All language subtitles for My.Fathers.Glory.1990.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

MY FATHER'S GLORY

FROM THE BOOK BY MARCEL PAGNOL

I was born in Aubagne, under
the goat-crowned Garlaban,

in the days of the
last goatherds.

Garlaban is an enormous
tower of blue rock.

It rises very high in
the Provence skies.

Not quite a mountain, but
so much more than a hill.

It's Garlaban.

"The Ploughman and his Sons",
by Jean de la Fontaine.

"Work, make the effort,"

"it is the fund that
lacks the least."

My father was a primary
school teacher.

"Work, make the effort,"

"it is the fund that
lacks the least."

His name was Joseph.

He had a warm deep voice

and his blue-tinged black hair was
naturally wavy on rainy days.

"Work is the real treasure."

One Sunday,

he met a little seamstress
named Augustine.

He found her so pretty that
he married her immediately.

I never knew how they met,

because we didn't talk about
these things, at home.

They were my father
and my mother.

Always had been and
always would be.

For me, my father's age was
25 years older than me,

and it never changed.

Augustine's age was
the same as mine.

Because my mother and
I were one person,

and as a child, I thought we
were born on the same day.

Joseph…

Sibelard, take over!

To think that you
did this to me…

Augustine…

Sibelard! Sibelard!

I'm a dad.

And it's a boy.

For a primary school
teacher's son,

school is the centre
of the universe.

Marcel!

I have few memories of Aubagne.

I lived there only three years,

as my father gained
rapid promotion.

From Aubagne, we
went to Saint-Loup,

in the Marseilles suburbs.

Here comes handsome Marcel.

When my mother went to market,

she left me in my
father's classroom.

He was teaching six or
seven-year-olds to read.

- Dad-dy's pipe.
- Well done!

I sat quietly at the
back of the class,

in awe of my
all-powerful father.

- Pu-nished.
- Well done!

One memorable morning…

Oh, my handsome little chap!

My mother sat me in my place and
went without uttering a word,

while my father…

No, that isn't true!

What did you say?

Mommy didn't punish me,
what you wrote is not true.

Who said you were punished?

It's written on the board.

Just a minute… You
know how to read?

Yes.

Goodness…

Read, then.

The mom-my pu-nished…

Her little boy, who was naughty.

The dad-dy is proud

of his lit-tle boy

who can read.

Does this mean you love me?

- Does your head hurt?
- No.

When is the last time
he read something?

Yesterday morning.

The lid of a soap box.

- Nothing since?
- No, your sister won't allow it.

It's for his own good. You'll
make his brain explode.

- Mommy, am I ill?
- Of course not.

Have more tart.

A cerebral explosion,
how ridiculous!

I don't want Marcel to
enter any more classrooms,

or even open a book
before he is six.

Let him be a child
for a bit longer.

I now had a little brother.
His name was Paul.

"We found him in a cabbage",
Augustine had told me.

As for my father, he had spoken
to me about a little seed.

Those botanical explanations

had temporarily
satisfied my curiosity.

Giddy up!

That year, my father
jumped ahead like a comet.

Indeed, from Saint-Loup,
instantly skipping the suburbs,

he was made a permanent teacher
at the Chartreux Lane School,

Marseilles' largest
local primary school.

Marseilles…

I'm going to be late!

No, you won't. It's
not 8 o'clock yet.

Wait…

Oh, no. Tomorrow will do.

- Don't I look a bit too…
- No, on the contrary.

- You're magnificent.
- Magnificently nervous, you mean.

Augustine…

You'll be just fine,
I'm sure of it.

But these city children,
I just think…

What? They are still children.

Yes.

Come on!

Daddy!

Where are you going?

I'm going to school.

Why don't I go to
school as well?

You're not old enough, yet,
and it gives you headaches.

No, it doesn't.

Oh, no!

Come on, go and get dressed.

And don't forget to wash.

- I've done it already.
- You little fibber!

Show me your hands.

I left them in my bedroom.

Bring them back to me,

all nice and clean.

Or we won't be going for
a walk with Auntie Rose.

Same thing with your feet!

"For eight people,
use 2 kg of fish."

"Scorpion fish,
mullet, weever fish…"

"John Dory, conger
eel, whiting fish."

"Put together the
onions and the leek,"

"finely chopped,"

"in a saucepan able to
withstand high heat…"

"with two tablespoons
of olive oil."

"Cook slowly while
stirring frequently."

