All language subtitles for Last.Year.at.Marienbad.1961.KL.2160p.UHD.BluRay.x265.HEVC.FLAC-SARTRE_track4_[eng]

WINNER, GOLDEN LION
VEN ICE FILM FESTIVAL 1961

Cross corridors leading in turn
to empty rooms,

rooms heavily laden
with a décor from the past.

Silent rooms where the sound of footsteps

is absorbed by carpets so heavy, so thick,

that all sound escapes the ear.

As if the very ear of him walks on,
once again,

along these corridors
and through these rooms,

in this building that belongs to the past.

This huge, luxurious,
baroque and dismal hotel

where corridor follows corridor.

Silent, deserted corridors heavily laden

with woodwork and paneling,

with marble, mirrors,
pictures, and darkness,

pillars, alcoves, and rows of doorways.

Cross corridors leading in turn
to empty rooms,

rooms heavily laden
with a décor from the past.

Silent rooms where the sound of footsteps

is absorbed by carpets so thick

that all sound escapes the ear.

As if the ear itself
were very far from the ground,

far from this empty décor,

far from this intricate frieze
with its branches and garlands

like classical foliage.

As if the ground
were still sand and gravel

and stone paving
which I crossed once again.

Along these corridors
and through these rooms,

in this building that belongs to the past,

this huge, luxurious,
baroque and dismal hotel

where endless corridors...

Silent rooms where the sound
of footsteps is absorbed

by carpets so heavy, so thick,

that all sound escapes the ear.

As if the very ear of him walks on,
once again,

along these corridors,

through these rooms in this building...

...alcoves, and rows of doorways.

Cross corridors leading in turn
to empty rooms,

rooms heavily laden
with a décor from the past.

Silent rooms, where the sound of footsteps

is absorbed by carpets so heavy, so thick,

that all sound escapes the ear.

...and stone paving
which I crossed once again.

Along these corridors
and through these rooms,

in this building that belongs to the past,

this huge, luxurious,
baroque, and dismal hotel

where corridor follows corridor.

Silent, deserted corridors

heavily laden with woodwork and paneling,

with marble, mirrors,
pictures, and darkness,

pillars, alcoves, and rows of doorways.

Cross corridors leading in turn
to empty rooms...

...with woodwork, rows of doorways.

Cross corridors
leading in turn to empty rooms,

rooms heavily laden
with a décor from the past.

Silent rooms, where the sound of footsteps

is absorbed by carpets so heavy, so thick,

that all sound escapes the ear.

As if the ear itself
were very far from the ground,

far from this empty décor,

far from this intricate frieze
with its branches and garlands

like classical foliage.

As if the ground
were still sand and gravel

and stone paving,
which I crossed once again

on my way to meet you.

Between these walls laden with woodwork,

with pictures and framed engravings
through which I made my way...

amongst which I was already...

waiting for you.

Very far from the setting
where I find myself now...

as you still wait
for someone who will not come...

someone who may never come...

to separate us again...

to take you away from me.

Are you coming?

We must wait a little.

A few minutes, a few seconds more.

A few seconds,
as if you were still in doubt

about parting with him and yourself,

as if his fading figure
might even now reappear--

Here where he appeared to you too vividly,

too fearfully, too hopefully.

Frightened of losing this bond--

No. This hope no longer has a purpose.

The fear of losing
such a suffocating bond is over.

This story is already over.

In a few seconds, it will freeze forever.

Into a marble past,
like these statues worked in stone.

Like this very hotel,
filled with emptiness,

these static silent characters
long since dead,

standing guard in the corridors
as I made my way toward you.

Between two rows of frozen faces,

watching, forever indifferent faces.

As I came toward you, in your doubt,

still watching
the threshold of this garden.

Here I am.

Now...

I am yours.

It must have been in '28 or '29.

Really? It seems incredible.

We already met in the past.

...a kind of relation has no relation...

...and impossible weather.
We could not get out at all for months,

and at the least-expected time--

You saw it yourself?

