Original subtitles

Tuesday morning, December 4th 1976,

the body of young Jenny Kern, a student at Lausanne City High School,

was found around 7.45am in the Jorat woods.

The cause of death would be cold exposure and exhaustion.

It's her.

She's dead.

The Indians are still far away

Monday

Miss, yes, you, here?

Kern, Jenny Kern.

Yes, Miss Kern, sit here please.

In 1900, the young Thomas Mann,

from a good family, leaves his home town,

the rainy Lübeck, to go to Rome.

What was he seeking?

The salvation of his soul?

Hasn't Latin brightness always been

the last refuge of the German soul?

At 25, this curious boy, dilettante, fin de siècle,

wrote some short stories

where an aching hatred of reality

shows itself with refinement.

An aching hatred of reality.

But this disillusioned man is also a rebel.

He disagrees with his environment,

bank and trade provincial aristocracy.

This is the ache he treats in Italy.

In his first novel, 'Buddenbrooks',

Thomas Mann transposes the story of his own environment.

The robust bourgeois vitality,

the simple and hard-working life,

is gradually lost among the Buddenbrooks

Christian degenerates into a neurasthenic bohemian.

His brother Thomas,

who long ago reproached him for his mistakes,

seeks pessimistic lessons from the philosophers.

And his son Hanno, last of the Buddenbrooks,

turns what's left of ancestral energy

into piano improvisations.

He dies at 15.

The short story 'Tonio Kröger'

was written much later.

It could be an epilog to 'Buddenbrooks'.

Tonio, little Hanno's twin brother,

is just like the author, an artist, a writer.

Thus creation is set as an alternative to death.

For this Nobel laureate,

artists would be

like the madman or the murderer

vulnerable and maladjusted beings

maintaining a secret relationship with death.

Notice how Thomas Mann

constantly opposes spirit and life.

Or lets say more simply

that he opposes a healthy, normal, happy life

and an existence consumed

in an impossible and unwearying search

for the impossible place

of unspeakable desire.

Search for the impossible place of unspeakable desire.

Your books, please.

Let's read.

Would you please start.

The winter sun, poor ghost of itself,

hung milky and wan behind layers of cloud

above the huddled roofs of the town.

In the gabled streets it was wet and windy

and there came in gusts a sort of soft hail,

not ice, not snow.

School was out.

The hosts of the released streamed over the paved court

and out at the wrought-iron gate, where they broke up

and hastened off right and left.

So? You make up your mind?

- Are you cold? - Who's cold here?

What's your problem anyway?

You ask me if we can have a drink and then you...

Go on you! Go and save me a seat.

So, are you coming?

- Good evening Granny. - Good evening darling.

Why don't you have a snack?

Are you cold?

You're white as a sheet.

Tuesday

Best times:

Catherine Bachmann: 7.8 sec

Pascale Schwartz : 8 sec

Ivana Buchère.

Marion Calerhan.

Marianne Laader.

- Lise Biazzi. - Agnès Violat.

Martine Muret.

Sandra Rostier.

Jacqueline Catain.

Florence Lersch.

Jenny Kern.

Dominique Couainon.

Esther Bloch.

Marguerite Brechbuhler.

Jailed:

Team 1: Sandra Rostier.

Team 2: Esther Bloch.

Go on ladies.

On your marks!

It still hurts?

That was a bad blow.

What brutes our little classmates are.

PE is killing me.

I'm exhausted.

I'm leaving.

Bye. See you tomorrow.

Do you want help?

It's because of the accident that you left yesterday?

In the end it wasn't so bad.

According to the newspaper, the guy only had a concussion.

Anyway, bloody motorist!

You're frighteningly fast.

One could even say you break all records.

And I had something very important to tell you.

But not anymore.

I'll tell you tomorrow.

I'm thinking of a story

One night Guillaume told Matthias.

No.

It was Matthias that told Guillaume.

Imagine a normal classroom,

with normal students.

The teacher asks a student, let's say Max,

to reduce a fraction, something easy that Max can do.

Max stands up.

And he says nothing.

Maybe he's intimidated, blocked, and all.

Most of the other students wave their hand to answer in his stead.

But Max keeps saying nothing.

The teacher ignores the others

and patiently

tries to make Max understand he knows the answer.

But

as Max looks miserable, he persists in his silence,

the teacher addresses the whole class

and asks who can save Max from his ignorance.

