddy job.

Yes.

A strange spectacle indeed.

Montlouis!

To Philippe d'Orléans,
Regent of France. Dear Sir…

Another letter! Poor Pontcallec!

I still have 15 minutes!
I'm using them.

Go ahead.

Dear Sir…

I address you as sir…

for one doesn't say milord…

to one's assassin.

The whole convent prayed
for Pontcallec's reprieve.

We're all Bretons, Milord.
Severine too.

She was sure you'd answer her letters.

Until the morning of the execution,
she still had hope.

I never received her letters.

I don't doubt it, Milord.

Then it was God's will.

And Dubois, Reverend Mother…

Severine knew Pontcallec?

Barely. I think she saw him once.

But he's our hero…

especially now.

I'll make a gift to the convent.

Perhaps a mass for his salvation.

If you like.

But I think Count de Horn
needs it more.

I knew I'd be archbishop before I die!

- Your health is good, Abbot.
- I may live a year.

- Are Archbishops good in bed?
- It depends.

- You're early, Milord.
- Not anymore.

Open it.

Whose hair is this?

A girl who asked my permission
to be a nun.

Ask you? Strange idea!

Open the letter.

Do you recognize the handwriting?

Why should I?

You've seen it twice before.

You stole the letters Severine wrote
begging Pontcallec's pardon.

I was afraid of them. I know you.

They might have convinced you.

Give them to me.

I burned them.

They were beautiful but naive.

She'd have been unhappy here.

She's made for the convent.

Make her an abbess.

She'll pray for us,
since we'll need it.

Perhaps she's a saint
and you're doing God's work.

I'm tired of doing God's work.

You're the archbishop.

Do it instead of me.

And you, Milord?

I'll plant my seed
at Villers-Cotterêts.

Your stairs are steep.

Because you drink too much, Milord,
especially since last week.

- Some harm will come to you.
- I came to hear good fortune, not bad.

I brought the gentleman.

Ah, the gentleman from the provinces…
Come in!

Come in, Marquis.

Thank you, I'm not thirsty.

It's for the fortune telling, sir.

Bring back memories, Emilie?

She was with me six years.
She was my best medium.

There's none like her.

Are you still clairvoyant?

No. Not anymore.

Do you have a preference?

This one perhaps.

Give her your hand.

- Does she read palms?
- No, it's to feel you better.

Ready, Marie Charlotte?

Do you feel the gentleman?

Yes. He's had a great sorrow.

Do you see anything?

Wait, something is forming!

I don't know what it is. It is round.

It is not a necklace. It is a crown!

A splendid golden crown
placed on the gentleman's head.

It's a King's crown.

I've buried four
who should have been King.

Shall I bury a fifth for his crown
and call myself the Mourner Prince?

If it pleases you, Milord.

I shouldn't have let you come.

You're so difficult at the moment.

You know why.

Yes, Milord.

So you know why
I don't want to be King.

And I won't be, thank God!

The King is a healthy little boy
and I am just an old corpse.

We want to see the Regent.

- Who are you?
- Misery, desperation and crime.

Nowhere are misery, desperation
and crime more welcome than here.

You, my most loyal subjects, as Louis XIV,
my uncle, left you to me,

I shall leave you, more numerous still,
to Louis XV and his successor.

For misery, desperation
and crime are fecund.

Enter! Let the banquet begin!

Magnificent!

I get the prize, right?

I am the most miserable.

I am the Law system.

In other words, bankruptcy,
failure and theft.

And I'm the Great Lady of the Kingdom
in search of a husband.

Oh, take off the mask!

Whom shall I marry?

The bank, of course!
What a fine couple!

Poverty and the bank,
what a great match! Come on!

What's the trouble, Emilie?
You look sad.

There is no reason to be.

I gave you the house,
now that Severine isn't coming.

What I see saddens me.

It's a masquerade.

That mocks the poor. I don't like it.

Have another drink, then.

Invite the real poor!

The real ones? They'd rob me!

The musicians look unhappy.

They have good reason. They're blind.

They supposedly play better.

Like nightingales, who sing better
when you put out their eyes.

No one put their eyes out.

They're blind from birth.