No, but a friend told me.

Oh, if he told you...

Don't worry about what the others think.

- You know that--
- You only pretended to listen to me.

I'm listening.

So listen to my complaints.
You make my role unbearable.

You confine me in a whispering silence
worse than death--

Lower your voice.

These whispers worse than silence
that you imprison me in,

these days worse than death that we're
living through, side by side, you and I,

like coffins buried side by side
in a frozen garden.

Be quiet.

A reassuringly tidy garden
with clipped hedges,

with geometrical paths
down which we walk together,

day after day, almost hand in hand.

Be quiet.

It's unbelievable.

I don't quite remember.

It must have been in '28 or '29.

In the summer of '29, it froze for a week.

A handsome woman.

Too much imagination.

You confine me in a silence
worse than death.

Like these days that we live through,
side by side,

and almost hand in hand,
but never getting closer one to another.

- Our mouths forever apart.
- Be quiet.

Fingers that never entwine,
eyes that do not see you,

for they are forced
to look away toward these walls

laden with carvings, crystal mirrors,
and outmoded pictures.

Fake cornices.

False doors and deceiving views.

False exits.

Extraordinary!

Not so extraordinary as all that.

He set the whole thing up himself,
you know.

- So he knew all the outcomes.
- Now it makes sense.

Wings as feathery as a swan's.

You've been here long?

No. But I've been before.

You like this place?

Not much. We just come here.

- My father was to get a post.
- Yes, indeed.

- Nearby.
- Influence peddling.

A shoe with a broken heel.

From which there is no escape?

From which there is no escape.

Don't you know the story?

Last year, it was all we talked about.

Frank told her that her father
had sent him to look after her.

An odd way of doing so.

She realized that later

when, one night,
he tried to get into her room

pretending he wanted
to explain a picture to her...

Having a German passport
doesn't prove much.

But his presence has no connection.
Absolutely no connection.

I suggest a different game,

a game at which I always win.

If you can't lose, it's not a game.

I can lose, but I always win.

Let's try.

Two play.

The cards are laid out like this.

Seven.

Five.

Three.

One.

Each player, in turn, picks up cards--

As many as he likes--
but only from one row at a time.

The one who picks up the last card loses.

Will you begin?

You haven't changed.
I feel I left you only yesterday.

What have you been doing?

Nothing. I'm still the same.

- Not married?
- No, no.

A pity. It's fun.

I like to be free.

- Here?
- Why not here?

It's an odd place.

To be free in, you mean?

That, amongst other things.

You're still the same.

You're still the same.

But you hardly seem to remember.

Yet you're familiar with the setting,

this hand holding a bunch of grapes.

Behind the hand,
you see the almost-living foliage

in a garden that would be ours.

You've never noticed?

I've never had such a good guide.

"As the compass said to the ship,"
goes the proverb.

I can show you a lot more here,
if you wish.

With pleasure.

Has this hotel so many secrets?

So many.

How strange.

Why do you look at me like that?

You hardly seem to remember me.

I first saw you in the gardens
in Frederiksbad.

You were alone, apart from the others,

standing by a balustrade,

resting your hand on it,
your arm half outstretched.

You were half facing
the wide central path.

You did not see me coming.

My footsteps on the gravel
finally drew your attention.

Then you turned your head.

It was not me.

You must be mistaken.

Remember.

We were near a stone statue...

that rested on a tall pedestal--

A man and woman in classical dress.

Their pose seemed to represent
something definite.

You asked me who they were.

I said I didn't know.

You tried to guess.
I said they might as well be you and I.

Then you began to laugh.

I love--

I already loved to hear you laugh.

The others had come near us.

Someone had put a name to the statue.

They were figures from mythology,

or perhaps gods
or heroes of ancient Greece.

Either that or some allegory
or something of this kind.

You weren't listening.

You seemed far away.

Your eyes had become solemn
and empty again.

You half turned away
to look at the main path again.

One, two, three, four,

five, six, seven.

