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Today's headlines, ladies and gentlemen, Flaubert's trial!

To the pyre!

Shame!

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.LT

Jail him!

You should be ashamed!

Rat face!

Pervert!

Jail him! Jail him!

Scum!

Don't let them in!

Jail him! Jail him!

There he is! There he is!

Shame!

It's a scandal!

Swine!

Lock them up!

Writer of junk!

You should be ashamed!

Shame on Flaubert!

Go to jail!

Make an example of this man.

Order in court! Gentlemen, sit down!

Order!

The public safety department

has lodged a complaint of outrage

to public and religious morals

following publication of Mr Gustave Flaubert's novel

entitled Madame Bovary,

which appeared in six parts in the Revue de Paris

between 1st October and 15th December, 1856.

Maître Senard will be defending.

The Public Prosecutor has the floor.

Imperial Attorney Maître Pinard, take the floor.

Gentlemen, our society is in danger.

If we don't strike hard now,

our women and girls will be the victims.

And here are the guilty parties!

Mr Flaubert has killed nobody!

He's a writer.

And of impeccable character,

son of the surgeon-in-chief of Rouen hospital.

And his publishers are perfectly respectable.

When did France start dragging honest men before the courts?

When men with only a veneer

of decency started posing a threat.

Let justice be done!

Mr Flaubert's offense is serious because it's pernicious!

Unforgivable because repeated page after page, immortalized

by ink on paper!

And the general color,

which lends it tone to the work, is that of lust!

Sinful lust!

Hear, hear!

Order!

Emma, see Mr Bovary out!

Your father was lucky, the horse caused no broken bones.

I put a cast on.

Luckily, casts are my speciality.

Along with bleeds. I also extract teeth.

I never get toothache.

At the convent, they gave us cinnamon sticks to chew.

The convent?

The Ursulines convent in Rouen. That's where I grew up.

-Do you like reading? -Reading? A bit.

My father isn't a talker

and the winters here are long.

I find the winters long too.

Health officers are on the run

as soon as the cold arrives.

I'm always on the road.

Is a health officer like a doctor?

Almost.

I didn't completely finish my medical studies.

I could have, except...

Life got in the way. I was widowed three months ago.

I'm sorry.

I had my riding crop when I came in,

but I don't know where I put it. Could you help me?

Here it is!

Here.

Thank you.

I'll be back.

For the treatment, the cast, all that. See you soon.

See you soon.

She may look saintly,

but Emma Bovary is a lustful and corrupt woman!

From the start,

she deliberately unsettled the honest Charles, she provoked him!

Charles Bovary mislaid his riding crop.

Emma found it and gave it to him.

She wasn't used to being alone with a man, she blushed.

There was nothing brazen about that girl, quite the opposite!

At the convent, she studied piano, singing, dancing...

Is that a fault?

It is not she who should be judged,

far less the novel that tells her story,

but rather our education system!

Our education system!

And while we're here,

why not the very basis of our society?

I wouldn't go that far, Maître.

Mr Flaubert would, he doesn't possess your decency.

Posing as a genre study,

his novel attacks the very bedrock of our society.

He questions what is most precious to us,

that most sacred thing: the institution of marriage.

No corset?

Wouldn't you have taken it off?

Am I hurting you? It's perfectly natural.

Ouch.

I love you,

I love you so much...

The institution of marriage was not designed

to create unblemished happiness for husband and wife,

but to regulate transmission and procreation.

If happiness comes, all the better.

And if it doesn't?

One adapts.

One compromises, holds on, endures.

But Mr Flaubert doesn't have the same concept of marriage.

No sooner is Emma Bovary married

than he puts her in the arms of another.

Where did you read that?

The ball, Maître! The waltz!

Why interpret a dance as an initiation into vice?

Charles Bovary treated the tenant of a viscount.

To thank him, he invited him to his annual ball with his wife.

That ball ushered Emma into a world of elegance

and beauty that she'd only encountered in novels,

and which she remembered with nostalgia until her last breath.

Madame. May I?

Yes, yes, of course.

You were wonderful.

But you're right. The soles of my feet hurt.

I wouldn't have been at ease.

So can we go home, now?

No... No.

So was this Emma an esthete?

No, she was sensual and capricious!

Charles Bovary had a life, a house,

a clientele before he met her.

But after the ball that turned her head, the poor thing had languished.

So much so that this exemplary husband decided to move house

in an attempt to please her.

It's a lively place, no?

Good day.

Well, this is our new home.

Doctor, Madame... I am very happy.

I'm Félicité.

Thank you very much.

Here.

It's very damp.

It's been empty for a long time.

Sit down, my dear.

Félicité!

Put some wood on the fire. My wife needs warming up.

I've made some broth in case you fancied some.

You like broth?

It's good for pregnant women, yes.

You're expecting? When?

Mr Bovary!

My friends and I wished to waste no time

in sharing our joy at your moving to Yonville-l'Abbaye.

Let me introduce you to Mr Lheureux

who owns the novelty shop

and Mr Léon Dupuis, my lodger.

Mr Lheureux is our best trader,

there is nothing he cannot procure.

And Mr Léon Dupuis is an apprentice notary clerk

with a bright future ahead of him.

