All language subtitles for Celeste (1980) Percy Adlon

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

For six months Monsieur has
been living on no more,

than two cups of coffee a day.

He sleeps very little.

When I have written
the word "end",

I will travel south.

He writes at night and
in the early morning.

I am at his disposal.

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

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

I take coffee and
first milk to him.

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

it has to be freshly boiled

That is all Mr. takes.

Having to wait...

this is how it first began.

Come, Celeste.

Do you know what this is?

The call-bell.
It's electric.

When it rings, a number
appears here.

I wanted to show it to you.

It's what they had
in former times.

Afraid?

Nicholas has already
brought him

coffee and milk and
two croissants.

Afterwards, when Mr.
rings twice,

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

Come!

You take the croissant
down there.

you go through the dining room,
and the empty parlor.

It's the next door.

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

He knows you're helping out.

But don't talk to him!

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

And don't walk around the flat!

He's had his room lined
with cork panels

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

And you mustn't talk to him,
understand?

If he rings again, he wants
more hot milk.

But Nicholas will
soon be back.

Good luck!

I was sitting here with
the third croissant.

But Mr. did not ring.

- Was there anything?
- Nothing, Odilon.

Nicholas won't be long.

Take care!

He didn't ring.

They called for me
once more,

and once again,
he didn't ring.

But it's strange...

I didn't get bored at all
waiting all those hours.

It was eerie,

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

Somewhere, another person
was breathing.

And one day, it rang.

I couldn't see his face,
but his eyes looked at me.

I shall always
remember that.

I started eight years ago,
in 1914.

Then suddenly
war broke out.

Nicholas, the valet, and
my husband were recruited.

That's how I stayed with Mr.

At the beginning of the war,
in September,

he went to Cabourg,
by the sea.

He took me with him.

It was his last trip.

Then our hermit life began.

He's having a fit!

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

because you'll never find
another like him.

I present Marcel Proust, in his
nightshirt and uncombed.

- Would you help again?
- Yes.

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

What's the matter, Mr.?

The additions!

And the margins are full.

I could keep writing
on loose pages, but...

I always get them
muddled up.

And when it goes
to the typesetter...

There, we'll try this.

Hold here, Mr.

Now you can fill as many
pages as you wish.

All I need is space to paste the
pages. The rest is no problem.

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

Very.

Yes, I know, they always go
for the best bits.

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

That's because you
don't sleep.

You can't work continuously.

But I must, time
is pressing.

Tell me, Celeste...

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

isn't this a sad life?

Why, Mr.?

I know I'm an eccentric.

Like a jay,

just like a feather duster.

You want to keep them all!

Please forgive me.

Please, call me Marcel -
just once!

But why not?

Because I can't.

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

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

It isn't correct for a sick
man like me, bedridden,

to have a woman at his side.

Especially a young woman.

I know you can't
do a thing.

You'll just make
my coffee.

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

No, Mr.,

and I don't want to
be able to, either.

All the better.

May I ask something?

Go ahead!

Why don't you call me
Celeste?

I'm embarrassed when
you say Madame.

Because I can't.

You want me to call you
by your Christian name,

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

All the better.

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

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

a tall Swede.

Mr. and I, we laughed
about him secretly.

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

and showed me the sea
and sun,

through the oval window
he loved so much.

He then began calling me
Celeste,

and so it remained.

I must meet the
Countess Chevigne'.

All right, Mr.

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

It'll be fine because
you want it to.

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

All right, Mr.

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

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

and have the small lilac
room reserved?

May I ask you to hurry up?

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

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

I can't quite remember,
it torments me.

With pleasure.

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

They must be very beautiful!

Yes, Mr., very nice.

The Countess could bring
Mr. Cocteau with her,

he lives in the same house now.

Yes, Mr., bring Mr. Cocteau.

And call Mr. Francois,
please.

Have him come right away.
Don't forget my foot-bath!

Are there enough towels?

Will you manage
to do all that?

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

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

Tell Odilon to be ready
at 9 o'clock.

Yes, Mr... Odilon
at 9 o'clock.

