Original subtitles

(Skittle around neck: symbol of army discharge)

Papet*! Papet*! [*Grampa: nickname of uncle Cesar]

Papet*, it's me, Ugolin!

- Oh! - It's Ugolin!

- It's me. - Oh, Galinette*! [*Spring chicken]

- You're back? - Yes.

- Wait, I'll come down! - Don't bother, just throw down my key.

I'm coming down.

Oh, what a surprise!

Out of the army, for good? Skittle and all? - Yeah!

- Come, eat something. - I'm not hungry.

I drank all night with the guys in Marseilles, so...

So, you'll come to dinner tonight; tell me all about it?

All right, tonight, Papet.

Ah, Galinette☻!

No, that's fine.

- She's asking if you want more. - Mm! Yes.

Thanks.

When I'm dead, you'll live here.

The Soubeyran house will be yours.

Until then, I want you to fix up your place up there. Hm?

So, you'll be able to rent it to a farmer,

or give it to your kids.

- Papet, for kids, you need a wife. - Well, then?

No shortage of girls around here.

And who'd be thrilled to marry a Soubeyran.

Hey...

Martial Chabert's daughter...

I bet if you wanted to... hm?

Papet, I have no mule, you lend me yours.

I have no hens, no goats, because they wreck everything.

I don't wear socks because they itch.

What use would I have for a wife?

What about sentiment?

For that I go to "The Figuier" in Aubagne. In half an hour it clears my head,

I calculated it at 15 francs per month.

And there I can choose (any girl). That suits me fine.

Look, you don't want to end up like me,

a lifelong bachelor.

Before I die, I want to see you with a kid.

Why didn't you ever get married?

Anyway, before I think of a wife,

I need to set myself up in a good situation.

Any idea what you'll do?

- Maybe. - 'Cause, I have one.

I thought it up for you.

I've got it all planned, and calculated all the costs.

What's your idea?

To restore the great Soubeyran orchard.

On the Plateau des Solitaires...

as it was in my father's time.

Two hundred fig trees, 200 plum...

200 Princess almond...

A thousand trees!

In rows, spaced 10 metres apart.

It'd be as lovely as a cathedral.

And no farmer go in it without making the sign of the cross.

Listen, Papet...

plums, peaches and even apricots...

every other year we feed them to pigs, we have so many.

So, I've been thinking.

You're my only relative, Galinette...

talk to me if you need my help.

What's your idea?

It's a secret.

Well!

Oh... Is that you, Papet?

Galinette, you can't keep living like this!

Holed up all winter like a savage,

you disappear for two weeks,

and this house is a dungheap!

Look... It smells like a ram lives here!

What do you do all day? Tell me!

Don't get excited, Papet. Come on.

I'll show you something.

This is your secret?

Ah la-la!

This is what you're playing at?

What'll you give me?

- Ah, real beauties. - They're Malmaison*. (Imperials)

- Good stems. - How much, then?

Well, if you'd come in February...

I'd have gone as high as...

fifty Sous.

But, now, it's the end of the season.

Still, they're worth...

20 Sous.

All right?

All right.

You were right, Galinette. You should grow flowers.

Why didn't you tell me earlier?

I wanted to test it first, to see if the soil is right.

I wanted you to see them in bloom, so you'd understand.

It's not the flowers that made me understand...

it's the florist.

- How much to set you up? - 15,000.

- You got it. - Papet, you're too good!

Not as good as all that.

I'm giving, not just to you, but to the Soubeyrans:

those in the cemetery and those yet to come.

- Oh, you smelly bastard! - What a stink!

- If its nose was near its tail, it'd die. - Yeah, like us!

Allez, haahh!

- Something's bothering me. - What?

- Water. - What water?

A carnation plant drinks as much as a man.

Just for my 50 plants, I blistered my hands hauling well-water.

Just install a cistern with a pump.

If we water 500 plants, it'll be empty in four days.

Ah, that is a problem.

We need to dig a huge reservoir...

and channel rainwater from the whole hillside.

What if, one year, it doesn't rain?

No, we need a field near a natural water source.

I wonder...

What if we bought *Pique-Bouffigue's field and spring, up there

at Romarins?

Is the spring still flowing?

I heard my father say it was dead.

It's mostly blocked up, for sure.

When I was young, it was a lovely stream.

Old man Camoins grew cartloads of vegetables there.

Maybe with a pickaxe, we could ...!

You think he'd sell his farm?

Not the house, for sure. No.

But maybe the field and the spring.

He makes no use of them,

so, if we show him ready cash...

Ho, Marius, everything all right?

What the fuck is it, to you?

Why are you rude to me? Are you mad?

Neither mad nor glad.

I don't give a fuck about you. And vice-versa, I'm sure.

You may not give a fuck, but I do, that's why I came to see you.

You wouldn't've climbed all this way, if you didn't want something.

Right: 'want' and 'give' something.

I don't need anything.

Besides, talking bores me.

Being talked at, bores me even more.

Listen, Marius, in a nutshell.

If you'd sell me your property

not the house... Just the field on the hillface,

- I'd meet your asking price. - What?!

You think I'd sell my property?!

Look. Thousand-franc bills!

Get the fuck outta here! Bunch of Soubeyran swine!

Marius don't yell like that, or you'll choke.

I'm being polite to you,

but don't insult the Soubeyrans, or it could end badly!

Papet calm down, he's kidding.

Why is that redheaded twerp butting in?

Don't make me get down and show you what I think of the Soubeyrans!

You shit-pile of thieving pigs!

Come on, get down!

Get down, right now!

Lousy bastard! Come down!

- He'd better not croak! - Why not?

Happens all the time. People die, falling from trees.

- Oh well, fuck the carnations, now. - Yeah, too bad.

It was a good spot.

If he doesn't wake up, his heirs will surely put the farm up for sale.

We might be able to get it cheap.

- What if we finish him off? - Stop it, Papet, someone may have seen!