And myself, yours truly,

Homais, the pharmacist. My dispensary is even famed in Rouen.

Here's our welcome gift! Justin!

Beautiful and useful.

Thank you very much.

The practice of medicine

isn't too hard in these lands.

Nothing special to report, except a lot of cold humors

due to the deplorable living conditions of our peasant farmers.

Do many die from them?

Very few! Astonishingly few.

We even have a few nonagenarians.

People fall back on prayers and relics.

The pharmacist is a last resort. And even then!

The climate isn't harsh.

At the worst, minus four in winter, and 25 degrees in summer.

Did the journey tire you?

A little,

but I always enjoy moving around.

Are there any nice walks around here?

One or two.

On Sundays, I take a book with me and watch the sunset.

I love the setting sun. Especially by the sea.

Do you often go?

Well, no. No, I've never seen it.

But I've imagined it so often when reading, I may as well

have lived there.

Nothing better than reading by the fire in the evening,

as the wind batters the panes.

Oh yes. Diving into landscapes, exploring them,

thought mingling with fiction.

I adore stories that I can read all in one go,

stories that scare you. Ones where you lose track of time.

Me too.

And when I start reading... I forget everything.

Emma needs thrills,

she flees from restrained people.

Young Léon favors verses that make you cry, and poets.

We don't hold his character against him,

so why blame this girl for hers?

Because she makes deplorable use of it!

She shows no gratitude for her husband's efforts, his sacrifices!

She doesn't try to be happy.

What do you mean, she doesn't try?

She tries as hard as she can to make herself love him!

This husband who isn't exactly the Prince Charming of her dreams.

Sir, there's someone to see you.

I'm coming.

Good day, doctor.

Hello. What brings you here?

I need you to come with me.

It's for my wife. But it's also for my cow.

Is it urgent?

Yes, especially for my cow. Come.

Coming. Coming.

Let's go!

Follow me!

The dinner was really very good. Félicité is a good cook.

And our neighbors are very good company.

We're lucky to have this Mr Léon.

At least with him, you can talk of the things you love.

And who do you talk to about the things you love?

Everything I love is here.

Look.

It's my favorite ever novel.

I cry every time I read it.

That's Paul.

And that's Virginie.

They both grow up in the Tropics.

Look at the flowers. The mountains.

They love each other. They get separated for two years,

and Virginie's ship sinks en route home from the Caribbean.

She drowns and Paul dies of grief.

I'd have preferred a happy ending.

Yes. You don't have a romantic soul.

I have a soul that's in love.

Isn't that better?

But I can be romantic if you like.

What should I do?

Waltz like your viscount at the ball you still talk about?

Teach me! Come on, teach me!

Come on!

What do I do?

Give me your hand.

-Your hand. -There.

-There. -There.

-There. -Right. So...

-Right. -One, two...

-Three! -One, two, three, one, two, three...

One, two, three. Oh! Wait.

OK. The hand!

-No. The hand. -The hand...

Let's go.

One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three...

-Ouch! -I'm sorry.

We'll be romantic tomorrow, OK?

-Listen! -It's late.

"Even though I lose sight of you through the trees,

"I don't need to see you to find you again.

"Something of you remains for me

"in the air you've passed through,

"on the grass where you sat.

"When I come close, you delight all my senses.

"The azure sky is less blue than your blue eyes.

"The song of the Bengalis less sweet than the sound of your voice.

"Just touching you with my fingertips

"makes my body shiver with..."

Feel that?

It's moving. Yes, it's a boy.

"Pointed tummy, a boy is coming."

Your belly's like a limpet.

Georges. I'll call him Georges.

He'll be a man. He'll be free!

He can live where he wants, travel to distant lands,

indulge his passions, with nothing to hold him back.

In Brittany where my aunt lives, they eat them.

What?

Limpets!

Push, push, push, push!

More! More!

-Push, darling. Push! -Breathe!

Push!

Go on, push, push, push!

We're nearly there, nearly there.

Push, darling, push!

One last push, one last effort!

He's coming, he's coming.

There!

There, there!

Is it a boy? Is it a boy?

It's a little girl.

It's a perfect little girl.

-Do you want to hold her? -No.

What if we call her Madeleine?

Or Huguette, like your mother?

Madame, Mr Léon is here.

Not just now. Madame needs to rest.

No, let him in.

-Hello. -She's sleeping.

I brought you a novel for your convalescence.

Don't stay over there. Come and sit down.

It's a remarkable novel. Written by an American.

Thank you, really. What's it about?

Passionate love.

"Bertha was a tall, dark-haired, majestic woman.

"All men seemed to covet and admire her."

Bertha? Berthe!

Now that's a nice name!

Yes. It's a pretty name.

Yes. She will be called Berthe.

Where are you with the novel?

I've read it four times, now. It's my favorite novel.

At the moment, I'm reading a fantastic novel...

Nothing is enough for her.

She has tenderness, stability, her needs are met.

Pampered wife, mother of a healthy baby girl.

But she wants still more.

Emma Bovary is a prisoner of this marriage.

I quote:

"She wondered if there would have been a way

"through the vagaries of chance,

"to meet another man.

"He might have been handsome, witty, distinguished, attractive,

"just as were doubtless

"those who had married her old convent friends.