I said it all began
with my waiting,

but this isn't true.

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

and with his first book "Swan's Way"
which had just come out.

Mr. had asked Odilon: What does
she do, your young wife?

She's from the country,
isn't she?

Does she like it in town?
Not at all - Odilon replied.

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

she eats little and never
wants to go out.

She's longing for her mother.

She might like to deliver,

the presentation copies
of my book for me;

that would distract her.

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

My God, how many letters have
I delivered since?

1000? That isn't enough.

The letters are always part
of a plan whose aim is

to hunt for models for
characters in his books.

Often making complicated
detours to meet someone.

It must look like a
matter of chance.

Mr. doesn't seek
just any feeling,

Mr. seeks the truth.

I act as his hound.

I rouse his game,
and he - bang!

The number of models he needs
for just one character!

Suddenly an address disappears.

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

Mr. is waiting for you
Mr. Francois.

Your instruments are ready.

- Good-bye, Mr. Francois.
- Good-bye, Mme. Celeste.

Now he's spattered himself.

Always when he's almost
done dressing.

He already has
his tie on, too.

He wants to break a record,
he's finished a whole flask,

of tooth-powder, it's really
wonderful.

Like in the good old days

This linen is
almost clean!

What a waste!

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

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

You're spattered again!

But I put a towel...

Don't move!

People won't mind me
being spattered.

You look like an Oriental prince.

Thank you, I like how
you said that.

- Have these gloves been cleaned?
- I don't think so, Mr.

I can't smell anything.

They smell of benzine!

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

Why do you do it then?

I'm tired, so terribly tired.

Such a great effort,

for a bit of information.

My boots... would you mind?

Here they are, Mr.

No, Celeste,
not that!

I'm nearly done, Mr.

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

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

then again as if
I were his child.

You've not changed
the sheets!

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

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

I'm sorry, Mr.

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

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

which you write about?

Lost paradises can only be
rediscovered within oneself.

- Well, Mr.?
- Well, dear Celeste.

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

And the Countess Chevigne'?

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

when she drove to the
Bois de Boulogne!

What a beauty!

I was in ecstacy.

and tonight...

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

And the moleskin hat?

Didn't she answer when
you asked her?

All she said was:

Marcel, after all this time

After all this time.

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

Yes, come!

I hope I haven't forgotten anything.

Try to picture all the people
who were there tonight.

I'm waiting.

Here, the Countess Murat

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

Be careful!

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

I can well imagine.

Here the young Jean Cocteau.

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

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

That was very embarrassing.

I always thought he was
a buffoon!

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

He wanted to sit next to me
but seated there,

was Father Mugnier.

Luckily!

On the other side...

She had a white fox and she
spent the whole evening,

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

How pretty.

Then my other neighbor, Father Mugnier,
had horrible warts on his face.

I like him!

Among all these people, in his
threadbare soutane

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

I'll do that.

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

Good Friday dinners where you
had a choice of meat or fish

What day is normal?

Father Mugnier helps himself
to meat...

Continue!

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

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

"How could I make such
a mistake?"

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

- He married a rich American.
- No!

And with her money he built
a palace.

in the style of
the Grand Trianon.

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

We got as far as
the bedroom,

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

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

I also saw Boni tonight,
dear Celeste.

This elegance, this extravagance!

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

He hasn't a penny left.

He isn't the only one.

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

because they don't even
have a bed.

But they still know how to
keep up appearances!

- Well, Celeste?
- Well, Mr.?

Follow me!

I know where you've
been, Mr.

You've been there once again,
once wasn't enough?

No.

Through the peep-hole again?

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

- That can't be!
- Yes, Celeste.

I watched the scene through
a small window.

It smelt bad.

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

He came from the north
expressly for that.

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

He let himself be chained
to the wall,

and a fellow beat him
with a whip...

until the welts burst...

and blood spurted everywhere.
- No!

Only then did the poor man

experience sensual enjoyment.

How could you watch
such a thing?

I'd watch even more
horrible things.

But why?

Because I lack imagination.