You see, Galinette...

never lose faith in Providence.

Why didn't you shave him on his bed?

I've never shaved a client horizontally.

Not even dead.

Say... Where are those two going?

It's right here. See?

The spring was by the fig tree. Don't turn around!

Old man Camoins dug a trench

lined with tiles and bricks,

all the way down to the far end of that field.

So the water reached the bottom on its own.

Understand?

Look... around my foot.

See? It's soggy.

The water's blocked, but it's there.

It's no great effort, you know?

When I think, how he wasted this good fortune...

Wait, wait!

One day, as we were hunting, before he went gaga,

he showed me his Hammerless and said, "This is my only friend.

"I want it buried with me." A dead man's wishes are sacred.

Did you check if the rifle's loaded?

No, I didn't think of it. You can't tell with a Hammerless.

A sure bet, it's loaded with buckshot.

He always kept it loaded at home in case wild boars came around.

It could be dangerous.

He had it set on a hair trigger. A gust of wind could set it off.

- Maybe he set the safety. - Him? I'd be surprised if he did.

- So, you're the heir. - No.

We were cousins, but, distant.

Ah, but anyway, you'll get something.

No, Florette, his sister, gets it all.

- Think she's still alive? - Why not? She's younger than you.

I know her husband died, but I don't think she did.

Who's this Florette?

Florette de Berengere, nee Florette Camoins.

The pretty one.

Someone, your uncle Papet knew well. Right, Cesar?

- Where is she? - In Crespin.

She married Lionel, the blacksmith in Crespin.

Were you at Florette's wedding?

No, I was far away, in a Military Hospital in Africa.

I returned a year later.

Today, I'll write her an official notice of her brother's death.

If she's alive, she may come for the inheritance.

- True, she's the heiress. - She won't inherit much.

I don't agree. Pique-Bouffigue* never did much, [Prick Blister]

but the house is still good.

Plus 50 olive trees from before the war of 1870.

Yeah but, they're all sick and dying!

A bit of hoeing with a pickaxe can save them.

It'd take one hell of a pickaxe.

Yes, but, it's a spot that the rains won't touch.

You can hear the storms and see them coming,

but once the clouds reach the ridge, they split up.

So, it rains on the other slope

and a few drops left for the valley side.

Possibly.

But, what you may not know is,

at Pique-Bouffigue's there's a spring.

- There WAS a tiny spring. - I saw it, it was lovey.

I saw it, too, when I was little, hunting with my dad.

Seemed like a proper creek to me.

You must've been pretty little and just after a storm.

I drank from it 30 years ago, it flowed as thin as my finger.

You think a spring like that could disappear?

I know, well, the character of springs.

They're like pretty girls.

If you neglect them, they leave and it's all over.

Last year I saw a fig tree there. That proves there's water nearby.

- It proves there WAS. - It had set NEW shoots!

Look, when you talk about aperitifs, I'm all ears.

But springs are out of your element.

I say the water will never return, the olive trees are lost,

and the land is lousy with witchgrass! That's what I say!

And I wouldn't take it even for free!

That's what I say, too!

I haven't written for years.

- Who are you writing to? - To Grafignette.

Who's Grafignette*? [Scratchy]

You don't know her.

She left before you were born.

She was called Grafignette because when the boys tried to kiss her

she'd scratch their faces.

She trimmed her nails to a point, on purpose.

By dint of scratching she ended up an old maid.

When her parent died she became the priest's maid in Crespin.

She was Florette's best friend.

I'll surely get some news through her.

Papet.

I made an important decision.

- I'll go see Florette in Crespin. - Not on your life!

If you show that you want it,

she'll triple the price.

Anyway, if Florette knows it's for us, she'll say no.

Why?

That's just how she is.

What'll we do, then?

Nothing.

Eh?

Florette will never come here.

When she was young, she loved money a lot.

In her old age she's probably worse.

So she'll sell.

But no one from the village will buy.

They practically own too much land already.

- A stranger might come. - Why would a stranger come here?

To grow vegetables or flowers, like me!

- Without water? - There's the spring.

Without the spring what would it be worth?

- Nothing, but there is one! - There is?

Poor Galinette...

Listen to my plan.

It's already three quarters stopped up.

What if by accident it got completely plugged?

What sort of accident?

Suppose you walk by the spring with a sack of cement on your shoulders.

You slip, you fall and... paf!

The cement just plugs up the opening.

Papet... Papet!

Papet, here it is!

Voila, Papet!

Oh, Mother of God, it's icy!

It's cold!

You're almost there, imbecile! Finish it.

I found the hole, hand me the plug!

No, the small one!

- Small one! - The hammer?

There's a root stuck here.

All right, that's enough. Don't forget, I'll have to unplug it.

Voila.

- I heard a noise. - Where? - In the house.

It's not Pique-Bouffigue's ghost. It's rats.

"My dear Cesar...

"You always do the oddest things.

"After 3 dozen Christmases, you write asking about Florette.

"Just imagine, the postman brought your letter on the very day she died.

"I had just clothed her and laid her out.

"That's why I didn't answer sooner.

"I don't think she left much money.

"Her husband died 5 or 6 years ago

"and she lived rather well on what he'd left.

"Naturally, her son will inherit.

"His name is Jean Cadoret and must be about 35.

"He's a tax collector, but I don't know where.

"The notary will surely find him.

"Tax collectors are pretty hard to lose.

"He's married,

"but, unfortunately, by God's will...

"he's a hunchback."

What if this hunchback comes

and a villager tells him about the spring?

Eh?

I'd be surprised.

Those who know about it, also know not to meddle in other people's business.

And in the state you left that farm...

any farmer who saw it would plop down on the ground and weep.

That's true.

He'll sell it.

He'll sell.

The pen is lighter than the pickaxe.

Farmers often become hunchbacks, but hunchbacks rarely become farmers.