Everybody yells "Me! Me! Me!"

Finally the teacher chooses a student who tells the correct answer.

So it seems, that's what they say anyway,

if an Indian came here, in the classroom,

it would be for him an incredible cruelty,

like if he saw somebody tortured to death.

And he'd want to bring Max with him in his forest

with the other Indians.

Where did Guillaume read this story?

- Or Matthias. - I don't know.

Maybe an Indian told them.

You know, these two they know everybody.

Listen,

don't you think we could have this talk anywhere but here?

Don't you think we already spend enough time in this damn school?

So, your grandma?

She said she won't wait for me.

But she'll wait for me anyway.

You want it?

I wish I was an Indian.

An Indian woman.

It's not the same thing.

To be a man or a woman it's not the same thing.

Sure.

But for Indians the difference may not be the same.

Women come first everywhere and always.

Don't they?

But at least where they live there's no school.

I don't like Sundays.

So you see school is not what bothers me the most.

Sundays are like a wasteland.

Well shit.

You know what Guillaume and Matthias say about school?

And they're right.

School is the place where we witness the children's pathetic surrender.

So how can you like school?

Who likes school here?

You.

I never said I liked school.

At school what I hate the most is German.

And you?

I, yesterday,

when Ebben spoke about 'Tonio Kröger' I felt like I understood.

Understood what?

When he said this sentence:

"the impossible place of unspeakable desire".

Ebben is an old fart.

Thomas Mann too, by the way.

Reactionary and everything.

I don't care if Thomas Mann is or isn't.

Look.

You know her? I'm sure I know her.

Last evening I read the whole 'Tonio Kröger'.

It's Anna.

Guillaume and Matthias' old friend.

They were activists together.

Now she lives elsewhere.

Now I understand what Ebben wanted to say,

- after reading 'Tonio Kröger'. - Listen Jenny!

Let's not always speak about school.

We already spend 35 hours a week there.

Really you sat through 'Tonio Kröger' in full and in German?

And it was good, really?

See like you avoid the question.

Anyway, I'll have to sit through it too.

Jenny?

You're here?

Yes, what?

It's been an hour.

What are you doing in there?

You're sick?

Wait for me.

I think I slept a little.

I'm not used to drinking.

It's quiet here.

It feels good.

So, do you like Guillaume and Matthias?

And Anna.

Isn't she great?

And she's so beautiful.

She's touching.

Touching?

She looks...

like she wasn't quite here.

Distant.

It's because you're impressed.

Sure.

But there's another thing.

And Matthias,

you think he's in love with her?

Don't you want to know?

It's true they're not quite your friends yet.

You hardly know them.

Anyway, if it were true...

We're both comfy here.

It's so hot upstairs.

You know what I wanted to tell you?

Do you find me changed?

You find me changed yes or no?

- Why? - Because.

I'm pregnant.

You're pregnant?

Oh my!

You're expecting a baby?

Yes. Well, I'll know tomorrow.

You know,

I haven't told anyone yet.

Not even Guillaume.

No one.

Don't mind me.

Do you have a light?

Another one.

Come on let's go.

So you don't want to serve me drinks anymore?

Come on, return home, you're annoying everyone.

So, you don't care if...

What's good about coming home is that nothing really changes.

Oh, these modern nights...

they're old as the world.

We had a friend, he always said that.

Sandro.

Sandro, yes.

It was at least 10 years ago.

We were very young.

And I think we haven't slept the whole year.

But Sandro slept even less.

He never could bring himself to sleep, no matter what time is was.

On mornings we saw him hang around the station.

Or in these little parks

where the lonely, the rootless, the old wander.

And later during the day, housewives.

If we asked him why he stayed awake like that, he'd say he was waiting.

Or that he met someone.

But that in any case one needs dedication.

Often he'd drag us with him.

And we roamed the city.

All night.

Saying nothing.

Paula, my friend Paula.

- Paula my sister? - Yes, Paula your sister.

Paula opposed the luxury, or the bad face of people.

Guillaume explained the world.

Good guys on the left, bad guys on the right.

And Matthias sighed revolution was still a long way off.

But it was only trivial words we pretended to take seriously.

As if we only could be moved or afraid.

As if we should ward off the form of tenderness...

But it's not true!

Sandro was in love with Paula and Paula wasn't, that's all.