I have to collect it
all with difficulty.

Go to bed, Celeste.

What time is it?

It's been daylight
for awhile.

Ok, I want to work.

Go to bed yourself.

No, time is pressing...
Good night.

Good night.

Excuse me for having
woken you.

a third time.

That doesn't matter.

I always like to come

Dear Celeste, I can't
quite remember,

which of your brothers
was so sensitive,

so tender and sweet to you.

He was the youngest.

Sit down for a minute.

I'm pining for Mama.

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

The stocking incident...

Because I had left
in a hurry,

without changing,

My court shoes sank
in the snow,

I wore white spotted stockings.

A farmer said,
as I walked by,

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

thinking I'd not know
his dialect

My mother was already buried.

I went straight back
to Paris.

I can see her still, watching me
go, till I was out of sight.

My brother took me by carriage
to the station.

Mama is standing by the gate
getting smaller and smaller.

She lifts her hand
and waves...

so awkwardly...
how sweet she is!

Now, the walls

Tell me

There isn't much to tell.

The stones are piled up... there
are many stones at our place.

In other parts they have
fences, we have walls.

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

I often thought about
our big house.

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

And all around, fields,

completely enclosed
by walls.

Tell me another story...

the hat story

When Mama was expecting
her seventh child,

a fire destroyed
our property.

That day I secretly put on
my white confirmation dress

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

My youngest brother wanted
to protect me.

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

Someone shouted:
"Fire! Fire!"

The barn was full
of straw.

Mama climbed up with
a bucket of water.

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

Her dress catches fire...

The smoke, the storm,
the flames

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

The baby was born
eight days later.

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

My father, having
lost everything,

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

it was too small

That made us laugh.

Whenever we looked at Papa,

we burst out laughing.

You look beautiful today!

Why is it you
never married?

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

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

I'd have to have a wife
who understands me

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

I could only have
married you.

Well, now that's an idea!

But you are much better suited
in replacing Mama for me.

Do you see a difference between
Platonic and sensual love?

I don't know what you mean.

I must prepare the inhalation
for tomorrow.

Good night.

Have you disinfected
the mail yet?

Not yet.

Right away.

It's after five.

Yes, he's late today.

For...

thirteen days now,

he just wants his coffee
and hot-water bottles.

He doesn't speak.

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

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

- I could...
- Quiet!

No, it's nothing.

I though he'd have
an inhalation.

An ice-box!

Shall I have another look
at the chimney?

No, the smoke comes back
into the room.

Mr. says there's a gas leak.

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

his knees drawn up...

I'd have been dead long ago.

He'll outlive us.

I have a client.

Don't I get a kiss?

Is that all?

Take care.

I wanted to visit you.

I had a peculiar feeling.
He hasn't rung.

Not yet? Do you know
what time it is?

Nearly midnight.

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

I don't know when
I'll be back.

Take care!

Madame, I present to you
Marcel Proust,

in his nightshirt
and uncombed.

You know never to put
a finger in a glass,

not even if it's been used.

What was that?

I fell asleep.

You'd better have a look.

He doesn't want that.

He doesn't want it...

but if...

Is he dead?

Did he call?

What do you want to do?

Wait.

And if...

He's alive.

He'll outlive us all.

Odilon!

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

Yes, thank you.

Still nothing?
Still nothing.

How much longer do you
want me to wait?

Until this afternoon.

What did you think?

I didn't think anything.

But you listened.

Of course.

I was worried.

Really?

You gave me quite a fright.

That wasn't very nice.

I, too, thought...

we might never see...

each other again...

my dear Celeste.

He wanted to know,

what it was like to die.

He wanted to experience

death.

He needed this,

for his book.

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

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

Where has she got to?

I see it coming
like a nightmare,

an avalanche that
will crush me...

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

Where has she got to?

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

At five in the afternoon?

At 10, maybe.

Or tomorrow, Mr.
is undecided.

Does he realize how important
it is to receive,

the first Goncourt prize
given after the war?

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

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

I implore you,
it's urgent!

I'll let him know.