"But her own life was as cold as an attic

"whose skylight faces north."

I won. Darling, I won!

We can have a rematch tomorrow.

I'm going to bed, Léon.

Will you see him out?

I'm married.

I don't feel well, father.

Me neither. I'm less and less able to bear this heat.

No, it's not that. I'm suffering. I'm suffering terribly.

From what, my child?

I don't know how to tell you.

I've... It's like an abyss.

An abyss?

Or vertigo that grips me.

I'm scared of falling. I'm scared of being all alone.

But you have your husband?

It's when I'm with him that I feel alone.

Isn't the doctor a good husband?

He is.

You should go back home

and seek God's support, my child.

Say the rosary every morning and all will be well.

You'll harm yourself, crying like that.

Are you missing your little Berthe?

Shall we go and see the wet-nurse?

You're like Guérine,

the daughter of father Guérin, a fisherman from Pollet.

She was so pale and sad, she looked like a winding sheet.

There was a sort of fog

in her head.

The doctors couldn't help and neither could the priest.

She would go to the beach alone

and lie down on the pebbles and cry.

She cried until the tide came in and covered her.

She drowned?

Of course not!

She got married. And after that, she got over it.

It happened to me after I got married.

Madame? It's Mr Léon.

Madame.

-Yes? -The doctor isn't here?

He's seeing patients.

Ah. I came to bid him goodbye.

I found a job as a clerk in Paris.

And when do you leave?

Tonight.

Well, I wish you all the best in Paris.

I wanted... I would have liked to...

Yes?

Say it.

I'd like to give Berthe a kiss.

Félicité!

-Yes, Madame? -Can you bring Berthe?

She's sleeping, Madame.

Hello. Do come in.

Mr Léon! I heard you were leaving us for Paris?

I understand, but we shall miss you.

My wife will be bored.

Don't forget to stay in touch.

Right, let's go.

An English farewell.

She hadn't yet sinned yet was already feeling its horror.

I quote:

"Passion burnt itself to ashes,

"and as no help arrived, no sun appeared,

"deepest night fell everywhere

"and she remained lost in a horrid cold which pierced her through."

Mr Flaubert is unambiguous:

"lost in a horrid cold which pierced her through."

That's the state this woman was in

because she didn't get to cheat!

And it's not the clerk

she missed and wept for!

It was losing the chance to make him her lover!

And they say this isn't vice!

That's men for you!

This woman is in pain and rather than pity her, you judge her!

Madame!

She's the victim yet you make her the accused!

Madame, it's not a woman who's being tried here,

but a book.

No, Maître, it's Emma Bovary who's on trial!

And through her, the whole female sex!

This court has nothing against women.

As long as they conform!

Emma Bovary shocks you

because she's a provincial bourgeoise

who aspires to luxury and pleasure.

She wasn't born on a farm

but in a mansion in Paris where her behavior would be deemed elegant.

You blame Emma for wanting more than she has,

but she has nothing, she is nothing!

Go change some nappies!

Order! Order!

Your honor, look where this novel is leading us.

In the eyes of the law, we women

are incompetent children

just like the mentally ill!

A man can choose his profession, manage his own money,

and spend his wife's!

Escort them out!

You have all the rights and we have all the duties!

Escort them out! Escort them out!

You can cheat on your wife,

as you wish and with whoever you wish!

Whereas if she does the same thing, gentlemen...

If Charles Bovary had killed Emma,

she would be accused of driving him to it!

Mother and wife, isn't that enough for you?

Order! Order!

Ready?

We'll let it flow a bit.

Right, well. And my wife isn't here!

Your wife has gone on a trip?

No, she's ill. Her nerves.

She's been in her room for weeks.

No, not both of you! Wake up! Wake up!

It's OK. Mine's as tough as old boots. I'll take care of yours.

Emma! Emma!

Emma, you're needed!

Madame! Madame?

Emma, the vinegar, quick!

He's come round.

Emma, take the basin away. If he sees it, he'll pass out again.

Be strong.

Take some air, my boy.

Did you see how pale she is?

I adore pale women.

I took a good look at her.

My eyes can undress a woman as well as my hands can.

Breasts like plums, a delicious little ass.

Not put to good use, I think.

She must yawn after sex like a fish out of water.

I'll have her.

Thank you, doctor, it's done and done well.

Thanks to you and your charming wife.

Thanks. It's a distraction for her,

she's still so sad, so fragile.

She may need fresh air and exercise.

Would a horse ride help?

I don't have time to take her myself.

I have a docile but strong mare in my stable.

Your wife is welcome to ride her.

If you're not afraid of gossip.

I'm never afraid of gossip. Health comes first!

You're hurt.

It's nothing.

I must go.

You're afraid of me.

Yet your husband said you were scared of nothing.

I don't want to talk of him.

Me neither.

Sorry, Emma, I couldn't resist.

The blood on your white skin...

Did you know it tastes of cherries?

Emma! Say you'll forgive me.

Yes, women, whatever one may say You have the fatal power

To throw us with a smile Into drunkenness or despair

Yes, two words, or even silence

A careless or mocking glance

Can give the one who loves you A punch to the heart.

Do you like Lamartine ?

