All language subtitles for Céleste (1981)

A FILM BY
PERCY ADLON

BASED ON THE BOOK "MONSIEUR
PROUST"
BY CÉLESTE ALBARET

After he wakes and has his
inhalation,
Monsieur never speaks.

For six months

Monsieur has been living on no
more
than two cups of coffee a day.

He sleeps very little.

When I have written
the word "end"

we will travel south.

He writes at night and
in the early morning.

I am at his disposal.

I sleep from 8 a.m.
till 3 in the afternoon.

From 4 in the afternoon on,
I wait for him to ring.

I take coffee and
first milk to him.

I wait for him to ring again
and take the second milk to him;

it has to be freshly boiled.

That is all Mr. takes.

Having to wait ...

this is how it first began.

Come, Céleste.

Do you know what this is?

The call-bell.
Electric.

When it rings,
a number appears here.

I wanted to show it to you.

It's what they had
in former times.

Afraid?

Nicholas has already
brought him,

coffee and milk
and two croissants.

Afterwards, when Mr.
rings twice,

you take out the croissant
and you put it on this saucer.

Come.

You take the croissant
down there,

you go through the dining room
and the empty parlour.

It's the next door.

You draw back the curtains,
you open the door and go in.

He knows you're helping out.

But don't talk to him!

I've an errand to run.
Do I get a kiss?

And don't walk around the flat!

He's had his room
lined with cork panels.

as he's so sensitive,
you'll see.

You mustn't talk to him,
understand?

If he rings again,
he wants more hot milk.

But Nicholas will soon be back.

Good luck!

I was sitting here
with the third croissant.

But Mr. did not ring.

- Was there anything?
- Nothing, Odilon.

Nicholas won't be long.

Take care!

He didn't ring.

They called for me once more,
and once again he didn't ring.

But it's strange ...
I didn't get bored at all

waiting all those hours.

It was eerie,

being in this large strange
flat,
yet I felt at home.

Somewhere, another person
was breathing.

And one day, it rang.

I couldn't see his face

but his eyes looked at me.

I shall always remember that.

I started eight years ago,
in 1914.

Then suddenly war broke out.

Nicholas, the valet,
and my husband were recruited.

That's how I stayed with Mr.

At the beginning of the war,
in September,

he went to Cabourg, by the sea.

He took me with him.

It was his last trip.

Then began

our hermit life.

He's having a fit!

When I'm dead,
you'll think of Marcel,

because you'll never find
another like him.

I present Marcel Proust,
in his nightshirt and uncombed.

So,this is six.

There you go.

- Would you help again?
- Yes.

Seven.

I've called you because
I'm at a loss what to do.

What's the matter, Mr.?

The additions!

All the margins are full.

I could keep writing
on loose pages,

but I always get them muddled up
and when it goes to the
typesetter ...

There, we'll try this.

Hold here, Mr.

Now you can fill
as many pages as you wish.

All I need is space
to paste the pages.

The rest is no problem.

Looks as if moths had been at
it.
Is it important?

- Very.
- Yes, I know.

They always go for
the best bits.

Could you bring the hot-water
bottle,
I'm feeling a bit chilly.

That's because you don't sleep.

- You can't work continuously.
- I know.

But I must, time is pressing.

Tell me,

to live here at night,
all the time, with a sick man,

isn't this a sad life?

Why, Mr.?
I know I'm eccentric.

Like a jay,

just like a feather duster.

You want to keep them all.

Please forgive me.

Please, call me Marcel!
Just once!

But why not?

Because I can't.

I'm so grateful to you
for agreeing to tend a sick man.

This is temporary, till I've
found
another man-servant.

It isn't correct for a sick man
like me,
bedridden, to have a woman at
his side.

Especially a young woman.

I know you can't do a thing.
You'll just make my coffee.

You don't even know
how to speak in the 3rd person.

No, Mr. And I don't want
to be able to, either.

All the better.

- May I ask you something?
- Go ahead.

Why don't you call me Céleste?

I'm embarrassed
when you say "Madame".

Because I can't.

You want me to call you
by your Christian name,

though I don't know
how to speak in the 3rd person.

All the better.

On his last journey to the sea,
to Cabourg, in 1914,

at the beginning of the war,
he still took a valet along.

a tall Swede.

Mr. and I, we laughed
about him, secretly.

Mr. lead me by the hand,
like a little girl,

and showed me
the sea and sun

through the oval window
he loved so much.