And us...

we mostly thought about the leaflets we had to hand out at dawn.

If we had to hold till morning it wasn't for the leaflets,

it was for hope.

Each time Guillaume repeated

"no story tonight, no story it's past midnight"

And you remember how Sandro looked at you?

He looked at you and said "What?

You want to waste summer?"

We were all ashamed.

Sometimes we went to a club.

Paula and Matthias were dancing together and then there was a drunk.

He told us his life.

He told us his solitude.

We always were a little disappointed

because it wasn't really what we were after.

And Sandro looked at us.

And he pretended we were gluttons.

Blind and deaf gluttons.

One time we got kicked out of the bar, I don't remember why.

I don't remember why.

And then Sandro said

"Oh these modern nights, they're old as the world."

I never understood why he said that.

But it was always like that.

On morning, tired, disappointed when we had to split and get to bed,

Sandro said "Oh these modern nights, they're old as the world."

Then we got in the habit to say it too.

This summer when we discovered the lake

we neglected since the end of our childhood,

as if we decided to deprive ourselves of it

to prove God knows what.

And Sandro said

"And Lake Geneva, what are you doing about it?

Why don't we go there anymore?"

And he wiped our false modesty out.

This peasant Guillaume objected but we went almost every day this summer.

Yes, it's true.

Paula said that for her the renewed pleasure of air and water

could continue beyond childhood.

But...

what happened to this Sandro?

It's in the distant past.

It's just before this spring when we opened our arms

and spread our wings.

Young ladies, don't listen this siren.

Before, we had an impossible life

and everything seemed possible.

- Now... - What now what?

Now revolt and freedom are strictly controlled

like once were submission and obedience.

Pleasure and struggle are formidable duties

like once...

to save ones soul.

Ah! You're great you in the capitals!

- At least here... - It's the same thing here.

But what's wrong with you? Matthias!

Politics now...

It's an old old...

- You know what, Matthias? - No!

Right.

Well done Anna.

Let's drink.

- Let's drink to plaintive silences. - No.

Let me dream.

Let me just one time dream you have no more to say.

But this Sandro...

That's it, let's drink to Sandro.

Guillaume, you agree to drink to Sandro?

You won't refuse to drink to Sandro!

But were is this Sandro? Do you know?

Yes.

Somewhere home in Piedmont.

If I had somewhere to go, I'd go at the Indians.

Sandro said that too.

You haven't told me if you found you supper I left on the stove.

Yes Granny, thanks, I was quite happy.

You're not tired darling?

This afternoon I'm going at Lise's.

We have an assignment.

Maybe I'll stay a little late.

You don't mind?

No darling.

But you should invite your friend over.

I'd be glad to meet her.

Wednesday

There you go.

- I should be worried, but I'm... - Proud.

Proud, proud.

Yet I shouldn't be.

At least that's what they'll say.

I'm kind of relieved.

It's funny, don't you think?

You want to see it?

It's lovely you know.

I hid it in my sister Paula's room.

If in the mirror at the bottom there is a small yellow ring,

it's positive.

I never thought it was possible I could expect a child.

A child, can you believe it?

Not exactly, no.

I believe it now but I can't really imagine it.

It's beautiful.

We could give it a name.

Milan if it's a boy, Florence if it's a girl.

So they never forget their mother is Italian.

I wish I had a boy, I think, and you?

Me?

But I'm not pregnant.

But I'm going to have an abortion.

An abortion?

Do you see me with a kid at 18?

And Guillaume hates children.

Guillaume hates children?

No, but he doesn't want any, that's all.

I'll tell him when all will be taken care of.

My mother too.

There are enough cries in this house.

I hurry before my mother comes back.

Don't throw it away!

You want it as a gift?

Do you want tea?

Only if you want some.

It's Paula's record.

She played it when I was a kid before I went to sleep.

After I finish school, I'll live with her in Milan.

- And Guillaume? - Oh! By then Guillaume...

I only know him from this year. Less, actually.

He often was here, at the café opposite the school.

With Matthias.

One day they paid my coke.

It suited me, I had almost no money.

Then we talked.

That's how everything began.

At the start I preferred Matthias, I think.

But Matthias was saying nothing.

Or he only told weird stories.

Then suddenly he stopped.

I never knew if he was done, if I should smile or not.

It was very disconcerting.