One, two, three, four, five.

One, two...

three.

One.

And, once again,
we found ourselves separated.

It's impossible.

Come, let's go walk in the garden.

Frank is not here yet.

You know the proverb:
"As the compass said to the ship."

What if you played first?

And, once again, I made my way alone...

along these same corridors,

through these same deserted rooms,

past these pillars
and windowless galleries,

through these same doorways,

making my way at random
in the labyrinth around me.

And, once again,

everything was empty and deserted
in this huge hotel.

Empty rooms, corridors,

rooms and doors,

doors and rooms,

empty chairs, deep armchairs,

stairways, steps,

more and more.

Glass, empty glasses.

A falling glass, a glass partition.

Letters. A lost letter.

Keys hanging on their rings.

Numbered room keys:

309, 307, 305, 303.

Chandeliers.

Chandeliers and mirrors.

Empty corridors as far as the eye can see.

Like everything else,
the garden was deserted.

It was last year. Have I changed so much?

Or are you pretending not to know me?

One year. Maybe more.

At least you haven't changed.

You still have the same faraway eyes,

the same smile, the same sudden laugh,

the same way of putting out your arm

to ward off something in the way,

of raising your hand to your shoulder.

You're wearing the same perfume.

Remember.

It was in the gardens in Frederiksbad.

You were standing alone.

You were leaning on a stone balustrade,

resting your hand on it,
your arm half outstretched.

You were looking down the central path.

I came toward you...

but I stopped some way off
and looked at you.

You were now facing me.

Yet you didn't seem to see me.

I was watching you. You did not move.

I told you how real you seemed.

You just smiled.

I talked about the statue.

I told you that the man wanted
to stop the woman from going any further.

He must have seen some danger

and was motioning his friend to stop.

You replied that she was the one
who had seen something

and that she was pointing out
something breathtaking.

Both explanations were possible.

The couple had left home
and had been walking for days.

They've just come to the edge of a cliff.

He holds her back
to keep her from the edge

while she points to the sea,
which stretches to the horizon.

Then you asked me their names.

I replied that it didn't matter.

You didn't agree and started naming them

without much thought.

So I said
they might as well be you and me.

Or just anyone.

Don't name them.
They may have had other adventures.

You're forgetting the dog.
Why do they have a dog with them?

He's not theirs.
He just happened to run by.

But he's with his mistress.

She's not his mistress.

He's close because the pedestal is narrow.

The same couple have no dog
in that other statue.

Now they face each other.
She reaches out a hand to his lips.

Closer, you can see she looks away.

- Are you coming?
- No.

I don't want to. It's too far.

Follow me. Please.

Please.

It's impossible.
I've never been to Frederiksbad.

Perhaps it was elsewhere.

In Karlstadt or Marienbad...

or in Baden-Salsa...

or even in this room.

You followed me here
so I could show you...

this picture.

The man's movements are clear,

and so is the woman's arm.

But you must be on the other side
to see that the man

wants to stop the woman
from going any further.

He's seen some danger probably.

He motions her to stop.

I think I can give you
a little more accurate information.

The statue is of Charles ll I and his wife.

It's not of the period, of course.

It shows the Oath before the Diet.

The classical costumes
are completely conventional.

You were waiting for me.

No. Why should I be?

I've waited a long time for you.

In your dreams?

You're running away again.

What do you mean?

I don't understand a word you say.

If it were a dream,
why should you be afraid?

Tell me how our story continues.

We met again that very afternoon.

By chance, I suppose?

I don't know.

Where was it this time?

Where?

That does not matter.

You were with a group of friends
whom you had run into,

people I hardly knew.

I don't think you did either.

They were talking
about some current event or other.

You probably knew more about it
than I did.

I was watching you.

Your sparkling conversation seemed forced.

I felt these people
didn't know who you were.

I alone did.

You didn't know yourself.

You kept avoiding my glance.

You were clearly doing it on purpose,

with extreme thoroughness.