Who would have thought...

that Florette would give birth to a hunchback?

Woah! Woah!

Hey!

Woah! Woah!

Well, what do you think?

Look at the huge blackberries...

the olive trees, the wild woody rosemary.

God, it's beautiful.

I didn't lie, did I?

This is antique Provence,

Zola's Paradise. Even lovelier than Paradise!

Voila. Let's try sliding it.

Hi, there!

- 'Morning, fellas! - 'Morning, Monsieur.

I guess you wouldn't refuse a helping hand. - Hell no!

We're wondering how to get this off without dismantling it.

- We can't refuse. - Let's see what we can do.

Thanks for your help.

- Are you from Aubagne? - No, from Bastides.

But I don't live there. Mine's the last house you passed on the way up.

I say, we're practically neighbors!

Practically, yes. I'm Ugolin Soubeyran.

Charmed.

I'll get down.

Oh, that's heavy!

Ohoh! We'd need at least four men for that!

How did you load it?

We put the crate on, then put the tools in it.

Now we'll do it in reverse.

With all this, I have the makings of a nice little workshop.

Voila... Thanks.

I heard you, earlier. Madame has an extraordinary voice.

- You know... - Not even in church, have I heard such singing.

she has amazed many, before you. She has sung operas.

- She sang in front of people? - Sure, in halls, packed to the rafters.

That was years ago. Today, I've only half a voice.

- Half?! What was it like, before! - Admirable! Admirable!

Her grand triumph was 'Manon'. That's why we gave that name

to our little girl.

This is a lovely spot.

It's a hard road, up, but worth the trouble.

- You can breathe free. - A little corner of earthly paradise.

Is that why you rented this old farmhouse?

- I didn't rent it. - You bought it?

Neither bought nor rented, yet, here I am, at home.

You wouldn't, by any chance, be Jean de Florette?

It's true, I'm called Jean, and my mother was called Florette.

But my name is Jean Cadoret.

If you were born here, like you dear Mother they'd call you Jean de Florette.

How lovely! It'd make a great title for a song, or even a comic opera!

So, you knew my mother?

No, but I knew her brother, Marius, who they called Pique-Bouffigue.

He was a good friend. A good friend.

I drink to Mother Nature, to the fragrant hills,

I drink to to the cicadas, to the breeze, to the ageless rocks.

I drink to the azure sky.

To your health.

Ah, those filthy beasts! They're always doing that!

I'll be back tomorrow.

Stop, you stinking carcasses!

Woah!

Woah!

So, you're here, for a few days on a family holiday?

A holiday that will last until I die.

Yes. In the shade of these pinewoods,

I desire to live, in peace and joy,

all the days that God will grant me.

It's all fine and dandy to settle here, but what'll you do about water?

We have a cistern!

Yes, but it's small. It only takes a few rainless summer days, to run out of water.

- The land we inherited has a spring. - A spring? Which spring?

It figures on the surveyor's map I got from the notary.

I'll show you the document. I think you can advise me. Come.

Voila.

This little circle indicates a well, or a spring.

Where's the Romarins farmstead? - Here.

The spring is 2 Km away, in a valley called...

"Vallon du Plantier". That valley belongs to us.

Ah, if you mean, Plantier, I know it!

It's over the hill at the end of the valley.

Then a steep climb to the spring on top.

Itr's good to drink, but it flows no wider than my thumb.

I hope it's not far.

Well, at least an hour's walk.

With a little donkey, we'd only need to go once a week.

It'll be our Sunday promenade!

Now a woodcutter and his wife have settled in the sheepfold of the cave.

They're Piedmontese. The wife, Baptistine, is a bit of a witch: knows all the plants.

But, they're nice people:

clean and organized. But, if they bother you,

- just tell them to leave. - God forbid!

If the cave suits them, I won't chase them off.

But we'll visit them soon, because the question of water is important.

You don't need to rush. Right now my well is full,

so for 2 or 3 weeks you can come fetch a bucket or two a day.

A generous offer that I wholeheartedly accept!

You may wonder, dear neighbor, why I came to settle here.

Oh, yes! That, I do wonder.

Well, it's because I arrived at the irrefutable conclusion

that only possible happiness lies in being a man of nature.

Thanks.

I came here to cultivate the authentic.

- "O-thentic"? - Yes. Yes.

I want to eat vegetables from my garden,

collect oil from my olive trees eat fresh eggs from my hens,

get drunk on wine from my vineyard.

That won't be anytime, soon. The olive trees have gone wild.

To reclaim them it'll take at least three years.

For the vineyard, likewise, you gotta count on years.

But vegetables, without water... won't be much to look at.

We'll see, we'll see!

Thanks to the little inheritance, I owe to my mother's benign avarice

we have enough to hold out for at least three years.

And in three years!

Until then, we have huge plans!

Well...

thanks, again, for your help. I must get to work, immediately.

I noticed the roof leaks in quite a few spots.

- That's the spirit, as they say. - We don't lack spirit, here.

- What type of man is he? - Aww...

He's a 'city-hunchback', type of man.

- A real city slicker? - Completely!

Oh, Galinette, watch out. He may be a big city sap, but...

you know, hunchbacks are often more cunning than the rest of us.

What will he plant?

He wants to plant O-thentics. O-thentics everywhere!

What is that?

Must be some plant that grows only in books.

We gotta be modern, he said. Gotta be modern!

Bet you 10 Francs he talked about 'routine'. - Yup.

What is that?

It's a city word.

'Routine' means that what our elders taught us,

according to them, is all fucked up, because it's not modern.

Because, now, we gotta be modern.

It's pure bollocks.

Three years... Three years. It's a catastrophe.

Galinette, don't always expect the worst.

Still, come to think of it...

I'm afraid his distant relatives, Anglade or Casimir,

might end up telling him about the spring.

Now, that would be serious.

There's no fear of that.

His mother lectured him on the folks of Bastides.