They don't know where they are.

They'll play beautifully, all night long,

songs that I chose myself
for the occasion.

I came, Milord.

Dubois, I invited you because this
wouldn't be a disaster ball without you.

And you do look terrible.

You make a strange soldier.

I'm in awful pain,
because of my cursed bladder.

You lack courage.

He's already forgotten
I saved his life at Neerwinden.

I'm courageous, but not against pain.

The Regent's sad and bitter.
You must be losing your touch, poor you.

Poitou! Another round, please.

Suckling pig for you, Dubois!

- I want the tail and ears.
- There you are, Marie Madeleine.

Time to disappear, ladies!
Emilie, make a sacrifice.

Great sacrifices are unseen,
as Corneille says.

It's not a sacrifice.

It's a habit.

I, of course, am in no state to play.

Then why did you come?

Looking on will be a pleasure.
Ladies, I am not playing.

I hope you'll recognize me.

Don't worry.
They'll recognize your powder flask.

I'm not so sure.

Oh! Emilie!

You get a forfeit.

You'd be a fine musician, Milord.

I could be so many things
were I not Regent, meaning nothing.

Ah! You lost, Milord!

That makes two forfeits.

Mine is vomiting all over. What to do?

Throw it out.

Milord, may I have
one more screw with Picard?

Ask Emilie's permission, then.

Picard and I are obedient to Milord.

Just a quickie before Mass.

Whatever you do,
you'll die a Christian!

The dwarf… is 67 years old.

Picard bought his knighthood

from a man who went bankrupt
because of Mississippi shares.

We sold in time.

God, it stinks in here!

Doesn't it?

- No, not especially.
- Yes, it does.

The stench is awful!

Now it smells worse.

Let's get out of here.

- It stinks even more here.
- No, Milord.

You don't smell that odor of rot?

God, it's my hand!

- Smell it!
- No.

- Yes. It stinks.
- No.

- It stinks!
- I'll wash it.

The other has no stench
and I'm only rotten on one side!

- It stinks!
- It's just dirty.

- It stinks!
- Come with me!

There. The stench is gone.

No, it's worse.

I must be ill. I'm ill.

- I'm ill.
- Try the doctor, Milord.

No. You will cut off my hand.

That's a bizarre joke.

And this stench…

It's a joke?

I order you to cut off my hand.

Here, cut.

With this knife?

Do you prefer an ax?

Only a surgeon
has instruments for that.

The saw?

Yes, the saw. Like at Neerwinden,
when they amputated the wounded.

You remember.

I don't like the sound of the saw.

Well, neither do I. But if we must…

- The royal palace?
- To Dr. Chirac. Hurry!

- Is His Highness ill?
- Yes. No time to lose.

I'll follow in my coach.

Never! You'd run off. Get in! Emilie…

I'll go with you.

Faster!

When we get to the surgeon's,
I want you to amputate.

No. Chirac's more skilled.

I want to see your face as you saw.

And I know you'll saw well.

You like blood, Dubois.
You'll enjoy it.

Spare me nothing.

Did you spare me… Archbishop?

Mathieu!

Help me! He's hurt!

What happened?

We ran over a child.

Back up!

Do you know him?

He's my brother.

Money, Dubois!

- Give me some money!
- I've none.

All of it! There you go.

Tell your parents the Regent
awaits them at the palace.

Tell them to hurry up.
Do you understand?

Emilie, stay with her.

You accompany them. They might
not find it or dare go in. Let's go.

You frightened me, Milord.

But, please, see your doctor!

Definitely.

I refuse to die before I bury you.

I'm in no rush.

You've got death in the bladder.

Yes, I live with death.
I feel it in my belly.

I hope you suffer horribly.

Oh, no, I've domesticated it.

Ride with the coachman
like the servants and catch a cold.

Such hate for four Breton heads!

You only noticed them
because they were nobles.

Let's go.

Go!

Bring straw and hay!

Well, come on!

Bring firebrands!

No, don't close them. He must see.

And you too, my beauty!

And the peasant lifted the boy's head
and said,

"Look, little brother, look.

See how it burns!"

And she added, "We shall burn others,
little brother. Many more."