I'd want an appointment tomorrow at 3pm.

Lise Biazzi.

I thought you'd like it.

I got my appointments. Tomorrow the shrink, Monday the gynecologist.

It must have fallen from the book. It's Paula's handwriting.

It's funny, listen. It looks like a letter.

No date. Only "Sunday afternoon, August 67".

Another of these nights, Anna, when we have been stolen,

when we told ourselves we must be persistent,

not sleep, see the day being born in the morning's whitening.

That we could believe even one minute that all would begin, that we'd see all,

that we'd sing like dawn's sirens with sunrise's colossuses.

But once more, Anna, we washed up on the beach.

I was lying between Sandro and Guillaume,

and you were making love with Matthias in the woods.

I had enough of this never-ending walk, of these lost mornings' pale light,

and I was very cold. I wished that Guillaume...

but like always out of consideration for Sandro...

Finally I fell asleep, and I had a weird dream.

In my hand's palm I felt the heat of a close flesh.

On a bridge, a girl with dark hair passed.

Then my fingers closed on the void, only void.

The girl's dark hair was floating.

Then under my own flesh my nails screamed.

The girl turned over,

and all I saw was a huge mouth soaked with lipstick

while the big sunflowers on her dress shone like gold.

You don't have dark hair, Anna, but it was your dress.

And on the sand all I saw were petrified corpses,

lying like sticks, like deadwood.

When I woke up, Guillaume and Sandro were smoking by the water

having a ricochet contest.

I heard Guillaume say

"A woman in love is always an idiot".

You and Matthias were gone.

I had a great sadness.

Then when Guillaume, while we were eating,

continued this never-ending chitchat about the oppressed class,

I said an activist like me, like you, with them,

we were like two nuns persisting in riding a bicycle against the wind

despite the cornette and the loose robe.

Sandro laughed, but not Guillaume.

And now I'm alone here,

I think my parents went to the beach with Lise.

And I don't know where you are.

It must be Sandro who gave this book to Paula.

It's Jenny, Jenny Kern, we're working on our report for Saturday.

It's not common to meet you so late, miss Kern.

I had dinner at Lise's.

And I haven't had dinner at all.

I walk Anna to the station, and then...

I went around in circles.

Lausanne is a good town to go around in circles.

It's why I can't leave.

In New York for example,

you can't go around in circles.

Either you go straight to the point, or you go off on a tangent...

You went to New York?

Never.

And I'm proud of it.

Why?

Because I prefer to go around in circles.

But why are you proud of it?

It's like that.

It must be a set phrase from the cold war, an habit.

You want one?

It smells like war.

Don't you think it smells like war?

It's because you have no sense of smell.

Look.

They're waiting for something huge.

The town's collapse.

The Apocalypse.

Don't force yourself to finish it.

Last night when we talked I understood.

I'm an old man thinking he's a youngster.

I watch my life like someone else's.

I know who I am.

Where I come from.

What I do.

But...

Are you cold?

Do you need to come home?

My grandma is waiting for me.

They're waiting for me too.

Morons.

I'll walk you.

But they're waiting for you.

It's even better I love to stand them up.

Thursday

What are you looking at?

Show me.

It's for your report?

It's true Lise is pregnant?

Marianne told Danielle.

- You must know about it. - No.

Hi.

Do you want a coffee Pascale?

We don't have time.

Do you feel sick?

Who feels sick here?

So you skip housekeeping instruction?

I don't really skip, I told you I must go with a friend.

So you go to the doctor?

Are you coming Jenny?

I asked her what to say to the shrink

and she thinks it gave her all the rights.

You're going to be late.

No, I'm coming with you.

We're early.

I'm afraid.

I don't know what to say anymore.

Why not simply tell the truth?

You're crazy!

Psychiatrists are nutjobs.

You must tell them stories.

I'll never make it!

What floor?

Third.

I'm going.

Wait for me.

Miss Biazzi, I presume.

It didn't work?

Goodness, astounding!

With this certificate, it will surely work.

Astounding.

What's wrong?

What happened?

Tell me.

What did you tell him?

The truth.

That I was 17, that my parents were dead,

that I couldn't have a child.

He fell for it?

He asked me why I was shivering.

If it happened often.

It was emotion.

Maybe.

He told me to come back.

That I was...

That maybe the situation wasn't the only cause.

I told you so.