I shouldn't admit it,

but did you know that poet's verses make me cry?

Why not admit it?

If you like his poems it's because you're a sensitive man.

Very.

Too sensitive...

It's beautiful to cry with emotion. Especially for a...

For a man. A man like you.

I see. You think I'm a lout.

Oh no! No, not at all. On the contrary.

Come.

Emma, ever since I first saw you,

I haven't been able to live, to sleep.

I need your eyes, your voice, your thoughts.

Say nothing more.

Let's leave.

You're frightening me. Let go of me.

I love you, Emma. With all my soul.

I beg you, don't push me away.

I love you.

"She repeated: I have a lover! A lover!

"She was finally going to posses the joys of love,

"that fever of happiness she had lost hope of experiencing.

"She was entering a wonderful world where all would be passion,

"ecstasy, delirium."

If she even felt guilty!

If she felt remorse!

But no, she went home and looked in the mirror

and said: "I have a lover, a lover."

Your Emma is a whore!

You idiot! Idiot!

She's intoxicated for the first time.

She can't yet gauge the dangers of this.

Yet Mr Flaubert goes further. I quote:

"Never was Madame Bovary as beautiful as at this time."

It's a provocative beauty!

It's because she's happy.

So she wants everyone to be. Starting with her husband.

What's happened to you? You're up early!

I wanted to pick some flowers before it got hot.

Picking flowers?

Yes, flowers.

To make bouquets.

I've put some in the lounge over the piano.

Would you like one in your surgery?

Yes, I would, yes.

-You're so kind! -You're the one who's kind.

You smell good.

There. Now you look handsome.

Right! I've a lot to do, today.

Come!

Emma...

You can't come in here like that every morning.

It's too risky.

Your husband's simple but he's not blind.

Here. A present!

Emma... Another one?

Open it.

It's for sealing letters, you know.

The ones you send me. You haven't written to anyone else, have you?

Promise me? Swear?

Aren't you going to read it?

I had "Amor nel cor" engraved on it. It means "Love in the heart".

I'm in your heart and you're in mine.

And it's made of gold! Look how lovely the engraving is.

You give me too many presents.

You have no income, where do you get the money?

I have an arrangement with that nice Mr Lheureux.

He's more obliging than you could imagine!

And so skilled at finding things to please you.

Nothing is too good for you.

For us!

So, do you like the seal?

Amor nel cor, my heart!

Do you love me? Tell me!

Put out the light, I'm sleepy.

I'm not. I'm going to read for a bit.

Sleep.

Quick, go back.

Quickly, Emma! Your husband might wake up.

-I'll love you forever. -Yes.

It's too hard to leave you, it's too hard, too hard.

How can you make me do it?

Enough, enough! Go!

Go home! Now!

"He no longer had

"those sweet words that made her cry,

"nor those passionate caresses that drove her mad.

"So the great love in which she had been immersed

"seemed to drain away like river water

"absorbed into its bed, and she caught sight of the mud.

"She didn't want to believe it. She was doubly tender,

"and Rodolphe made less and less effort to hide his indifference."

Your Rodolphe isn't an admirable character,

but we understand him.

And your Emma has become a duplicitous monster.

But her descent into hell started with those stolen kisses.

And she who you describe as the embodiment of immorality

will give morality its full rights

because she will do everything to punish herself.

Oh yes? Really?

"She didn't know if she regretted giving in to him

"or if, on the contrary she didn't want to love him even more."

What's more, she's a fool!

A fool? You're the one who knows nothing about women!

Listen:

"Rodolphe saw in this love other pleasures to exploit.

"He judged all decency inconvenient. He treated her in an offhand way.

"He made her pliant and corrupt.

"He subjugated her. She was almost afraid of him.

"She wondered why she loathed Charles,

"and if it wouldn't be better to love him."

Is that why she drove him to ruin?

All she did was done through selfishness and vanity.

Apparently the patient feels no pain.

A simple injection, easier than removing a callous.

It would be marvelous for poor Hippolyte.

But am I capable?

Of course you're capable.

The near-certain success of this operation

will improve Hippolyte's life.

And it will establish your reputation and your fortune!

You're sure to get an article in the Fanal de Rouen.

I see it now:

"Our little town of Yonville

"witnessed the drama of a surgical experiment

"and an act of high philanthropy

"carried out by Mr Charles Bovary,

"one of our most distinguished practitioners."

You see?

Your name will be in the paper.

Glory, Mr Bovary!

Glory!

Right...

Come, Hippolyte!

Brace yourself.

It'll soon be over, my boy.

You'll soon see the handsome foot we're making for you.

There...

Come on, come on! Come on, come on! Come on, come on, Hippolyte!

That's it! It's done! It's over. It's all over!

It's over! It's over! Come!

That's it. That's it, my boy. That's it.

Nobody could have known that gangrene would set in.

Anyway, I couldn't have amputated.

I've ordered him a wooden leg.

I'll pay for it...

Emma, tell me something.

I can't stand you anymore!

Your voice, your body, your mediocrity.

I can't stand your kindness, either.

I can't bring myself to love you, Charles! I can't breathe.

When you look at me, what do you see?

Your dear little wife

that you show off around this village that's killing me!