He can consider himself lucky
that the jury voted for him

It's a shady business,
but it's in our favor,

If I think that we refused it all,

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

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

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

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

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

What a job we had getting
this book back!

Proust had already
the other printer.

Printing it privately.

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

We were on the alert.

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

Where has she got to?

Please...

For one minute!

The circus is on.

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

Times change.

Now that these gentlemen
are on their way,

I just want to tell you...

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

I don't want
to see anyone.

Especially no reporters,
nor photographers.

- Throw them all out.
- Yes, sir.

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

May I ask you a question?

Are you pleased about
the prize?

Very...
very.

I should like to
congratulate you.

Thank you, I like the way
you said that.

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

- Good morning.
- Morning.

Excuse me.

In nine years, this is
the first time,

you've spoken to me
before your coffee.

- I have big news for you.
- News?

Last night...

Yes...

Last night I wrote
the word "end"

I'm pleased for you.

But the additions...

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

But my work can
be published.

It won't have been in vain.

- As regards the additions...
- Yes.

We shall have visitors.

I need some important information.

The beginning of the
second movement, please.

Just the mysterious passage.

And now the second motif.

There was this other passage.

Tristan.

May I ask you,
once again...

That comes again,
doesn't it?

And then this...
endless tune.

Never allow anyone to
give me an injection.

Promise me.

Ce'sar Franck composed this,

a few months before
he died, didn't he?

What wonderful thoughts
before dying!

I didn't quite understand
the interlacing,

of all the motifs in
the last movement.

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

It is wonderful to see the
meeting of different motifs,

and the transformation
which results

It's illuminating,
beautiful.

Isn't that so?

I am very grateful to you

...that the work of art...

is the only means

to recapture lost time

A seed... I would die,

just as the plant
had developed

You don't sleep anymore,

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

The flu weakened you. Do you
want to continue?

The publisher needs
the proof-sheets.

???

Odilon, get some fresh beer,
quickly!

Celeste. I want cold
stewed fruit!

He orders all the things
Dr. Bize prescribes,

but takes none.

I assure you this
isn't a bad flu.

I've recommended injections
of camphor oil,

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

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

The publisher awaits them.

Your brother refuses
to be treated.

Something must be done,
at all costs!

I haven't the authority.

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

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

There is an excellent clinic
close by,

very well-kept...

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

I don't need your nurses.

Only Celeste understands me,
all I want is Celeste.

We'll treat you against
your will.

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

I forbid you to come back!

I can't send your
brother away!

Here's the stewed fruit.

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

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

No injections!

Promise me that!

I promise you.

You haven't slept properly
in five weeks.

I don't count

Cold beer! Quickly!

Or I'll get very angry!

He asked for fish.

Wait, I want to
see him first.

I dissuaded him
from the fish.

His heart is too weak.

Call me if you need me.

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

Send the good Dr. Bize
a bunch of flowers.

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

You have better things
to do than that.

If I put something important
in my little Chinese cabinet,

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

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

I'm so sorry.

Can you hold out?

Yes.

I felt dizzy when I saw below
me, and yet inside me,

as if I were many
leagues high

so many years

as if people were perched
on living stilts,

growing incessantly,

sometimes higher than
church towers...

...higher than
church towers...

which finally made
their walking,

difficult and perilous,

and from which they
suddenly fell.

I was startled to see mine
had become so long,

under my stride, it didn't look
as if I'd have the strength,

very much longer,

to hold on to my past.

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

for me to finish
my work...

I can't go on.

I can't hold myself
up any more.

To please you,
dear Celeste.

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

Does she frighten you?

A little.

But you mustn't touch her.

I shall soon have
driven her away.

Dr. I beg you,
save him.

He is so weak.

Give him an injection.

Good day, my dear Odilon.

I'm pleased to see you.

Where?

In the thigh.

I'll lift the sheet, Dr.

I'm ashamed.

Am I tormenting you,
my dear little Marcel?

Yes, my dear Robert.

Does that do you good,
my little Marcel?

Yes, Robert.

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

Be brave.

Is he dead?

Yes, Celeste.