I waited. I had the time.

I've always thought I've had time.

When your eyes looked my way,
it was as if I didn't exist.

Finally, to make you look, I spoke,

breaking into the conversation
with some remark

designed to draw your attention.

I've forgotten what it was.

You answered me in the sudden silence

with an ironic comment
about what I'd just said.

The others remained silent.

And again, I felt no one understood.

Perhaps I was the only one to hear.

Then someone spoke
of the evening's entertainment.

Perhaps it was for the next day.

I forgot what we said next.

You didn't like walking in the park

because of the gravel,
uncomfortable with your high heels.

One day, later on, I think,

you broke one of your high heels.

You had to take my arm

while you took off your shoe.

The heel was almost broken off
except for a strand of leather.

You looked at it for a moment.

Your bare foot scarcely
touched the ground.

It hovered in front of your other foot,
like a dancer's pose.

I offered to fetch another pair.

You refused.

Then I said I could carry you back.

You just laughed, without replying,
as though...

But that day, you carried your shoes back.

You walked to the hotel over the gravel.

I saw you again.

You never seemed to be waiting.

But we met at every turn...

behind every shrub...

at the foot of every statue...

by every fountain...

as though, in all this garden...

there was only you and me.

We talked about anything at all--

The statues' names...

the shapes of the bushes...

the water in the fountains...

Sometimes we remained silent.

At night, especially,
you did not like to talk.

One night, I went up to your room.

These walls were always there...

surrounding me.

Even, smooth, glazed walls.

These walls were always there.

The silence, too.

I never heard a voice raised
in this hotel.

Not a single voice.

Conversations took place in a vacuum,

as if the words meant nothing,

as though they could have no meaning.

A sentence would be suspended in space,

frozen in its flight...

and then could resume its journey
there or elsewhere.

It did not matter.

The same conversations,

the same missing voices.

The servants were mute.

The games were silent, of course.

It was a place of rest.

No business was done.
No conspiracies were bred.

No words were spoken to arouse emotion.

There were signs everywhere.

"Silence."

"Silence."

- Yes, I think I remember.
- It seems hard to believe.

You saw it?

- No, but a friend told me.
- Oh, "told you" --

It's an easy thing to verify.
You can check the weather reports.

Let's go to the library.

Do you know what I heard?

This time last year,

it was so cold that the fountains froze.

It must be a mistake.

What do you want?
You know it's impossible.

One night, I went up to your room.

You were alone.

Leave me alone. I beg you.

Leave me alone.

It was almost summer.

Yes, you're right.

There couldn't have been any ice.

It's time for the concert.
May I go with you?

Are you going to the concert?

I'll see you at dinner.

This story is already over.

In a few moments,
it will freeze forever into a marble past

like these statues,
this garden carved in stone,

like this hotel with its now-empty rooms.

Leave me alone. I beg you.

You never seemed to be waiting for me.

But we met at every turn...

behind every shrub...

at the foot of every statue...

by every fountain's edge.

As though in all this garden...

there was only you and me.

We talked about anything at all--

The statues' names,

the bushes, the water in the fountains,

the color of the sky.

Sometimes we remained silent.

But you always maintained
a certain distance...

as if on the brink...

at the door of a dark, unknown place.

Come here.

Come nearer.

Leave me alone, please.

Once again these walls,
once again these corridors,

once again these doors.

And still more beyond.

In order to reach you,
in order to join you...

you don't know the paths I've taken.

Now you are here, where I took you.

You still try to escape,
but you are here in this garden,

within my reach, within my voice,

within my sight, within my reach.

Who are you?

You know.

What's your name?

That doesn't matter.

"That doesn't matter."

You're like some phantom...

waiting for me to come.

Leave me alone.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

It's already too late.

You asked me not to see you.

But, of course, we met...

the day after or the next
or the day after that.

Perhaps it was by accident.

I insisted on your leaving with me.

You said it was impossible, of course.

But now you know
it's the only thing left...

for you to do.

