Original subtitles

A SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY

When will you stop asking so much of life, Irene?

Mercedes!

I can't find the shoe-kit.

It's in its usual place.

Here's the white spirits… shoe polish…

Found it!

Excuse me, I need the quince jelly.

Bonnat used to polish them

with a cashmere cloth.

Rhubarb pie, eh?

You know that Mr. Edouard arrives at 10:50.

I'll leave at 10:40.

Remember

that Mr. Edouard is really named Gonzague.

His wife can call him Edouard. Here he's Gonzague.

Gonzague or not,

if you leave at 10:40 you'll be late.

This house is ten minutes from the station.

It was… 10 years ago.

True, I walk a bit slower now.

Don't tell me a road's become 10 minutes longer in 10 years.

Monsieur knows he's wrong.

Old folk just won't admit it.

The last times, the trains were early.

Just so long as Monsieur doesn't walk backwards like a crayfish.

Crayfish don't walk backwards.

Maybe so.

Since his wife's death, Mr. Ladmiral could not do without Mercedes…

and felt he mustn't anger her.

He told himself

that she'd leave at the slightest incident.

But he knew it wasn't true.

She liked her job and cared about her master.

Yet he nurtured this false fear of her leaving.

A vestige, perhaps, of former rapports with women.

Papa, there's grandpa!

But I left on the dot.

Your watch must be slow.

But…

I've 10:57. And you?

Getting far-sighted?

So, no hugs for grandpa?

Did Mireille have a good trip?

Oh, no.

She puked.

Say "vomited" or "threw up".

Poor Mimi. It happens every time.

She tries to hold it in but…

Now I bring eau-de-cologne along.

Whom does she get it from?

You're too big to be sick now.

Understand, Mireille?

He pushed me!

Look where you walk.

It's no time to fight. You're in the country now.

- Look, quail! - No, pheasants!

- Full of life, eh? - That, yes.

Boys can't stay put.

Those were pheasants, no?

Partridge.

Ah, it's Mr. Tourneville.

Hello.

- You remember him, don't you? - Yes, very well.

Here's the lumberman's widow…

There's Mr. Dantigny.

Can we help, ma'am?

Must be senile… my memory's going.

You had such a good one.

No reason to lose it though.

He's Poncet's cousin.

Not as senile as you think.

You'll bury us all.

Don't be silly.

You'll see.

It's too hot for a mackintosh.

I'm alright.

Pious as ever?

As ever.

And the office?

The same.

But Dakar is off.

I see…

Marie-Therese didn't want to.

A couple's a couple.

She already changed your name.

"Edouard"!

Let me have her.

Hold my hat.

She'll tire you.

You're lagging behind.

Okay up there?

You're jealous. Take her back.

Watch my hat… not on my face.

I haven't been exercising lately.

I'm getting lazy.

It's been a while since your last visit.

Two weeks.

I know it's hard…

- Last Sunday… - I know.

No excuses necessary. It's the same way with me.

That's true.

Since I've no real reason to travel

it's harder to make a decision.

It's easier for you. You have only Sundays.

You're used to coming here

and there are more of you…

doing things is easier in numbers.

Of course.

Like with painting…

- Where are the boys? - They must've gone the other way.

The last time your sister Irene came

it was still cold.

We lit a fire in her room.

She gets chilly.

It was cold.

My leg hurts.

Have any iodine?

Ask Mercedes.

Come on.

Don't read now.

It's nicer to talk.

Play in the garden.

- And Emile? - Will do as told.

Now do as you're told.

So, happy with the kids?

Marie-Therese is a good mother.

The eldest is fine.

The youngest is lazy

but he's doing well.

Just like yourself.

But I worked hard.

Sure you did.

But it didn't help.

The youngest is the opposite.

Doesn't work, but succeeds.

I thought you said…

I meant the contrary… wait…

It's all the same, anyway.

Sit down. You can help me.

I'll cut the dough!

Into strips,

like that.

I'll get the pie…

and you lay them out.

Because I'm a bit behind.

When I serve the pie, we'll say…

that Mireille made it.

It needs reupholstering.

It could use a new look.

Then again this faded tone is rather nice.

Dogs and chairs have the same life span.

We can't live with drawn curtains.

Not on the couch! It's posing!

I'm sorry.

I'm painting a corner of the atelier.

You always do it so well.

It'll be stunning.

I love your work.

You should paint a cat on the couch

or on the rug.

Like on your big canvas from last year.

A cat's always nice.

Another cat!

Marie-Therese had every quality all hidden.

She was happy, surely…

ploddingly, but dedicated and placid.

Since her marriage, she'd relished the pleasure of not working.

Her family was far more work than she'd ever had at the office.

But she didn't know it.

She'd settled into the cozy conjugal sloth of a hard-working housewife.

This marriage had been a shock to Mr. Ladmiral.

He'd never quite recovered.