1st October 1900.

Do sit down.

My dear children…

We are at the start of
a fabulous century,

in which miracles,
emerging from science,

will be a daily occurrence,

and will bring joy to the
poorest and to the most humble.

Houses will have gas,
electrical lighting,

even a telephone, in many cases.

Yes, yes.

The telephone will allow
us to talk from here,

without having to go anywhere
or without shouting,

to people who live in Aubagne,
or even in Aix-en-Provence.

That's far away!

Yes, Sir.

Our 20th century will
be a grand century.

Progress is marching.

Soon, machines will carry
out the most arduous jobs.

They could well enable us to
reduce a day's work to 10 hours.

Now, that would be a good thing.

And the worker will get
one day off a week.

And guided and emancipated
by education,

each person will have
their place in a world

which will respect everyone.

I won't be saying
these things again.

Get your books out. Dictation.

My brother, Paul, was now a
three-year-old little man.

He was meditative, he never cried,
and he played all by himself.

Augustine was still pale
and frail, but happy,

surrounded by her
Joseph, her two boys,

and her brand-new
sewing machine.

This amazing modern invention
gave me the chance

to help her in her work.

Auntie Rose, Augustine's sister,

staved off her young spinster's
loneliness in our company.

Joseph reminded her
of this to tease her.

- Paul, no!
- What is it?

A hair roller.

He eats anything he
can lay his hands on.

Last time, it was a
long rasher of bacon.

Marcel!

- What is it?
- The railways directory.

What have I done to
deserve such children?

What you have done, or rather,
what you have not done.

Rose, please!

I know it was Joseph's idea,

but a wedding which is not
celebrated at church…

Is not a real wedding.

Talking of weddings, isn't it high
time to think about your own,

my dear Rose?

"Heed me, and live for now,"

"this time won't come again."

"Come, pluck now, today,"

"life's so
quickly-fading roses."

And what about the
Alsace-Lorraine?

I can't exactly use
red, white and blue…

Mauve, the color of bereavement.

I was now nearly six, and
I finally went to school,

in Miss Guimard's
foundation class.

Good. Well, then…

A, e, I, o, u.

Y.

When you know the
answer, you keep quiet!

Little trained monkey!

While the other children
faltered over their ABC,

I remained dumb,
peaceful and smiling.

I told myself stories,

wandering along the pond
in the Borely Park,

at the far end of the
Prado, in Marseilles.

Every Sunday, my Auntie
Rose came to lunch with us,

and she would then
take me on the tram

to this enchanted place.

One fine Sunday,

I was unpleasantly surprised
to find a gentleman

sitting on our bench.

From that day onward,

and I was glad of this,

our walks to the park became
more and more frequent.

My Aunt had confided to me

that this gentleman owned the park,
and that if we talked about him,

he would find out and
ban us from the park.

I knew that his generosity
cost him nothing,

but I was nonetheless
very grateful and proud

to have such a rich friend.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe
Catch a tiger by the toe…

You're it.

37, it's quite old!

Of course not, I'll be 30
at the end of this year.

I consider myself young, still.

No! 37 years old, it's
the prime of life!

And Rose isn't 18
anymore, is she?

I'm 26. And I like him.

That's the main
thing, naturally.

What does he do at
the prefecture?

- He's a deputy chief clerk.
- In what kind of office?

I don't know, but he earns
220 francs a month.

And he gets a small
income from his family.

He told me we could reckon
on 350 francs a month.

Well, dear Rose, let
me congratulate you!

But is he good-looking,
at least?

No, he's not
good-looking at all.

Yes, he is!

- He is superb!
- Marcel!

Following those events,

the owner of the Borely park
came to our house, one day,

accompanied by Auntie Rose.

- My dear Joseph!
- My dear Jules!

They were both coming
back from a great trip.

Augustine, look at this!

Yes, under our startled eyes,

the park owner kissed my mother,

then my father!

Here's the little scoundrel…

His tongue rolled "Rs" like
a stream rolls over gravel.

From now on, you
call me Uncle Jules,

because I am Auntie
Rose's husband.

Very quickly, Uncle Jules
became my great friend.

And as I advised him to
have a little house built

in his wonderful Borely park,

he confessed casually that
he had never owned it.

That day, I discovered that adults
could lie just as well as myself,

and I felt that I wasn't safe
amongst them any longer.

Father Dupanloup…

- Joseph?
- Yes.

Father Dupanloup has a
ride In a hot-air balloon…

Jules and Rose won't be long.