Says he'll go buy his bread in Ruissatel,

and I'm not to tell anyone he's from Crespin.

Yes, but, we WILL tell.

That's it!

We'll say a man from Crespin bought the farm

but without mentioning Florette or his name.

And you be helpful to him.

Lend him a hand, lend him my mule.

But above all, ingratiate yourself with his wife.

A couple handful of almonds, a pair of thrushes, a basket of figs.

So when he leaves,

he'll sell the farm to you, rather than someone else.

I said he could take drinking water from my well.

A bucket a day.

But not for the reason you said.

Why, then?

You know, plugging the spring was no crime. It was for the carnations.

But if they drink cistern water, they'll die, all three.

Afterwards, I might not mention it, but, it'd weigh on my mind.

Aw, you're the image your poor mother!

But, you did right.

I'll start by discouraging him.

I'll say that the soil's lousy with witchgrass,

that grasshoppers will eat everything, and it never rains at Romarins.

Oh, be quiet!

On the contrary, say that O-thentics are wonderful,

that rain will never be lacking.

And he should immediately commence his vast projects.

Remember, in peoples minds,

it's always much easier to plow downhill than up.

So, push him in the direction that he'll fall.

Greetings, neighbor!

As you see, I did not delay in taking your generous offer.

No need to wait for me, just help yourself.

I allowed me to get aquainted with this admirable landscape.

I'm hardly knowledgeable about landscapes.

It's so beautiful.

This view is nice and wide enough to see the weather coming.

Indeed.

Come see, I'll show you.

You gotta do this, or the bucket floats and comes up empty.

This way it'll sink. See how it sinks?

How's the roof coming along?

I'm short a few tiles. I forgot to order them from the mule driver.

It bothers me that new ones will mar the beauty of the ensemble.

- It's hardly noticeable on the roof. - Yeah, but, still...

I'll let you help yourself. I have some stakes to set.

- Go ahead - Thanks a million!

What's that, more furniture?

Dunno if I'll make it to the top!

It's 200 kilos of pipe and 300 kilos of chicken wire.

- Pipe? What kind? - Cement pipe.

- Big ones? - I can fit my foot in'em.

- A lot? - 30, 40 metres.

- What for? - Normally they're for water.

- But, there isn't any water! - Maybe for the cistern.

To pipe rainwater to his cistern.

- He told you? - He told me nothing. I'm bringing a little pump, too.

- What's he gonna pump? - I dunno and I don't give a fuck!

What's he gonna do with 300 kilos of chicken wire?

Go ahead, Papa.

- Hello, M. Jean! - Hello!

Look at this!

- Where are you taking those tiles, neighbor? - To you!

I had them in the stable for years.

- I thought to myself, he'll like these. - Thanks.

Well...

here's a second friendly gesture, which I won't forget.

I thought about your water problem.

The cistern's will do for watering,

but it'll dry up fast. It's not big.

When it rains, there's a lot of water on the road.

If you had some pipe, large-ish cements pipes,

you could make a conduit to your cistern.

- Then, it'd be full all the time. - There's a good idea!

Lucky thing, because, look, I have some pipe.

What do you plan to do with it? And that chicken wire?

That's a secret: a big secret.

- Gonna re-do the enclosure? - Yes, yes...

but, a rather special enclosure. It'll go 60 cm below ground.

To keep out rabbits so they don't eat your vegetables? - You're getting warm.

You err, only, in the direction of the rabbits.

I don't get it.

*First some domestic plants: leeks, tomatoes, potatoes, chervil.

Easy: an hour's work per day.

- So, a kitchen garden? - Exactly.

After the domestic plants

I'll need high-yield crops, indispensable for massive production

- in rabbit breeding. - Massive? How?

You mean massive rabbits?

We mean several hundred rabbits per month, until we can raise thousands.

Aimee, don't exaggerate. Let's stay within the limits of common sense.

Bring me my brochure.

Have you kept rabbits? You've, no doubt, raised some.

I've still got six, and my Papet has 30 odd.

In spite of your experience,

you don't seem to have a precise idea of these rodents' fertility.

Look at this.

Can't make any sense of it. I can read, well enough, but numbers baffle me.

But, I understand them very well.

Starting with a single pair of rabbits,

a modern breeder can obtain, by the end of the third year,

a monthly production of 500 rabbits.

This expert affirms that

a breeding colony of over 5,000 head would become a public hazard.

Starting with 1,000 males and 5,000 females

a breeder would be submerged by a flood of 30,000 rabbits, the first month,

over 200,000 on the sixth, and two million a month, by the tenth!

A whole province or even a country

would be reduced to famine and death!

- You think, so? - Australia. Tell him about Australia!

That unfortunate continent, 14 times larger than France

almost perished because of a pair of rabbits, imported by an immigrant.

Those rodents razed entire fields and pastures!

To save the country they had to build an electrified barrier of 2,000 Km.

And on top of that, they had to slaughter them by the millions.

That's the kind of rabbits you want to bring here? - No, no.

Fortunately not. No-no-no...

I think the destructiveness of that breed

- is due to the Australian climate. - That's a relief!

- So, you plan on 500 a month? - Ah, no!

Moderation in all things!

If I reduce it to ¼, I can be sure of my success.

I figure 125 to 150 a month in 2 years.

I'll limit my stock to that.

Well, that's more reasonable.

The cages don't clean themselves. Perish the thought.

- Oh, yes, they'll clean themselves. - How, if you please?

I want to see my rabbits run and hop!

I'll make a modern breeding farm in the open air.

Ever thought about foxes?

You forget the enclosure; almost 2 metres of galvanized steel wire!

2 meters never deterred a fox. Never!

But galvanized wire might.

That's why I plan to use artificial warrens.

Underground, of course.

The entrance will be a cement pipe.

The diameter will let a rabbit pass, yet smaller than a fox's head.

Ah, that's a good idea!

And what will your rabbits eat?

- Here's my answer. - They'll eat matches?