But you don't know who Emma is, you know nothing about her!

Emma, I beg you, say something to me.

I'm going to make an infusion.

She's a monster! It's the only word for her.

Have you ever seen such insensitivity?

For Emma, love comes with admiration,

and Charles Bovary is impossible to admire, despite his efforts,

perhaps because of his efforts,

which make him more pathetic than desirable.

This woman isn't even 30. 30!

She needs to love! She needs to live!

Yes, to live! We men have that right!

What do you know about women?

Order! Order in court! Order!

Order!

You hurt me.

I know.

I can't take any more.

I can't go on like this.

Save me.

A love like ours should be out in the open.

Take me away, I beg you.

And your daughter?

We'll bring her.

We'll go and live by the sea or in the mountains.

We'll never be apart,

it'll be like an embrace that grows tighter by the day.

So, take me away.

Tell me you'll take me away.

Tell me.

Yes... I'll take you away.

LHEUREUX NOVELTY SHOP SILKS, FURS, SUITS

Good day, Madame.

Madame.

My dear Mr Lheureux.

I need a big coat with a long collar, lined.

Are you going away?

Not at all. But you see...

Oh, what does it matter...

You know my size, don't you?

I'll also need a trunk, not too heavy.

I see.

92 centimeters by 50,

as they're made now?

Yes. Very good.

Could you have all that ready for me in, say... two weeks?

Of course I can, pretty ma'am.

I can do anything you want, as you know.

Does Mr Bovary need a travel coat, too?

My husband has everything he needs.

Oh I forgot!

Keep it all here.

And for the coat, give me the tailor's address

and ask him to keep it for me.

While I think of it.

It would be good to renew these notes that you signed.

That way, you'll have nothing to think about but being...

beautiful and enjoying your youth.

Who knows what the future holds, we could all die tomorrow,

me, you,

those we love.

My signature will suffice?

Are you not the mistress of the house?

Of course in future, in case of need,

and to reduce paperwork, there's a method that's simple

and discreet.

Really?

A power of attorney. In your name.

That Mr Bovary would sign.

He trusts you, doesn't he?

Of course!

He trusts me completely, monsieur.

Jeannot!

Listen to this.

I think it's not bad.

"Why did I have to know you?

"Why were you so beautiful? Is it my fault? No.

"Oh God, no, only fate is to blame."

That good, isn't it, fate?

It's certainly effective.

And there's no reply to that, fate is fate.

I've added a paragraph,

in case she tries to get me back.

"I shall be far away by the time you read this.

"Preserve the memory of the unfortunate who lost you

"in order not to lose you. Adieu."

And I've put "À Dieu" as two separate words. À and then Dieu.

Yes, it's very beautiful.

How shall I sign it?

Why not sign it Rodolphe?

No, that's too dry. No.

"Yours very truly."

No. No.

"Your friend"?

Yes, that's good, "your friend".

Poor little woman.

She'll think I'm as sensitive as a stone.

There should be tear stains. If only I were capable of crying...

Water!

It may not be the right occasion, but...

She'll be pleased to see that I use her gift.

Take it to her tomorrow. Do as you usually do.

How about some dinner? I'm hungry!

Madame?

Monsieur Rodolphe's valet brought this for you.

Put it down here.

My poor angel,

do you know what abyss I've dragged you into?

Emma,

I don't want to be the one to spoil your life.

The world is cruel, Emma.

You would have had to suffer intrusive questions,

vilification, contempt.

I'm leaving, Emma.

Where to? I don't know.

I will be far away by the time you read this.

Preserve the memory of the unfortunate who lost you

in order not to lose you. Adieu.

Madame?

Monsieur is waiting for you, Madame. Supper is ready.

Thank you.

At least eat some fruit.

They're delicious.

You should try one, Emma. They're full of sunshine.

Emma, you worry me.

It's nothing. Just my nerves.

It's Rodolphe Boulanger's carriage.

It seems he's leaving us.

It looks like everyone's leaving.

Emma!

Her nerves! How convenient!

Madame's hopes are dashed and who pays the price?

Her husband!

She was going to leave him.

She was going to take his child,

a crime punishable by law.

And he's the one who will have to care for her,

and will do it, like a saint! I quote:

"He dropped all his patients, he didn't sleep."

Shame on her!

This woman disgraces all of womanhood!

Emma isn't disgruntled, she's been betrayed.

A woman scorned because she's dying of love.

Love! Does this court believe that to love is disgraceful?

Control yourself, my friend. I'm here to defend you.

If you continue, the worst may happen.

The worst? Emma lives in me,

let me speak for her.

Speak, Mr Flaubert, aggravate your case!

Emma had a fever...

Emma Bovary had a fever for 43 days.

A fever of the brain so severe

that she asked the priest for communion.

Ah yes, her religious conversion!

She's still the passionate woman chasing illusions,

but who seeks them in the most sacred things!

On the contrary!

By taking communion, Emma aspires to a love beyond all others

and a love that will grow eternally.

Sultry one day, religious the next!

She thinks God the perfect lover: one who will never leave her!

I don't ask you to excuse her,

I ask you to try, for once,

to attempt to understand her. Understand her...

It's only me!

Your friend Homais coming by for some news

of our dear patient.