Yes, perhaps.

But, no, I don't know.

But why me? Why must it be me?

You were waiting for me.

No, I wasn't. I was waiting for no one.

Waiting for nothing,
as though you were dead.

It's not true. You're still alive.

You're here. I can see you.

Do you remember?

It's probably not true.

You've already forgotten.

It's not true. It's not true.

You're leaving. Your door is open.

Why? What are you hoping to do with me?

What other life would you have me live?

I don't mean another life!

It's a question of your life. At last.

Remember.

One evening, the last, I think.

It was almost dark.

A thin shadow
slowly advanced through the dusk.

Long before I could distinguish
your features...

I knew it was you.

When you recognized me, you stopped.

We stood there, a few yards apart...

without saying a word.

You were standing in front of me...

waiting, perhaps...

unable to move either forward or back.

You stood there,

very straight, motionless...

your arms at your sides.

You were looking at me...

your eyes open even wider,

your lips parted, as though to speak

or groan or cry out.

You are afraid.

You open your mouth a little more.

Your eyes get wider.

You hold your hand forward,
uncertainly, as if waiting...

appealing, or perhaps in defense.

Your fingers tremble.

You are afraid.

Who is it?

Your husband? Maybe.

He was looking for you,
or maybe just passing by.

He was already nearing you.

But you remained rigid,
as if you were not there.

He didn't quite seem to recognize you.

So he stepped forward.

Something about you escaped him.

One step further.

You looked through him.

He chose to leave.

And now,
you still stare into the empty space.

You still see him--

His gray eyes...

his gray shape...

and his smile.

And you're afraid.

You dread his return or his presence,
already,

when I enter again in your room.

His room was next door,
with a sitting room in between.

At this time, he is in the card room.

I had told you I would come.
You never answered me.

I found all the doors ajar--

The hall door, the sitting room door,
and yours.

I just had to push them open
and close them behind me.

You know the rest.

No, I don't know the rest.
I don't know you.

Or this room, this ridiculous mantelpiece
with its mirror.

What mirror? What mantelpiece?

- What are you saying?
- Yes.

I don't know anymore.

It's not true. I don't know anymore.

Why should you be here otherwise?

What was the mirror like?

There's no mirror over the mantelpiece.

There's a picture...

a landscape, a snow scene, I think.

The mirror's over the chest.

There's also a dressing table...

and other furniture as well.

Of course.

What kind of bed?

A big one, probably.

What could you see from the windows?

I don't know the bedroom you mention.

I've never been in any bedroom with you.

You don't want to remember.

Because you're afraid.

Don't you recognize this photo either?

Yes.

No, I don't know. I don't remember.

You know very well who took it and where!

It was last year. You didn't want me to.

You said it would upset you.

That's true.

I was right.

As for me,

I remember this room perfectly.

You were waiting for me.

Yes, there was a mirror over the chest.

I first saw you in the mirror

when I pushed the door open.

You were sitting in a sort of negligee.

You were all in white
and wearing this ring.

You're making it up.
I'm sure you're making it up.

I've never had a white dressing gown.

It was someone else.

As you wish.

But I remember well these white feathers
where you were lying on the big bed.

No!

Please be quiet. You're mad.

"No, no, please!"

It's your voice I hear from last year.

You were already afraid.

You were already afraid.

You had always been afraid,
but I loved your fear that night.

I watched you as you protested a little.

I loved you.

I loved you.

There was something in your eyes.

You were... alive.

Finally.

At first...

Do you remember?

No.

You were sincere.

But only you know.

What's wrong?

Nothing.

- Are you tired?
- A little. I think--

- It's--
- It's the sun, all of a sudden.

Let's go back in if you like.

If you like.

That was the day I photographed you.

And you asked me to give you a year.

Perhaps to test me...

perhaps to wear me down,
or so you could forget.

But time is unimportant.

I have come back for you now.

No.

No, no.

No, it's impossible.

No, no. It's impossible.

Of course.

But you know that it is possible.