Are those watermelon seeds?

- Then they must be 'o-thentics'. - Authentic? Obviously.

It's the prfectly authentic seed of the Cucurbita Melanosperma from Asia.

This plant, dear neighbor, grows as fast as a snake darting out of its hole.

In a tropic climate, after the rainy season

these creeping vines can grow 40 to 50 cm a day!

Obviously, we're not in a tropical climate.

- Fortunately. - And we don't have a proper rainy season.

According to statistics of the past 50 years

collected by the Marseille Observatory...

April: 6 days of rain, May: 5 days, June: 4 days,

July: 2 days, August: 3. September: 6...

- That's an average. - Yeah, seems about right to be.

We mustn't disguise the fact that these capricious rains

may not be sufficient for the generous Cucurbita to yield its fullest.

But, I figure, reasonably, 15 cm per month.

And a good thing, too! 'Cause 50 cm a day wouldn't be convenient.

After 10 months, to pick your squash, you'd have to walk the edge of the village.

Perfectly reasoned out.

I figure each plant will yield 50 to 60 kilos of squash.

That's not bad, for only four seeds.

They're hard to procure. Today I have four,

but in six months, the problem won't be finding seeds

but stopping their proliferation.

Well, if you can't stop, either your rabbits or your squash,

- I ask myself, where are we headed? - To fortune!

We are condemned to success!

On pain of returning to the hell of the city!

- Well? - There's good news and bad.

He wants to set up a large rabbit farm, in the open air, fenced in.

Rabbits? Does he have a book?

Yes, a book full of numbers, that explains, if you start with two rabbits,

in six months you can have over 1,000.

If you let them continue breeding, it spells perdition!

And that's how they ate Australia.

We're not in Australia.

Anyway, with a pen, it's easy to make rabbits multiply.

He wants to limit himself. He said no more than 150 per month.

Oh... 150!

Bravo!

Messieurs, a toast to the losers!

- Did that fellow rent the farm? - No, he bought it. Or, so he told me.

- Is he a farmer? - No, he's a hunchback.

Hunchback? Oi, oi-oi...

Where does he buy bread? I haven't seen him, yet.

In Ruissatel. He buys everything in Ruissatel.

Why, is he scared my bread'll poison him?

No, no. Truth is, he won't come to the village.

- He's from Crespin. - From Crespin?!

That's nothing much to recommend him!

Don't talk nonsense. Folks aren't all bad, in Crespin!

- No but, plenty are. - What did he do there?

He was a penpusher in the Tax Bureau.

Maybe he'll impose new taxes on us!

Think he'll stay long?

Dunno. In any case, he's doing work on that house.

- By himself? - Yeah, wearing gloves.

Must be doing a helluva job!

A hunchback from Crespin, hiding out on the hill, sounds fishy to me.

Oh, leave him alone he won't bother* us.

Maybe he's a spy!

Whaddaya think he's spying on, your chickpeas?

This means that the Good Lord sent us a ready made patsy!

In six months he'll be gone.

He says he's condemned to succeed in three years.

Oh, what he says and what he'll actually do!

Anyway it proves he's got money.

Inherited money's not the best kind, it tends to slip through the fingers.

In six months he'll be starving

we'll buy him out for 6000 francs. And good riddance

Meanwhile, it'll be fun to watch him screw around with his Chinese pumpkins

and his giant rabbits.

Oh, that smells good!

I think she cooked Casserole of Lark.

Mustn't let him accidentally find that spring as he plods along.

Oh, we gotta help him out.

Oh!

- Hello, neighbor! - Monsieur Jean. Hello, Madame!

You all right?

Where are you off to, with that apparatus?

Well, I thought, with your pickaxe

you'll wear yourself out for three months,

while with my plough, in 3 days we'll have it done.

Aimee.

Prayer is never in vain. Here is Heaven's answer.

It's from his field.

Best in the region.

This soil is worth its weight in gold.

Such lovely soil! It kills me... It just kills me.

That, is a good man!

I don't like him much.

Because he's ugly?

He scares little Manon.

Manon, I'm surprised at you, you don't like that nice farmer?

He's awful. He looks like a toad.

It's your feelings that are awful.

Crude wrappings sometimes contain pure souls.

Look.

Manon. Come.

I'm entrusting you with an important mission.

Every evening you'll pour one watering can on each plant. Go ahead.

Oh, Galinette, I'm having a lark!

He planted tomatoes* on the north. [love apples]

Even if they bear fruit, they'll never ripen.

He rammed his chickpeas down with a stick.

I'd be shocked if they'd yield half a salad bowl.

He planted onions all around the big olive tree!

And the potatoes, he only buried, part way down.

He doesn't sow seed, he chucks it.

They'll come up in tufts, like a mangy dog!

If that nut intends to feed his family on that?

As I look at him, it makes me laugh...

and at the same time breaks my heart.

I feel like taking the tools from his hands

and showing him how to do it.

Let him do it his way, Papet.

It may not be right, but it's the best way for us.

♪ Dansent, dansent, les baleines, dans la mer...

Oh!

Hi! Going on a family outing?

We're Going to Plantier to fetch drinking water.

Our cistern is empty and we don't want to abuse your generosity.

If this keeps up, my well will soon be empty, too.

I have a feeling it'll rain tonight.

You feel it in your rheumatism?

No, fortunately, I don't suffer from it.

Heaven owed us 6 days' rain in May,

but only gave us 3.

As of June 1st, it should've rained twice. So we're owed...

5 days' rain!

These arrears in the celestial balance sheet

should rain down upon us within 48 hours.

What's the shortest way to get to Plantier?

Let me show you, not the shortest, but, the easiest.

Go to the valley floor and up the other side, but not towards the village.

Take the path on the right and the cave is right at the end.

Great, thank you. Till tonight!

Allez, en route!

Au revoir, little girl, and Madame.

♪ Chantent, chantent, les...