You're looking better! Did you give her the cordial?

Fragile nerves need to be strengthened,

just like muscles.

Here!

This is for when you recover!

If not today, then tomorrow!

You need cheering up, my dear,

bubbles, fizz!

Help me to hold her up.

Here. Give me your hand.

Are you alright, darling?

Why don't you go to the theatre? You love music.

The great Anna Taillon is singing at the Rouen opera,

it's just what you need.

No, I don't have the strength.

Yes, it's an excellent idea.

Order a dress from Lheureux, I'll reserve a box,

we'll stay at a hotel. We've never done that!

Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!

My treasure.

You mustn't get so upset over an opera.

It's that love story, you understand...

Actually, I don't.

Why did the nobleman persecute the woman he loves?

It doesn't matter. I'm thirsty.

-Look, there's Léon! -Léon?

Léon Dupuis! Our Léon! Léon!

What a happy coincidence.

Good evening.

You're no longer in Paris?

No, I'm here in Rouen.

I'm learning how things work in Normandy,

which is different from Paris.

And how is your little girl?

She's well, thank you. As beautiful as her mother.

You may think my wife isn't looking well,

she has been ill.

Her nerves.

Don't, Charles.

Don't bore our friend.

It's suffocating in here. Let's leave.

Tell us about Paris. Did you go to lots of shows?

Every week. I saw all the great singers.

A pity to leave before the end,

I was starting to enjoy it.

It's on again tomorrow.

But tomorrow we'll be back in Yonville.

Unless you want to stay to see it again?

You could come home on Sunday?

Can you take her to the show?

Yes, of course.

With pleasure.

In Paris, I often wrote you letters

but I tore them up.

Why?

Because duty required sacrifice.

You were an incomprehensible force that captivated me.

Why has nobody ever said anything like that to me before?

If we'd met earlier, we'd have recognized each other.

But today, we did recognize each other.

Léon... What's the point in dreaming?

Others will love you. And you will love them.

You'll have a thousand experiences. I won't have any.

I've given everything up, what could I offer you?

Let's remain friends, as before, that fraternal friendship...

But this isn't 'before'!

Let me see you one more time. Just once.

Wherever you like.

Say yes.

Tomorrow. 11 o'clock, at the cathedral.

Don't wait for me, my friend. You must forget me.

We mustn't meet again, Léon. Think of my husband, my little girl.

Yesterday, you spoke of your duty.

Today, by not meeting you, I'm doing mine.

Live, be happy. Far away from me.

I'm returning to Yonville. Read it once I am gone.

Léon!

Coachman!

Léon, I can't.

In Paris, people do it every day.

-Where are we going? -Wherever you want!

Monsieur has gone out. He was very upset.

He said Mr Homais would explain.

Here.

I clothe you, feed you, give you an education

and this is how you thank me!

You didn't notice? Eh?

On the left of the second shelf?

I don't know

You don't know! A pot with a label

on which I'd written, in my own hand, "Dangerous"!

You know what that means? Do you want me to end up in court?

But... Why?

It's arsenic, you gargoyle!

You took a jam basin

which was next to the arsenic!

Did you want to poison us all?

You wanted to tell me something?

And you live in my house like a monk!

Ah yes, yes. That's right. Your father-in-law has died.

A pretty bouquet.

I bought it this morning. From a beggar woman.

My father loved violets.

Charles, you are so sensitive.

Do you want me to take care of his estate?

All that bother, in the state you're in...

If you give me power of attorney, you won't have to worry.

Berthe is going to her nanny's tomorrow. Can she give you a kiss?

Yes, but later.

A power of attorney?

Yes, I think that's the term but I'm not sure.

You'd need to consult someone.

We could ask Léon.

His firm has a good reputation.

He would do that for us, he wears his heart on his sleeve.

The cup runneth over!

And it's not wine, it's venom!

Have you ever seen a more immoral character,

one more snake-like and cynical

than this woman who can't even respect grief?

Emma is no longer herself.

She has again fallen prey to something she cannot fathom.

Passion enslaves, Maître.

All-powerful passion! In the name of pleasure that enslaves,

is that how we are to understand her behavior?

Really, Mr Flaubert ?

Madame Bovary?

You need to pay me for your order.

Not here.

It's beginning to add up.

You know I just can't find money at a click

of your fingers.

If you're short,

why not sell the little house in Barneville

that belonged to your father-in-law?

I may have a buyer

4,000 francs, a good price.

Your signature

will suffice as your husband

signed a power of attorney.

I'll give you half right away,

and with the other half, you could...

settle your account.

Sign me four notes for a thousand francs each,

that I'll keep at home, of course.

Things can be worked out between friends.

Very well.

That's my father.

I can't play anymore.

Let's sell this piano.

Madame, it would be a pity to waste your talent!

I heard tell of a Miss Lempereur,

a music teacher in Rouen.

She isn't that young, she wouldn't charge much.

Rouen? That makes no sense.

I'd go once or twice, and then what?

Lessons are only useful if you practice.

What's stopping you going once a week?

If you took the carriage on Thursdays at 8 o'clock.

You could spend the day in Rouen.

Piano, walks, shopping.

That would do her good, no?