Psychiatrists...

all are nutjobs.

Let's go for a drink?

No, today I'd rather go home.

Listen, darling.

I read that Mr Muller, colonel, is deceased.

And then, Mr Adolphe Vuinée, builder, deceased too the same day.

So equal before death.

In life, certainly they would have never met.

And here they are, side-by-side in the paper.

What are you studying Jenny?

What are you looking at?

Photographs.

Really? Photographs of what?

Photographs of Indians.

For your report no doubt.

You want some herbal tea?

If you're having some, yes.

Friday

7 plus 7, 14.

Plus 5, 19.

Plus 6, 25.

Divided by 4, it makes...

Shit, 6,2.

I need an average of 7 to make up for my 5 in physics.

You think we'll get a 9 for this report?

With a 9 it'd make 25 plus 9, 34

divided by 5

6,6.

It's too low.

Better get a 9,5.

What are you doing? I can't see anything.

Where did you find it?

At the bookshop, I stole them.

You stole the book?

Only the photographs, I cut them with a razor blade.

You're crazy, it's much more dangerous!

I only wanted the photographs.

It's time, ladies.

Comparing the time on my watch and the clock in the courtyard

I saw that it was much later than I thought.

You must hurry.

Or else...

I won't find my way home.

After all, Lausanne is not my town.

I have to make a considerable effort to notice distinctive details.

Then finally, what does it matter?

It's since the nomadic times,

when we had to memorize places of pasture,

that we overestimate the question of where we are.

Once...

I crossed the street away from the crosswalk.

The officer stopped me "But where are you going?"

and I said

"And you, officer, where are you going?"

He told me to cross.

Yet it's true.

Who, nowadays, knows where they're going?

Even though it's so important to know where to go.

Did you see that?

Wouldn't that be the old Charles?

They must have released him under guardianship.

- Who is it? - Charles Dé.

The guy you're seeing here, it's Charles Dé.

He was an industrialist like the others.

Wife, kids, money,

everything to be happy.

And then one day in 68-69, for whatever reason,

the TV came to interview him.

He told his life.

But not at all what we expected.

He confessed to the viewer.

He really talked.

The show really caused a stir.

Then Charles disappeared.

Then we heard he was living in Geneva's suburbs

at some guy and his wife.

The family, worrying more for the money than for him,

had him followed by a detective

and handed him in to the lawyers and psychiatrists.

- And they committed him? - Yes.

It's a major scandal to prefer the search for your identity

over custom and money.

It doesn't make us any younger.

Especially as if this story were to happen today

it would end the same.

There would be support committees getting agitated for a few months

to defend this poor Charles...

But, exactly, it shows things get better.

- People are taking responsibility. - I think it's worse.

They are vultures, people who appropriate the story of others

to solve their own problems. - Shit.

Anna threw you off balance.

Good evening ladies and gents, it's time.

Shit, they were the only ones missing.

I'm fed up with it.

Fed up with this bullshit town where pubs always close too early.

And with the cops!

Except for luxury clubs of course.

And your grand-mother?

I'm sleeping at your place.

Ah, it's true.

Well.

We won't leave each other like that.

Especially after all the nonsense Matthias deluged us with.

So, where are we going? To a dance club?

Slow down kids.

Don't forget you're still underage.

Matthias, do you have an idea?

I wish we could go somewhere, but everything is closed.

We can always walk down to the station.

What are you thinking Matthias?

Let's go.

What are all these lights for, in a town where everybody sleeps?

And you? What are you for?

What are we looking for, at night on the streets?

Something to break the course of the day.

I'm sure the craziest things happen in a room in Lausanne...

In a café, in a bus.

Even at school.

Attention passengers, train from Geneva,

to Bern, via Fribourg, departs 2.48am.

What are you doing? You're crazy or what?

You hurt me.

- Are you OK? - Yes, and you?

Look.

He bit me.

He's crazy.

Miss, could you remove your feet from the chair please?

[in Italian] What did he say?

[in Italian] I don't understand.

Miss, could you tell your friend to remove her feet, please.

[in English] What's the matter with you?

Enough you two! Lise, remove your feet.

What are you doing humiliating him like that?

Poor guy who wakes at 3AM to serve you breakfast.

Little bourgeoisie.

We can't always think of everything.

Glad you're here to keep an eye out.

Glad you're here to call us to order.