♪ ma bada ben che non si bagna, che lo voglio regalar

♪ ma bada ben che non si bagna, che lo voglio regalar

♪ lo voglio regalare perche’ l’e’ un bel mazzetto - It's beautiful!

♪ Lo voglio regalare... - Oh-ohh!

We're the new proprietors.

But, rest assured, we won't chase you off.

We simply came to fetch water. Our cistern's dry.

Don't be scared, Battistina, the new owners came to fetch water. [ITAL]

They won't toss us out of our cave.

God bless you!

Let me help you.

If we had a nearby spring, like them, there'd be no problem.

Let's have some faith in statistics and Providence. Hm?

Greetings, neighbor!

I'm off to Aubagne. Any errands, I can run for you?

No, thanks, I don't need a thing. You off to buy more seeds?

Oh, better than that! I'm going to get my breeders.

If you wanna see them, come by the house tonight.

Gladly! I'd love to see your first rabbits.

And I'll bring some escargots for Madame.

- Fine, until tonight. - Until tonight.

You see, I got some very young females,

who haven't yet borne a litter.

If you want to create a new breed, that's the primary consideration.

And now, the male.

Manon, quick, let's close the door.

He's an animal of astounding vigor. He might get away.

Oh, don't worry, he won't get past me.

Holy smokes! What is that?

He's a cross between 'Flanders Giant' and 'Charentes Ram'.

Oh-lala!

Never seen anything like it!

It has a dog's fur, hare's feet and donkey's ears!

- Must've cost you dearly, huh? - Very dearly, yes.

What a curiosity!

He's a breeder. Not young, but virile.

Oh, he's a tough guy, huh?

Bet he could eat a steak, without flinching!

Did he, ever, get screwed!

What breed did he say?

The Romarins breed.

Now, big guy...

make us some lovely babies.

You will sire the Romarins breed.

Of the 13,832 F. inheritance, there's not much left.

But I'm certain we'll win out.

All our bills are paid, and the hardest part is done.

Voila, I'll give the rest of the money with you 1,123 F.

That sum must last us a whole year.

And hopefully, in 3 months, I'll start selling my rabbits.

If it becomes necessary, we could always sell my necklace.

- They told me it was worth 10,000 F. - Sell your necklace? Never.

I'd sooner go barefoot.

Hey guys!

What is it?

Cesar.

- Go on, measure it. - It looks good, to me.

Who's that?

It's Ugolin's neighbor.

He acts like his shit don't stink!

You should've aimed at his hump. That'd straighten him out.

That's not funny.

Hurry, hurry!

There... it is. [ITAL]

Always watch out for your fingers, eh?

There!

Allez...

Go away, you're too small.

You're too small. Go!

Too small.

Oh, here's one! A lovely one!

What a beauty!

There's your Romarin breed, voila!

Shall we take it? How much?

Papa!

It won't last.

Just enough for my vineyard, but not for vegetables.

"What do you think, Ugolin?"

"I think it's a catastrophe."

Water!

"Rain on the Feast of the Ascension will wash your crops to perdition."

Stop worrying.

He lucked out with a wet spring,

but that's the sign of a scorching summer ahead.

By July, all his greens will be as yellow as ripe wheat.

His corn husks will crackle like patent leather shoes.

"If it rains in June say hello to wrack and ruin."

I'm off to Aubane, to sell my vegetables!

Here... To thank you for your advice.

I didn't sacrifice half my garden. (to save the other half)

- Your potatoes not out yet? - Not before 3 weeks.

No, really? Look at mine.

How do you do it?

Here.

Hey...

Amandine!

I keep forgetting she's deaf.

Ah... Ah!

Alright, that'll do! I'm hungry.

I'm hungry.

What's worse, Papet, is that now he gives me advice.

It's all magnificent!

That's why I'm worried. Summer hasn't started yet.

It's July 20th.

In 2 weeks the danger's passed. We'll have the August storms.

Shame if this early success were lost.

My cistern is filled to the brim.

It holds 12 cubic meters, and I need 3 for each sprinkling.

If I sprinkle every 2 days I'm fine for 8 days.

All right, but, it's not sure to rain in 8 days.

"One seed always yields an ear of 400 to 450 kernels: sometimes 2 ears.

"Theoretically one can count on a yield equal to 400 times the seed."

See, Aimee: 400 times the seed. Let's say, 300 to be prudent.

I planted 10 kilos, so, with 3 tons of corn, we can relax.

Thank you, chérie.

At 5 kilos per plant, we can expect 20 tons of squash.

Merely half that, would suffice.

See, the book only says 8 tons of feed per year.

We only have 720 francs left.

- The money from the rabbits you sold? - I counted it. We must be thrifty.

Now, more than ever, we need God's help.

Papa, papa!

It stopped flowing!

It stopped! There's no more water!

I expected this.

I thought we had a couple of days' water left.

If it doesn't rain tonight, we'll figure out something.

Lucky we have the Plantier spring.

4 trips a day? You'll end up killing your jenny*. [*female ass]

At 100 liters per trip, in 8 days we'll have 3,200 in the cistern.

- But we need rain within 10 days. - 10 days, in this season?

Well, you never know.

Look, if Heaven continues to let me down,

I'll ask to rent your mule.

- Yes! - Thank you.

Let's go, one more effort!

Galinette, if we have any more lovely days like this,

a couple of bucketfulls won't save his corn, his garden and the rest.

What's the matter?

What is it? You scared me.

Nothing, just a dream.

It's the hunchback!

I'm not in. Not in. Shh.

Hello, isn't M. Ugolin here?

Isn't M. Ugolin here?

If you see him,

ask him if he'll rent me his mule, starting tomorrow.

It's very important!

His mule. Starting tomorrow. Thank you.

My chickpeas are festering.

My apricots are shriveled up and they're the size of peas.

My vineyard won't even yield two barrels.

This is a woeful year!