He then began
calling me Céleste,

and so it remained.

I must meet the
Countess Chevigne.

All right, Mr.

Do you think I might possibly
be too weak, dear Céleste?

It'll be fine because
you want it to.

Phone her to find out
if she's free tonight.

All right, Mr.

I'd like to meet
the Countess at the Ritz.

Could you, in case she agrees,
call Mr. Dabescat,

and have
the small lilac room reserved?

May I ask you to hurry up?

Sorry, I forgot what's most
important,
it's been 20 years ...

ask if she still has that great
hat
decorated with Parma violets.

I can't quite remember,
it torments me.

With pleasure.

Could you call in at
Lemaitres's?
Tell him to send her orchids!

They must be very beautiful!

Yes, Mr., very nice.

The Countess could bring
Mr. Cocteau with her,

he lives in the same house now.

Yes, Mr., bring Mr. Cocteau.

And call Mr. François, please.
Have him come right away.

Don't forget my foot-bath!

- Are there enough towels?
- Yes, Mr.

Will you manage
to do all that?

At once! I shall fly
like a witch on a broomstick.

Mr. Dabescat is to make up
the menu as usual.

- Tell Odilon to be ready at 9
o'clock.
- Yes, Mr. Odilon at 9 o'clock.

I said it all began
with my waiting,

but this isn't true.

It started with these errands,
letters, messages, flowers,

and with his 1st book
"Swann's Way" which had just
come out.

Mr. had asked Odilon:

What does she do,
your young wife?

She's from the country, isn't
she?
Does she like it in town?

Not at all - Odilon replied.

All she does is wait for me,
she hardly sleeps,

she eats little and never
wants to go out.

She's longing for her mother.

She might like to deliver, the
presentation copies of my book
for me;

that would distract her.

That's what Odilon told me,
and I answered, "Ok, I'll go".

My God, how many letters
have I delivered since?

1000? That isn't enough.

The letters are always
part of a plan whose aim is,

to hunt models,
for characters in his books.

Often making complicated
detours to meet someone.

It must look
like a matter of chance.

Mr. doesn't seek just
any feeling,

Mr. seeks the truth.

I act as his hound.

I rouse his game,
and he - bang!

The number of models
he needs for just one character!

Suddenly an address disappears.

I know: the pages have ended,
he no longer needs this model.

Mr. is waiting for you Mr.
François.

Your instruments are ready.

- Good-bye, Mr. François.
- Good-bye, Mme. Céleste.

Now he's spattered himself,

always when he's almost
done dressing.

He already has his tie on, too.

He wants to break a record, he's
finished
a whole flask of tooth-powder.

It's really wonderful.

Like in the good old days.

This linen is almost clean!
What a waste!

You know my skins chaps
if I use a damp towel twice.

What'd you have done
if you'd had poor parents?

- You're spattered again!
- But I put a towel ...

- Don't move!
- People won't mind me being
spattered.

You look like an
Oriental prince.

Thank you, I like how
you said that.

- These gloves have been
cleaned.
- I don't think so, Mr.

- I can't smell anything.
- They smell of benzine.

You know I don't appreciate
initiatives of this kind.

- Yes, Mr.
- Why do you do it then?

I'm tired, so terribly tired.

Such a great effort,

for a bit of information.

My boots ...
Would you mind?

Here they are, Mr.

No, Céleste, not that!

I'm already done, Mr.

How kind you are to me,
Céleste, how very kind!

At times I felt as if
I were his mother ...

then again
as if I were his child.

You have not changed the sheets!

- They aren't dirty. I thought
...
- I think they're damp.

I want them changed every day,
even if I go out every day.

I'm sorry, Mr.

When I've written the word
"end",
we'll travel south together.

Why not go to Combray,
to see places of your childhood
again,

which you write about?

Lost paradises
can only be rediscovered within
oneself.

- Well, Mr.?
- Well, dear Céleste.

Still, Mr.? This old war-horse
still has no right to support
you?

And the Countess Chevigné?

What a unique woman she was
when I watched for her,

when she drove
to the Bois the Boulogne!

What a beauty!

I was in ecstasy.

And tonight ...

An old lady with a hoarse voice
and an aquiline nose.

And the moleskin hat?

She didn’t answer me
when I asked her on the phone.

All she said was:

Marcel, after all this time.

After all this time.

Have you some titbits?
Are you going to offer any?

Yes, come!

I hope I haven't
forgotten anything.