Lise, what's with you? What's wrong with you?

I've had enough of this!

You know what?

For a girl like me,

your morality,

it's like if I became a nun

and persisted in riding a bicycle against the wind,

despite my cornette

and my loose robe.

I'm tired of it all.

We smoke too much, we drink too much.

Let's sleep.

You're right.

Let's live a healthy life.

Sunday, we'll have a great hike in the snow.

What do you think?

Lise, let's get some fresh air.

What do you think Matthias?

To get some fresh air in the country?

In this season in the country all that lives hides under the ground.

And the smell that dominate,

is gasoline.

The country is still healthier.

And we'll walk.

And we'll become real healthy animals,

strong

and selfish.

Of this sweet selfishness of our useless fattening contemporaries.

It's not a shame to love nature.

Who's accusing you?

Only I tell you,

nature does not care about us.

It doesn't stop us from going on a walk on Sunday.

We'll go to the Jorat woods.

And then in this inn to drink hot chocolate with cream.

White wine.

Or red wine.

Saturday

We can't even sleep.

There's this damn report this morning.

Then German.

Jenny you'll sit next to me, I didn't prepare anything.

[in German] "I have listened to you faithfully, Tonio,

from beginning to end,

and I will give you the answer

to everything you have said this afternoon

and the solution

of the problem that has been upsetting you.

Now: the solution is that you, as you sit there,

are, quite simply, a bourgeois."

What do you think of this interpretation?

What do you think

of Lisabeta Ivanovna's judgment of Tonio Kröger?

Yes, you.

Thomas Mann is a bourgeois, so is Tonio.

Lisabeta Ivanovna is right.

Do you really think so?

No other opinion?

Let's continue. Please read on.

Yes, please.

"Am I? he asked a little crestfallen.

Yes, that hits you hard, it must.

So I will soften the judgment

just a little.

You are a bourgeois on the wrong path,

a bourgeois manqué."

Yes, please.

"Silence.

Then he got up resolutely and took his hat and stick.

Thank you, Lisabeta lvanovna;

now I can go home in peace.

I am expressed."

Thomas Mann's irony

allows to assume a difficult position.

The irony allows to assume ambivalence.

The sentence "I am expressed"

reveals the failure of dialogue

between people of the same type.

Because Lisabeta Ivanovna is also an artist,

Tonio Kröger could have found understanding from her.

But Tonio pretends to accept her verdict

and returns to silence,

to the silent monologue

of writing.

This morning was hard.

You see I was right about Thomas Mann.

Sure.

[in German] "I am expressed."

So Miss, glad that the week is over?

Yes.

I'd like to write my German report on this sentence you said Monday.

That you said Monday about Thomas Mann.

- The search for the impossible place... - Excuse me Miss,

we'll see about it on Monday, will you?

- Bye. - Bye.

- What are you doing? - I really must go home.

I must sleep. Lucky my parents are at the cabin.

- Still good for tomorrow? - Yes, probably.

How do we find each other?

Say 2pm at Chalet-à-Gobet? No, 2:30.

Unless Guillaume finds a car.

If anything happens I call you tonight.

Not too late.

No no, I call you before 10pm. Bye.

...snow cover on the main winter sports resorts.

Anzère: 280cm powdery snow.

Champéry-Planachaux: 150cm fresh snow.

Château-d'Œx: 100cm...

I thought you were in your room.

You're waiting for a call?

At this hour?

- Good night darling. - Good night Granny.

Sunday

- Hello Mr Charles. - Hello Ms Jenny.

- There isn't a lot of people today. - No. It's Sunday.

We eat the chicken with our family.

Last night...

No, the night before.

I heard your story.

My story?

My story.

The others made stories about me.

And they called it an accident.

A psychiatric accident.

As if I were a straight road

and I became a rugged path.

I am a rugged path.

You see, at certain times,

life imperceptibly slows down.

As if it was reluctant to carry on,

or wished to change directions.

It's at these times perhaps

that accidents happen most easily.

I brought you this.

Today Mr Charles, I'm going to walk in the snow.

Like my late mother said, beware of the cold.

You know what, Ms Jenny?

The Indians are still far away.

Tuesday morning, December 4th 1976,

the body of young Jenny Kern, a student at Lausanne City High School,

was found around 7.45am in the Jorat woods.

The cause of death would be cold exposure and exhaustion.