The weather does as it pleases.

It's bad enough for us, but for him...

He'd need 1000 litres a day.

How do you expect him haul that?!

With a jenny, one and a half women, an umbrella and a hump?

Another week of sunshine and he's finished.

He asked to rent my mule, tomorrow. It'll be hard to refuse.

You poor idiot! If you give him your mule you'll save him!

A mule can haul 500 liters a day!

Look, you asked me to be his friend.

So little by little,

by drinking his white wine and calling him Monsieur Jean,

well, he's become my friend.

Imbecile! You wanna grow carnations or make friends?

What a dope!

It's like I'm hearing your poor mother speak!

Once you start strangling a cat, you'd better finish the job!

Believe me, if he has the slightest success this year, he'll continue.

Next year he'll start all over again and be miserable his whole life. Voila!

With the money that I'll benevolently give him,

he can return to settle in the city.

By not helping him with the mule,

believe me, we're basically doing him a favor.

Finally, you're back!

Back from the grape harvest. Biggest chore of the year!

Everything going well with you?

Unfortunately, no. I have one sprinkling left in my cistern.

It's a very bad year. Everybody's suffering.

Even the vineyards.

The grapes are as shriveled as the ones baked in a brioche. - Hello.

I wanted to ask about your mule.

Ah, Papet's mule.

At the moment it's not possible, this morning he starts his grape harvest.

Afterwards? In 2 or 3 days?

After doing Papet's, the mule goes to Casimir, the carpenter

and then the blacksmith's.

Every year, that's the routine. Takes at least ten days.

But, y'know...

with this heat wave, I wouldn't be surprised if we got a storm tonight.

From your mouth to God's ear.

Hey, here comes our crackpot.

He's gonna kill himself.

He can go back to collecting taxes, but his jenny can't!

She's the one I pity.

Are mules expensive?

I think I can find one in Aubane for 4 to 500 francs.

I'll sell it in September, maybe for a profit.

But for that...

I'd have to ask you to make a sacrifice.

Or rather, a temporary separation.

Your necklace, if you'll agree.

You gonna sell mama's necklace? - No, no, no.

No, I just want to ge a loan from a pawnshop*. There's no risk.

They'll lend me at least 2,000 F.

The 3 emeralds alone are worth much more.

The mountain air will do the mule a power of good.

In two months I'll resell it for a profit.

I'll return the 2000 F and they'll return the necklace.

It's fine like that, huh, Mama?

Of course.

Come dear. Tomorrow we'll have a lot to do, bedtime

Does it bother you a lot to give it up?

It's done.

- What? - I already pawned it.

- When? - Last month.

I had no more money, I should have told you.

You bought so many things:

books, tools, bran for the rabbits.

And we drank a lot of wine.

- How much did they lend you? - 100 francs.

- 100 francs? - The emeralds were fake.

Jean!

My God, make it rain.

My God, make it rain.

In 20 minutes the cistern will be full!

Oh, what a lovely storm!

Manon, this is it! I felt the first drop!

Me too, Papa, me too!

- Get inside! - I want to feel it on my face!

This blessed water sent by Providence!

Oh, thank you, thank you!

It's raining over there.

It's raining over there!

I'm a hunchback! Or didn't You know?

Do you think it's easy?

Is there nobody up there?

There's nobody up there!

I'm a hunchback!

Do you think it's easy?

There's nobody up there!

Nobody! Nobody up there!

What's this?

Aimee, come, look!

Look!

- My God, what is it? - The sirocco*! [Sahara wind]

A disaster! I'll go to Plantier for water!

- Jean! - I have no time!

Meet me at the Plantier spring!

Hurry! It's a matter of life and death!

Papa's gonna make himself sick.

Come, come.

Now, I know why God gave me this hump.

Nun a levet o sol.

Si no levo pas o sol, qui el sara morto a piu tot. [Piemontais]

She says, she'll take the sun out of him.

She says, if we don't take out the sun, he'll die after tomorrow.

All that, to water some measly squash!

It's terrible to see them trudging like a chain gang in this heat.

26!

He miscalculated, that's all... 27!

In this sun, his squash will soon die.

And yet he has a spring at Romarins.

Seems it's plugged up.

Perhaps it didn't plug up all by itself.

Who knows? We should ask the Soubeyrans.

- From the looks of it... - The looks of it, don't enter into it!

The Soubeyrans do as they please and we do as we please.

Minding other people's business never gets you anywhere.

And the less talk, the better!

Galinette.

It's time to strike!

It's curtains for him. His farm's a battlefield.

But, he doesn't have to die.

Listen, offer him 6,000 F maybe 7.

- But haggle! - Oh, Papet, I could kiss you!

Oh, cut the crap, this isn't the time! Hurry!

Galinette, wait! Bring him 2 bottles of new wine.

There's nothing better for a sick man.

- Run! - Yes, Papet!

Dear neighbor, your wine is delicious, but I must recognize that...

my venture has failed.

It's a disaster.

I could accuse Heaven's injustice

or exceptional atmospheric conditions

but I prefer to attribute my failure to my own stupidity.

To my lack of common sense.

I thought myself very able, whereas, actually, I never saw the essential.

That is to say, the only problem is water.

Well, sure. Without water it won't work.

That's in the past.

Here's what I, now, intend to do.

Once my strength returns I'll put everything on hold

and I'll dig a well.

- Where? - The divining rod will tell me.

Are you a dowser?

Not exactly.

But, I have a precious manual

which I'll study very, very closely.

Once I've mastered the rod,

I'm pretty sure I'll find water in this valley.

Do you know how to dig a well?

After all...

a well is nothing more than a hole.

It'll be 12 meters deep.

Even without yieldinga drop of water...

my problem is solved.

- What use is a well with no water? - It could serve as a cistern, Aimee!

A well, 12 m. deep by 2 m. in diameter

contains exactly 43 cubic meters.

The spring rains will easily fill it, each year.