Try to picture all the people
who were there tonight.

I'm waiting.

Here, the Countess Murat.

Her boots make her look ready
to leap at you in a Cossack
dance.

Be careful!

There, Boni de Castellane,
but that's quite another story.

I can well imagine.

Here the young Jean Cocteau.

When he saw me, he jumped
on the table, on the table!

- On the tablecloth?
- He shouted: here's Marcel!

- That was very embarrassing.
- I always thought he was a
buffoon!

He tells a pack of lies
to be noticed, but he's witty.

He wanted to sit next to me
but seated there,

was Father Mugnier.

Luckily!

On the other side ...

Madame ...

Scheikjewitsch.

She had a white fox
and she spent the whole evening

stroking my face with the fox
tail,
saying "I love you".

- My other neighbour, Father
Mugnier.
- With the horrible warts on his
face.

I like him! Among all these
people,
in his threadbare soutane.

Won't you bring him home one
day,
I'd like to see his warts.

I'll do that.

- But not on a Friday!
- What do you mean?

Good Friday dinner where
you had a choice of meat or
fish.

- Father Mugnier helps himself
to meat ...
- Continue!

His neighbour leans over
and whispers: "Meat, today?"

And he pushed his plate away
saying: "Ah, what do I see"

"How could I make
such a mistake?"

And now, Boni de Castellane,
the dandy of Paris!

- He married a rich American.
- No!

With her money he built a palace
in the style of the Grand
Trianon.

This evening I didn't relent
until he showed it to us.

When we got as far as
the bedroom,

- his American wife is very
rich,
true, but also very ugly -

Boni said: "This is
the opposite side of the coin."

I also saw Boni tonight,
dear Céleste.

This elegance, this
extravagance!

The studs on the collar
of his old mastiff, looked like
gold!

He hasn't a penny left.

He isn't the only one.

These people
sleep on the lid of a bath-tub,

because they don't
even have a bed.

But they still know
how to keep up appearances!

- Well, Céleste?
- Well, Mr.?

Follow me!

I know where you've been, Mr.

You've been in this house once
again,
once wasn't enough?

No.

Through the peep-hole again?

I was told a man would come
who wanted to be whipped.

- That can't be!
- Yes, Céleste.

I watched the scene
through a small window.

It smelt bad.

I was in an uncomfortable
position, but I had to see it.

He came from the north
expressly for that.

A fat man with thin legs
and a timid childlike face.

He let himself
be chained to the wall,

and a fellow beat him
with a whip ...

until the welts burst ...

- And blood spurted everywhere.
- No!

Only then did the poor man

experience sensual enjoyment.

How could you watch
such a thing?

I'd watch even more
horrible things.

But why?

Because I lack imagination.

I have to collect it all
with difficulty.

Go to bed, Céleste.

What time is it?

It's been daylight for a while.

I want to work.

- Good night.
- Go to bed yourself.

No, time is pressing.
Good night.

Excuse me
for having woken you a third
time.

That doesn't matter.
I always like to come.

Dear Céleste, I can't
quite remember

which of your brothers
was so sensitive,

so tender
and sweet to you.

He was the youngest.

Sit down for a minute.

I'm longing for Mama.

When you went
to your mother's funeral ...

The stocking incident ...

Because I had left in a hurry,

without changing,

my court shoes sank in the snow,

I wore white spotted stockings.

A farmer said,
as I walked by,

"That one with her openwork
stocking, she must be hot!"

Thinking I'd not know
his dialect.

My mother was already buried.

I went straight back to Paris.

I can see her still;
watching me go.

My brother took me
by carriage to the station.

Mama is standing by the gate
getting smaller and smaller.

She lifts her hand
and waves ...

so awkwardly ...
how sweet she is!

Now, the walls.

Tell me.

There isn't much to tell.

The stones are pilled up ...
There are
many stones in the earth.

In other parts
they have fences, we have walls.

When I joined Odilon
in Paris, in that small flat,

I often thought
about our big house.

in the middle of the village,
like in a valley.

And all around, fields,

completely enclosed by walls.

Tell me another story ...

the hat story.

When Mama was expecting
her 7th child,

a fire destroyed our property.

That day I secretly put on
my white confirmation dress.

My dress caught on the front
door
and I fell in the mud.

My youngest brother
wanted to protect me.

"Don't be cross with Céleste"
he said, "or I'll cry."

Someone shouted:
"Fire! Fire!"

The barn was full of straw.