Yes, a bit of life, of course.

-I'll take this. -Very good.

I'll also need a pair of pearl-grey satin slippers.

And what is that?

A cigar carousel.

It's charming! May I take it?

Of course!

Over the last few weeks

you've ordered something from me almost every day.

It's flattering to be in the thoughts of such a pretty lady.

It's very pretty. Thank you.

Charles Bovary disgusts her.

As for her lover, she is using him,

she soaks up his will,

he's more her mistress than she is his.

Is she any happier? Not at all!

She descends into abjection, step by step.

Léon is a mediocrity!

How could he subjugate,

or even restrain a woman of Emma's temperament!

She knows him now and sees him as he is, a coward.

I quote: "Incapable of heroism, feeble, ordinary,

"limper than a woman, greedy." No...

The one she dreams of, the man for her,

is a kind of hero

straight of the books she read in childhood!

It's not the books she devours

that will ruin the worthy Charles,

because she is ruining him. Through vice.

Vice, always vice! It's intolerable!

Do you know what vice is, Maître?

A genuinely vicious woman? Or man, for that matter?

Mr Flaubert, sit down.

Let your attorney defend you!

It's my work you're insulting and dragging through the mud!

It's me! And you want to have me gagged, like Emma?

Monsieur, sit down! For your own good!

Don't come to my office anymore, please.

My boss knows. He gave me a lecture, he said...

I'm compromising my future with a married woman.

It's difficult, you understand? It could ruin me.

Well! What can I do?

You gave me your word you would keep my notes here,

and not pass them to anyone else.

And now Mr Vinçart is demanding a fortune!

That's because you owe me a fortune, my dear.

I was at knifepoint,

I was forced to use your notes.

As for Mr Vinçart, my advice is

to pay him in full - he's more ferocious than me.

And if I can't? What will happen?

You'll be taken to court and then the bailiffs will come.

I'm sorry.

Listen...

It's my boss, Mr Dubocage. He's written to my mother.

He told her that...

I was in a liaison with a pernicious creature,

a siren,

a vampire.

It's late, Emma.

Sure you don't want to go back to Yonville?

What's the point?

I'm going to look for her.

Are you sure she didn't say anything?

No, sir.

But sir, you're not going to leave for Rouen

in the middle of the night, it's madness!

I must find her!

We can't go on like this.

Go on with what?

Go on with what, Léon?

Walking the streets aimlessly. You look exhausted.

Stop! Leave me alone!

So, beautiful lady, you don't like dancing?

She's too proud!

Stop! Stop!

Where were you? I was so worried!

I went to your guesthouse.

Then I went to Léon's, he wasn't there.

I returned to the guesthouse

and they gave me Miss Lempereur's address.

Of course I was at her place. But I was ill.

I can't be free

if being a bit late upsets you this much.

Are you sure this is what she needs for her nerves?

Because last month, your powders

didn't do a lot.

She barely sleeps, she spends her nights reading or at the window.

I don't know what to do.

You're a good husband, always there in her time of need.

But wouldn't a second child do her more good

than my remedies?

Which are excellent, to be sure!

But a child stirs you, needs you,

leaves no time for dark thoughts. You know what I mean?

My wife, this is in confidence, of course,

I keep her busy with a new baby every two years.

And I've kept her very busy, we've already got four!

And she's very happy about it!

Everything's going well, Yvette. Don't worry, it will be alright.

-Emma? -Yes.

My patient assures me she's sent the money.

She was a bit annoyed when I pressed her.

She said you'd written to her to ask for it.

It was me.

Somebody has to take care of it.

You're so nice that people would never pay.

Where is the money?

Here.

Do we really need all this?

You like it when we get compliments.

You like the fact that it looks nice.

Doctor, it's Monsieur Ponson.

He wants 8,000 francs.

In 24 hours. Or he'll seize all our furniture.

Is this a joke?

No.

Did you think, dear lady, that good old Lheureux

would be your supplier and banker

for centuries to come?

I had to get my money back.

The court has acknowledged the debt,

and informed you of the verdict.

It's Vinçard, not me.

-Couldn't you... -Not at all.

I can't do anything more for you.

But I didn't know...

I didn't understand, I didn't understand, monsieur.

Of course.

You had better things to do, having fun in Rouen.

Don't lecture me!

It does no harm.

I beg you, my friend...

Dry your tears, madame, they don't touch me.

I've never been your friend, you know that as well as I do.

And I won't be your lover, either.

Too many have taken that path before me.

You're a wretch.

Can I sign again?

I want no more of your signatures.

Come along, young lady. A monetary wound is not fatal.

Annette, don't forget the three coupons for number 14!

Yes, monsieur.

Where am I going to find the money?

Ah, you have friends...

Mr Lheureux, I beg you...

Oh, not again!

Give me a few more days!

Go and cry to your husband.

He's weak. He loves you.

Poor man.

Well?

I went to see three people... For nothing.

Not even 3,000 francs?

Give me a glass of water.

If I were in your position, I'd know how to find money.

-Where? -At your office.

Alright. I'll bring the money to Yonville tomorrow.

I'll wait for you at 3 o'clock at the church.

Let's do this, darling.

All will be well.

Madame?

Madame!

Madame!