Thus, at the start of each summer,

between the well and the cistern,

we'll have a reserve of 55 cubic meters.

That is, 18 waterings, or 36 worry-free days.

We've had longer droughts.

Where do you get an ininterrupted drought of 36 days?!

In the Sahara, maybe?

The middle of the Gobi Desert, maybe?

But here... here?

It's mathematically impossible!

Let's drink!

From what you tell me...

the good thing is that...

he started drinking red wine.

What about the divining rod?

The divining rod IS worrisome.

Are you worried he'll find the secret, in his book?

Aw, not on your life. It's not a question of a secret.

It's a knack.

- But, he might end up hiring a real dowser. - You know any?

I knew one in Ombrees, who, if he came to Romarins,

in 5 minutes, with his stick, he'd be right on top of the spring.

Is he still in Ombrees?

He's still there, but fortunately in the graveyard.

Anyway, a good dowser is expensive.

Did you get around to talking money? - Not yet.

He'd drunk a lot and got himself too worked up.

But I don't think he has much left.

When it comes to money, with people, you never know.

Aimee, Aimee, I think it moved.

Well... I see everything's going smoothly!

Yes, but it's getting harder.

- Hard, huh? - Oh, yeah, hard!

I'm close to the white stone, I told you about.

- The 'Quarter-nairy'? - Exactly!

If there's water under this rock, I'll reach it in two weeks.

But, if it's below the Quaternary rock layer,

it'll take another 6 months, maybe more.

Now I know what a ditchdigger's thirst is.

That did me a power of good.

Monsieur Jean, I have to speak frankly.

You may say, I'm sticking my nose where it doesn't belong.

But, the truth is, I feel sorry for you.

All the work you've done over almost two years is incredible.

It's madness. It's murder.

What an interesting preamble.

You'll never finish your well.

Even if you find water, it won't fix anything.

That much corn and squash, would need the whole Durance River.

It's not suitable work for you, and that's the truth.

Continue, you interest me a lot.

A man like you is made for the city.

With all your education, you could teach...

or work in the post office: white collar and starched sleeves.

That's the star you should follow.

If you stay, you'll end up killing yourself.

I can see, you're out of money. It's no shame, but it's true.

Eating rabbit and dandelion greens is no kind of diet for a working man.

It obliges you to drink too much wine.

You'll just end up dead for your trouble.

And Madame Aimee and your girl? What'll become of them?

Haven't been looking too spry for some time, already.

I've noticed.

- What do you think this farm's worth? - To rent or sell?

- To sell. - Papa. - Hold on, wait.

It's hard to say. I hadn't thought about it.

As a country cottage, it's too far from the city.

And for a farmer, it's not much use without water.

A second cistern would improve its value.

Maybe. Maybe.

Seven thousand.

Would that be your highest bid?

Eight thousand... perhaps.

But, Jean, you wouldn't sell your mother's house! - Aimee!

The price seems perfectly reasonable.

I can ask, our notary in Crespin, for a 4,000 F mortgage!

- You're not selling? - Not on your life!

I'd never sell my mother's birthplace, where I hope to live out my days,

once I make my fortune!

With 4,000 francs, it's possible to live quite well.

I'll buy a mule and especially mining tools

and blasting powder to pulverize this damned rock!

In a year I'll pay off the mortgage and that's that.

You know what a mortgage is?

When a notary lends money to a guy who's poor but is a man of his word.

What word?!

They make them sign papers.

And if they don't repay on the day specified

they take all their property.

All right, 10 minutes. Leave us, now.

Galinette

There's a good and a bad side.

The bad side is, with 4,000 francs,

by next summer, his venture may succeed.

On the other hand, since he's a born loser...

many things can go wrong.

And blasting powder and wine don't mix.

In any case, the mortgage holder is master of the situation.

So, I'll hold his mortgage, myself.

If he succeeds, he'll pay me the interest,

and reimburse me.

And if it goes badly,

we'll have the farm.

You're clever, Papet. Can't deny, you're clever.

Clever? I'm clever because I have money.

It's all set!

You do the honors.

Quick, get Mama. I want her to see the water gush. Go!

Jean?

Monsieur Jean?

An accident, M. Jean, huh?

I ran to see the water gushing...

but some rocks that were blown way up high...

fell back on my head.

It can't too serious, if you can still talk.

Over there, Doctor.

Not serious, Doctor. Just a little rock.

He tried to speak before, but his teeth clenched up.

He didn't suffer before going where we all end up.

The rock must have fractured a cervical vertebra.

If I'd come sooner, it wouldn't have helped.

Papet.

I stopped the clock at Monsieur Jean's house.

And that's why you're crying?

It's not me, crying.

It's my eyes.

What'll become of them, now?

Surely, they have family to rely on.

Then they could sell the farm.

And would you be so charitable, as to buy it?

It depends. What do you think it's worth?

Not much. Anyway, not worth a man's life.

Entrez.

This price of 8,000 F is more than reasonable.

If the land had water, it'd certainly be worth double.

But there's only one cistern, the house is old and out of the way.

This way, you could immediately pay off your mortgage.

After deducting interest and fees,

Madame, you'll have the sum of 3,880 F.

If you would sign here...

Voila, and initial here... Your initials.

I feel I must tell you, the buyer is being very generous.

You can continue to live here.

This gentleman is buying the land to rent it to me.

I just want to cultivate the field.

You're at home, here. I'll never come without knocking. Never.

For me, this will always be Monsieur Jean's house.♥

That's enough. She's seen me fool around long enough. They're leaving.

Let's get to it.

Wait... wait, I'm getting it.

Must be a lot of water, backed up, down there.

Carnations, Galinette! Carnations!

15,000 F a year!

This is a fortune gushing up, look!

(OHH!)

(AAAHH!)

What was that?

Nothing.

A hare caught by a buzzard.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,

I baptise you, 'King of Carnations'.

End of Part One