Mama climbed up
with a bucket of water.

She falls, gets up, climbs up
with a second bucket.

Her dress catches fire ...

The smoke, the storm,
the flames,

the shouting, the cattle;
we got there just in time to
save them.

The baby was born
eight days later;

it didn't stop crying,
and after a short time, it died.

My father,
having lost everything

had to borrow a neighbour's hat
to go to Mass on Sunday.

It was too small.

That made us laugh.

Whenever we looked at Papa
we burst out laughing.

You look beautiful today!

Why is it you never married?

You'd have been a kind husband,
attentive and considerate,

and you'd have had
well brought-up children.

I'd have to have a wife
who understands me.

And as I only know one woman
like that in the world,

I could only have married you.

Well, now that's an idea!

But you are much better suited

in replacing Mama for me.

Do you see a difference
between platonic and sensual
love?

I don't know what you mean.

I must prepare the inhalation
for tomorrow. Good night.

Have you disinfected
the mail yet?

Not yet.

Right away.

- It's after 5.
- Yes, he's late today.

For ...

13 days now,

he just wants his coffee and
hot-water
bottles. He doesn't speak.

I think he works day and night.
All I hear is coughing.

His room must be
like an ice-box, without
heating.

- I could ...
- Quiet!

No, it's nothing.

I thought he'd have
an inhalation.

An ice-box!

- Shall I have another look
at the chimney? - No.

The smoke comes back into the
room.
Mr. says there's a gas leak.

He doesn't eat a thing, the
cold,
the constant thinking,

his knees drawn up ...

- I'd have been dead long ago.
- He'll outlive us.

I have a client.

Don't I get a kiss?

- Is that all?
- Take care!

I wanted to visit you.
I had a peculiar feeling.

- He hasn't rung.
- Not yet?

- Do you know what time it is?
- Nearly midnight.

- Don't you want to go look?
- Only when he rings.

- I don't know when I'll be
back.
- Take care!

Madame, I present to you
Marcel Proust,

in his nightshirt and uncombed.

You know never to put a finger
in a glass.
Not even if it's been used.

What was that?

I fell asleep.

- You'd better have a look.
- He doesn't want that.

He doesn't want it ...

But if ...

Is he dead?

Did he call?

What do you want to do?

Wait.

- And if ...
- He's alive.

He'll outlive us all.

Odilon!

- It's nearly half past 5,
you have another errand to run.

Yes, thank you.

- Still nothing?
- Still nothing.

How much longer
do you want to wait?

Until this afternoon.

What did you think?

I didn't think anything.

But you listened.

Of course.

I was worried.

Really?

You gave me quite a fright.
That wasn't very nice.

I, too, thought ...

we might never see
each other again ...

my dear Céleste.

He wanted to know,
what it was like to die.

He wanted to experience death.

He needed this for his book.

When I think that this is only
the 2nd part of his work

that there are yet
1000's of pages ...

- Where has she got to?
- ... I see it coming like a
nightmare,

an avalanche
that will crush me ...

But I've begun realizing
this is an epoch-making work ...

Where has she got to?

Mr. cannot see you yet,
it's too early.

- At 5 in the afternoon?
- At 10 maybe.

Or tomorrow,
Mr. is undecided.

Does he realize how important
is it to receive

the 1st Goncourt prize
given after the war?

- For his publisher, too!
- He's right.

I must catch tonight's train
to set the new edition in
motion.

I implore you,
it's urgent!

I'll let him know.

He can consider himself lucky
that the jury voted for him.

It's a shady business,
but it's in our favour.

If I think that
we refused it all,

that Gide didn't open
the parcel holding the
manuscript.

He didn't want to publish
any "dandy" literature!

That must've been one
of the jury's arguments.

And, the competitor's book
deals with a subject,

that concerns us far more,
after this war, than do Proust's
girls.

What a job
we had getting this book back!

Proust had already
the other printer.

Printing it privately.

Volume II was to appear,
when we smelt the rat, in time.

We were on the alert.

- And now, the Goncourt!
- The first after the war!

- Where has she got to?
- Mr.? Please.

For one minute!

The circus is on.

They want to forget they didn't
even read the dandy's book.

Times change.

Now that these gentlemen
are on their way,

I just want to tell you ...

Our door-bell will likely
be rung quite frequently now.

I don't want to see anyone.
Especially
no reporters, nor photographers.

- Throw them all out.
- Yes, sir.