You know you are ready to leave.

What makes you so sure?

Where would we go?

Anywhere. I don't know.

You see?
It is better to part ways forever.

Last year-- No, it's impossible.

You'll leave alone.

- And forever we'll be--
- It's not true.

Why should we be lonely
and have to wait forever?

It's not true.

But you're afraid.

No!

But it's too late now.

No!

He had just left your room.

You had just had a violent argument
with him a moment before.

From your window, you can see the garden.

But you hadn't seen him leave.
That might have calmed you.

Then you went back to the bed.

Hesitant at first,
not knowing where to go,

you went back to the bed and sat on it.

Then you let yourself fall back.

You went back to the bed...

after a few seconds,
a few minutes even of indecision,

not knowing what to do,
staring in front of you.

And you went back to the bed.

Listen to me. Try to remember.

Please listen to me.

Yes, there was--

It's true. There was a big mirror.

You didn't dare go near it.

It seemed to frighten you.

You're determined not to believe me.

Where are you? Where have you gone?

Why try to run away? It's too late.

It was too late even then.

The door was closed.

No! The door was closed!

Listen to me. What more proof do you want?

I had kept a photo of you
taken that afternoon in the park

just before you left.

You said the photo didn't prove a thing.

Anyone could have taken it

in any garden, any garden at all.

I should have shown you
the white feathers.

Your body a sea of feathers.

But bodies and negligees are all alike.

Hotels, statues, and gardens are alike.

But for me, this garden was unique.

Every day, I met you there.

One afternoon, the next day, probably...

I told you we were leaving.

No. You weren't laughing.

We'll leave tomorrow and never return.
While he--

No. That wasn't it.

Yes. We were in your room.

We had already decided to leave.

You had agreed, somewhat unwillingly.

I was in your room.

From the doorway, you see the bed...

but not the dressing table.

You were probably by the window,

looking down at the garden, I think.

I'm not quite sure.

I had met him coming down the stairs.

He'd just left your room.

Was it another day?

That evening, everything was vacant.

The stairs...

the corridors...

the stairs.

No.

No. I don't remember anymore.

I don't remember myself.

I don't remember.

Didn't you hear me knock?

Yes. I told you to come in.

Oh, all right.

You must have spoken softly.

What's this photograph?

- An old one of me.
- Yes.

When was it taken?

I don't know. Last year.

Who took it?

I don't know. Frank, perhaps.

Last year? Frank wasn't here last year.

Perhaps it wasn't here.

Perhaps it was in Frederiksbad.

Perhaps someone else took it.

Yes, perhaps.

How did you spend the afternoon?

I just read a little.

I looked for you. Were you outside?

No. I was in the green room
next door to the music room.

Ah, all right.

I looked there, though.

- Did you have something to tell me?
- No.

You seem worried.

I'm a little tired.

You must rest.

Don't forget that's what we're here for.

You're going out?

I may go to the gun room.

- At this hour?
- Yes. Why not?

Anderson's arriving tomorrow.

We'll have lunch with him...
if you've no other plans.

Of course not. What other plans?

Until tonight, then.

After the door closed,

you listened for his footsteps
in the sitting room between your rooms.

But you heard none.

You didn't even hear other doors closing.

The way to the gun room
was along the terrace behind the hotel.

But unless you open the window,
you can't see the terrace.

You listened
for his footsteps on the gravel.

With the window closed,
it was impossible to hear.

Besides,
there's probably no gravel just there.

One arm reaching up to your hair.

An outstretched forefinger to your lips...

as if to stifle a cry.

Now you're here again.

No, this is not the proper ending.

I need you alive.

Alive, as you were already,

every evening for weeks and for months.

I've never stayed anywhere for so long.

Yes, I know.

It's all the same to me,
during days and days.

Why do you still
not want to remember anything?

You're mad.

I'm tired. Leave me be.

- This game's absurd.
- One has to know it.

- You must take an odd number.
- I am sure there are rules.

The one who begins, loses.