Madame!

Stop that!

You can't do that to him!

Move! Out of the way!

You can't do this!

-The law is the law! -You can't!

Get out! Get out of there!

They're decent people, you can't...

-You have no right! -Hands off!

You have no right!

Put it back or I'll arrest you! Get out!

You can't do that to him!

Mr Léon didn't come?

Nobody came. Monsieur is looking for you, he's in tears.

If I were you, I know where I'd go.

What is it?

Sir, it's Madame Bovary.

Leave us, please.

Come in.

I've suffered so...

I was seriously ill for a long time.

The doctors thought I was lost.

Yet you haven't changed,

you're as lovely as ever.

A very grim loveliness, my darling,

since you scorned it.

Have you loved others?

You can tell me, you know, I'm no longer jealous.

I can even understand them!

I excuse them.

You'll have seduced them as you seduced me.

You are a man.

You have everything it takes to be loved.

But we... we were really something!

It was real happiness, wasn't it?

But we're going to start again.

We're going to love each other.

Look, I'm laughing, I'm happy already!

Forgive me.

I was foolish and mean.

You're the only one I want.

I still love you, I'll always love you.

But why this sorrow?

I'm ruined, Rodolphe! You're going to lend me 3,000 francs.

You know my husband had placed his fortune with a solicitor.

He ran away.

We borrowed, his clients didn't pay.

Without 3,000 francs, all we own will be seized.

It's happening right now.

I came here counting on your friendship.

I don't have the money.

You don't have it?

You don't have it?

You never loved me...

I'm in difficulties myself, my dear.

A person in difficulties doesn't put

a silver butt on his gun!

He doesn't own a tortoiseshell encrusted clock!

I'd have sold everything, worked with my hands,

begged on the streets, for a smile,

for a look, to hear you say thank you!

But you stand there,

as if you hadn't already made me suffer!

Nobody made you approach me!

Was it a bet? A dare?

Yet you loved me. You said so!

You swore you'd love me forever!

And our travel plans, remember?

And your letter! That letter that broke my heart!

And when I came back to you, you who are rich,

free and happy, to ask a favor,

that anyone would do, you push me away!

Because it would cost you 3,000 francs!

-I don't have it. -You don't have it?

You don't have it?

That alone would fetch some money!

But I don't want it! I don't want it!

Not one person in the whole novel

can make Emma Bovary bow her head,

not a single circumstance can make her repent!

She runs to her end, just like she ran to her lovers!

Madame Bovary?

-Give me the key. -No, madame.

I need to kill some rats that are stopping me sleeping.

Mr Homais would kill me.

You wouldn't want the lack of sleep to make me ill again?

Justin, what's going on?

It would be your fault!

Nothing, sir.

What are you doing?!

If you say a word, your master will be in trouble!

What is it?

Berthe, leave your mother in peace.

Read it tomorrow. Until then, no questions.

Do you feel ill?

I'm thirsty. I'm very thirsty.

Here.

What's wrong?

I can't breathe.

Emma!

Emma, what is it?

Emma.

Emma, look at me, what's wrong?

Shh. Don't speak.

Don't worry,

I'll get up in a while.

What did you take? Answer me.

No. No.

Why did you do it?

Soon you won't have to worry about me anymore.

Why did you do it?

You were kind.

You would have forgiven me.

Offer up your suffering to Jesus Christ, my child. Let us pray.

Why pray when it seems God knows all our needs?

Let us pray!

If the last rites helped make that final journey,

after all this time, we would have known.

Emma!

She is with God, now.

We must submit to divine mercy.

I hate him, your God!

He's not worthy to be in this room.

You understand nothing.

You didn't understand her! You didn't love her!

Get out! Everyone out!

Nobody knew her.

I'm going, monsieur.

Are you sure about the dresses?

I heard.

I was away, that's why I didn't come.

I'm sincerely sorry.

You must have suffered.

It's very hot for the time of year.

You'll have lots of harvest fever.

I'm not angry with you.

Not anymore.

The indictment reads: this woman's death was voluntary,

she chose its very hour.

But could Emma live?

I beseech the court to ban this shameful book!

And to sentence Mr Flaubert

in proportion to the moral damage to innocent readers.

It's for the defense to conclude.

At this moment, in the theatres of Paris,

we are shown prostitutes, happily

joining hands with powerful men.

Is that what you call respecting public morals?

And he who shows us an adulteress dying shamefully,

is he the one holding these morals in contempt?

Charles Bovary, without Emma,

would doubtless have lived a more peaceful life.

But doesn't real happiness reside in love,

and his love for this woman, however tragic it might be,

didn't it light up this man's whole life?

It does not appear that this book,

like some works,

was written with the sole aim

of satisfying sensual passions,

and a spirit of license and lust,

or of ridiculing that

which should be respected by all.

In these circumstances, it has not been proven

that Gustave Flaubert and his publishers

were guilty

of the offenses with which they are charged.

The court acquits them and dismisses them without costs.

I won't ban your book,

but be mindful of the rules

that every self-respecting writer must never breach.

Posterity will condemn you, Mr Flaubert!

It is we who have killed Emma Bovary!

All of us, sirs! All of us! All of us...

This case is closed.

Thank you.