After much self-searching

because that's what everybody does.

This answer made little sense

but it at least ended speculation.

- You're crazy! - They didn't mean to.

Who threw that?

And they just laugh?

They don't know how to play outside.

They're not used to it.

It's just as well, being city children…

That way they don't miss it.

At least it wasn't a rock.

But my boys aren't wild.

Who broke the bell jar with the monkey wrench?

It wasn't Lucien's fault.

You see, I had to fire the maid. She wasn't competent.

And the new one put the bell jar…

If the closet door had been left shut

and he'd kept out of the tool box.

As for the tool box, fine!

My point was that he's not wild.

About that clod don't be upset.

What clod?

Oh yes…

You're quite right.

The older I get, the more I'm right to him.

Thereupon a sort of conversation developed among the three of them.

The old man was preoccupied…

with an intensity that made him feel young

and a bitter certainty of finding nothing

that made him feel very old.

Lemme pull his leg off!

- It won't work. - Just wait.

We need a lens.

The garden's pretty, eh?

I've painted it a hundred times.

That may seem strange to you.

No. You paint what you love.

The brats!

Look,

they're trying to set fire to a maybug!

You leave them alone!

Set fire with what?

- A piece of glass. - How cruel!

- Imagine if it were you! - What'd the bug do to you?

It's not a harmful insect.

Anyway, they'd need a lens.

Didn't you even learn that in school?

We don't have one.

Couldn't Grandpa lend us his?

Please lend us your lens!

Always begging for things! It's bad manners.

Go ahead, take it.

But wait… be careful.

Burn twigs

but no bugs.

Do as you're told.

I'm sure they'll break it.

They have to be constantly chided.

Gonzague makes them out to be

real rascals.

I said that for you.

And you're an ideal dad.

We found it!

But be careful.

Feel all right, papa?

What's the matter?

Say…

- Did you see those little girls? - What girls?

Just now… 2 little girls in the garden.

They'll be back, don't worry.

Why should I worry?

Funny, a cock crowing at this hour.

She's got a point.

Be of good chair…

The oldest jokes are always…

- The best! - The most ancient.

They're building a road over there.

It won't bother you much.

My bas-relief professor used to always say:

"It's hard, painting, it's hard."

That's all he ever said, and sometimes

he'd add: "My dear fellow…

"you're wasting your time."

"A painter can't make a living."

Though he painted…

heather… genre painting…

But now when I see photographs

I think maybe he was right.

Do you like photographs?

Some of them.

Photography's easier.

day after day

I come up against little nothings.

You were lucky.

Look at your sister, Irene.

She forges ahead.

You don't.

She's not always very thoughtful.

If being thoughtful means staying put…

You've got pointy mustaches like your dad.

No wonder you're old-fashioned.

Edouard's your spitting image.

Speaking of images…

about Eugene Carrière…

- Hurry up. - We're coming.

Wash your hands!

Degas said about Eugene Carrière:

"It's not bad, but the model moved."

Because Carrière's painting

is a bit blurred.

Did you wash your hands?

We want them nice and rosy.

Grandpa says no washing hands in the kitchen.

But we don't care.

Give me your glass.

I love paté.

Can I have more?

When Mercedes brings it. Finish what you have first.

A wasp!

It won't hurt you.

Take your jacket off if you like.

Paté's from a new butcher… not bad.

The capon is just delicious.

Some people are born cooks.

Lots of sauce.

- You'll be sick. - She'll be sick anyway…

so let her eat.

You're perspiring.

That's all right.

I'm not hot.

Eating makes him perspire.

At the house he's in shirtsleeves.

Why not in the country?

Have the courage of your convictions.

Boys, pass your glasses.

They can't drink all that!

A little excess never did anyone harm.

I was drunk once.

Remember, Mama?

Go on, boast!

You were intoxicated? How interesting! Tell us about it.

Any more potatoes?

Close your mouth. Mind your elbows.

Finish your carrots.

Were you ever drunk, grandpa?

Oh, such a long time ago.

I wish I'd seen you.

And papa?

- Ask him. - He says no.

Your father's very serious.

Another wasp!

A little thing like that scaring a big fellow like you?

Meringue?

Rhubarb pie!

Did you know that it was Canius Fanius

who forbade the raising of chickens

in the streets of Rome.

Really?

Canius Fanius!

Nap time now.

Don't stay on the porch.

We're inside.

Sleep tight.

They had too much to drink.

Mozart!

- She's asleep? - Yes.

This tree's always first to turn color in the fall.

I'll serve the liqueurs.

These flies!

Not Edouard. Gonzague.

Take advantage of the garden.

A little brandy?

A Benedictine.

Here you are…

If I did your portrait, Gonzague…

I'd do you in purple.

All purple.

How pretty.

Not everybody can have a purple son.

Few people are lucky

to have a purple son.

That's how I should have painted.