Frank used to play last year.
Yes, I am sure.

You need to take
the complement of seven each time.

In which row?

Please begin.

With pleasure.

Which one shall I take?

This one.

Very well.

So, I've lost.

No. No!

No!

It's not true. You were sincere.

Remember.

For days and days, night after night.

All bedrooms are the same, you'll say.

But for me, that room was different.

There were no doors, no corridors.

No hotel. No garden.

Not even the garden.

In the middle of the night,
the hotel slept.

We met each other outside, as before.

You stopped when you recognized me.

We stood there in silence.

You stood waiting,

unable to move either forward or back.

You stood motionless,

your arms by your sides.

You wore a long, dark cape.

I think it was black.

Listen to me, for pity's sake.

We can't turn back the past.

Oh, no. No.

Only wait a little longer.

Next year, here--
the same day, the same hour.

I'll follow you.

Why wait now?

Please. We must wait.

- A year's not long.
- No.

For me, it's nothing.

But listen.

How long must we put it off? Until when?

- Until when?
- I'm telling you.

- I've waited too long.
- Not so loud, please.

But what do you hope to achieve?

Do you think it's so easy?

I don't know.

Perhaps...

I'm not very brave.

I can't put it off.

Oh, no.

A few hours is all I ask.

A few months,

a few hours, a few minutes...

or a few seconds.

It's as though
you couldn't decide to leave him...

as if it meant parting with yourself.

As if his shape--

Someone's coming! Be quiet, I beg you.

Go away if you love me!

You must have felt faint.

Yes. It's nothing.

- You're better already.
- Yes.

I'll go upstairs.

- Shall I come with you?
- No.

I'd rather go alone.

I'm going.

And again I made my way
along these corridors,

walking for days and months,

walking for years, toward you.

There can be no rest within these walls.

I shall leave tonight
and take you with me.

Had this story begun last year...

with us waiting for each other...

one year ago...

you couldn't have gone on
living in this setting,

among these mirrors and pillars...

surrounded by these swinging doors...

these giant stairways...

in this ever-open room.

Where are you, my lost love?

Here. I am here.

Here with you, in this room.

But no.

Already it's no longer true.

Help me. Please help me.

Give me your hand.

You were feeling better.

- Hold my hand tightly.
- Yes, now you'll sleep.

And later, you will be all better
to meet Ackerson or Paterson,

whom you're supposed to lunch with.

Don't let me go.

You know it's too late.

Tomorrow, I'll be alone.

Your room will be empty.

No!

I'm cold. No.

You need nothing.

You don't know what happened just now
in the great lounge.

You don't remember what happened
very well.

You hope you didn't cause a scandal
when you screamed.

When this man,
who maybe is your husband, had gone--

This man you may even love,

whom you'll leave forever tonight--

You packed your things
and prepared a change of clothes.

We were to leave that night.

You wanted to give him a final chance,
the man who was still holding you.

I don't know. I accepted.

He could have come to take you back.

The hotel was deserted.

Everyone was at the play,
announced a long time before.

Your fainting spell gave you
an excuse not to go.

I can't remember the title.

It was due to finish late.

After he'd left you lying on your bed,

he went to the theater.

He sat with a group of friends.

If he really wanted to keep you,
he would have to leave before the end.

You were dressed, ready to go.

You sat waiting for him, alone,

in a sort of lounge that one had to cross
to reach your suite.

You'd asked me to leave you alone
until midnight.

Were you hoping he would come?

I thought
you might have told him everything

and fixed a time for him to come.

Or perhaps you thought
I might not come myself.

I came at the appointed time.

The grounds of the hotel
were symmetrically arranged...

without trees or flowers
or plants of any kind.

The gravel, the stone, and the marble,

and straight lines
marked out rigid spaces,

surfaces without mystery.

At first sight,
it seemed impossible to lose your way.

At first sight.

Along these stone paths
and amid these statues...

where you were already,

losing your way forever

in the still night,

alone with me.