- Don't answer their questions.
- I shan't say a word.

May I ask you a question?

Are you pleased
about the prize?

Very.

Very.

I should like
to congratulate you.

Thank you, I like
the way you said that.

I haven't had my inhalation yet.
Would you like to help me?

- Good morning.
- Morning.

Excuse me.

In nine years, this is
the first time,

you have spoken to me
before your coffee.

I have big news for you.

- News?
- Last night ...

Yes ...

Last night I wrote
the word "end".

I'm pleased for you.

But the additions ...

As I know you, I must paste
in many more accordions.

But my work
can be published.

It wasn't in vain.

- As regards the additions ...
- Yes.

We shall have visitors.
I need some important
information.

The beginning
of the 2nd movement, please.

Just the mysterious passage.

And now the 2nd motif.

There was this other passage.

Tristan.

May I ask you, once again ...

That comes again, doesn't it?

And then this ...
endless tune.

Never allow anyone
to give me an injection.

Promise me.

César Franck composed this,
a few months before he died,
didn't he?

What wonderful thoughts
before dying!

I didn't quite understand the
interlacing,
of all the motifs in the last
movement.

Yes, this ...
and the other interlacing ...

It is wonderful to see
the meeting of different motifs,

and the transformation
which results.

It's illuminating, beautiful.

Isn't that so?

I am very grateful to you.

... that the work of art ...

is the only means

to recapture lost time.

Like a seed ... I would die,

just as the plant had developed.

You don't sleep anymore,

you don't eat,
you don't want any coffee.

The flu weakened you.
Do you want to continue?

The publisher needs the
proof-sheets.

Are they laundered?

Odilon, get some fresh beer,
quickly!

Céleste, I want cold
stewed fruit!

He orders all the things Dr.
Bize
prescribes, but takes none.

I assure you
this isn't a bad flu.

I've recommended
injections of camphor oil,

if you follow my advice,
it'll be a matter of eight days.

Dear Dr., I must, I want
to correct these proof sheets.

The publisher awaits them.

Your brother refuses
to be treated.

Something must be one,
at all costs!

I haven't the authority.

I don't want to force you,
my little Marcel.

I'd just like to get you out
of this ice-cold room.

There is an excellent clinic
close by,
very well-kept ...

You'd have a nurse who'd give
you
the necessary care.

I don't need your nurse.

Only Céleste understands me,
all I want is Céleste.

We'll treat you
against your will.

Go, I don't want
to see you any more!

I forbid you to come back!

I can't send your brother away!

Here's the stewed fruit.

It's terrible to think doctors
can torment a sick person,

just to add maybe half a day
to his miserable life.

No injection!

Promise me that!

I promise you.

You haven't slept properly
in five weeks.

I don't count.

Cold beer! Quickly!

Or I'll get very angry!

He asked for fish.

Wait, I want to see him first.

I dissuaded him from the fish.

His heart is too weak.

Call me if you need me.

I'd like to sit on the edge
of my bed, turn, please.

Send the good Dr. Bize
a bunch of flowers.

Céleste, I should've liked
to have written you a letter.

You have better things
to do than that.

If I put something important
in my little Chinese cabinet,

will you promise me
not to open it before I am dead?

You know how inquisitive I am.
Don't do that.

I'm so sorry.

Can you hold out?

Yes.

I felt dizzy when I
saw below me,

and yet inside me,

as if I were many leagues high

so many years.

As if people were perched
on living stilts,

growing incessantly,

sometimes higher than
church towers ...

... higher than
church towers ...

which finally made
their walking,

difficult and perilous,

and from which they
suddenly fell.

I was startled to see mine
had become so long,

under my stride,

it didn't look as if I'd
have the strength

very much longer

to hold on to my past.

... would my strength
last long enough ...

for me to finish my work ...

I can't go on.

I can't hold myself up any more.

To please you, dear Céleste.

There's a big woman
in the room ... in black!

Does she frighten you?

A little.
But you mustn't touch her.

I shall soon have
driven her away.

Dr., I beg you, save him.
He is so weak.

Give him an injection.

Good day, my dear Odilon.

I'm pleased to see you.

- Where?
- In the thigh.

I'll lift the sheet, Dr.

I'm ashamed.

Am I tormenting you,
my dear little Marcel?

Yes, my dear Robert.

Does that do you good,
my little Marcel?

Yes, Robert.

Madame, I know
all you've done for him.

Be brave.

Is he dead?

Yes, Céleste.