Really?

In a hot air balloon But
300 m up in the air

His long reproductive system

Joseph! Keep your jokes about
priests for your colleagues.

Don't make them here,
not in front of Jules.

Come on, Augustine,
it's just a little song

which celebrates the
aeronautic feats

of the venerable
Father Dupanloup.

Jules goes to church, so what?

Every Sunday, I know.

You don't know it all. He receives
Holy Communion twice a month.

What?

A man who comes into our
family, a 37-year-old man!

A man who studied law, a civil
servant of the Republic!

Wasn't it enough to refuse to go in
the church on their wedding day?

Jules could take it badly.

And I wouldn't blame him.

But… Well…

He'll forbid Rose to see us!

There you are! There!

This is how intolerant
these fanatics are!

There it is!

Do I stop him from going to
eat his God every Sunday?

Do I forbid you to
see your sister

because her husband,
despite being educated,

believes that the
creator of the universe

descends in person every
Sunday into 100,000 goblets?

Well, later on, when your
Jules comes for lunch,

I will show him how
broad-minded I am.

My liberalism will ridicule him.

I will mention neither
the Inquisition,

nor all those wretched people
God sent to the stake.

I won't say a word

about the Borgia poisoner
popes, or about Popess Joan!

And even if he tries to preach
to me the puerile concepts

of a religion as childish as
my grandmother's folk tales,

I'll reply politely,

and I'll be content to chuckle
quietly into my beard!

But he didn't have a beard, and
he wasn't chuckling at all.

Yes!

- I bought a rum baba.
- Jules, how kind of you!

Augustine…

Augustine…

Rose…

- Joseph!
- Rose.

- Joseph!
- Jules…

Uncle Jules!

- No sweets!
- Of course, not.

The baba comes from Duberger's.

Thank you, Uncle Jules.

- Rose?
- Yes?

Ah, you work on a Sunday…

Yes. Nothing much.

Indeed, you school teachers
have holidays to rest.

Long summer holidays.

No doubt we should replace the
prefecture civil servants,

exhausted by their long siestas

and worn out by penpushing.

- Yes!
- Yes!

My dear Jules, did you
have a good morning?

Very good, I went to the
10 o'clock service.

You understand Latin, then?

Enough to pray, my dear Joseph.

Sometimes I wonder,
my dear Jules…

Yes?

If they don't use Latin
in order to hide things

from the uncultivated believers.

Like the use of magic
formulas by charlatans?

- You said it.
- Time to eat!

My my, this is delicious.
Congratulations to the cook.

Thank you.

Try this nectar from
my native Roussillon.

- Not for me.
- Just one glass.

No, one glass of this wine
contains 5 cl of alcohol,

enough to kill three
good-sized dogs.

Come on, no need to
recite the object lessons

from your training course.

They are more objective
than a seminary.

- Go on, have some!
- No!

It's against my religion.

Let me convert you.

Just a finger, then.

It's a natural product.

Even children could drink it.

Nice and still, now! A
little smile, Miss Guimard?

Nice and still, here we are.
Well done!

Three years passed.

Nice and still, please! There!

Mr Arnaud, come on, Mr Arnaud!
Thank you, well done.

Smile, nice and still!

20 kg of apples cost 100 francs.
How much for 2 kg of apples?

I mastered the rule of three…

I learnt, with infinite delight,
the existence of Lake Titicaca…

- He said "caca"!
- Mangiapan, get out!

The plural rule of
words ending in "ou" …

Louis X, nicknamed
the Headstrong…

And those fearful rules that
govern past participles.

But learning goes
beyond the blackboard.

One day, Mangiapan shared with
us a rather bold hypothesis.

He claimed that babies came
out of their mothers' navels.

The navel, I say.

The other day, Miette,
my older sister…

She's a bit funny at the moment,
because she's seeing someone.

My brother Paul had grown.

In bed, at night, he approached
philosophy through his comics.

I wanted to check with him
Mangiapan's bold theory,

which at first, seemed absurd,

but after a lengthy
examination of my navel,

I had to admit that
it really did look

like a buttonhole,

with a kind of small
button in the middle.

I came to the conclusion that
an unbuttoning was possible

and that Mangiapan had
spoken the truth.

I was determined to
uncover the great secret.

One Thursday, coming
back from the market,

I made an important discovery.

I noticed that Augustine
had changed shape.

She was walking with
her chest thrown back,

like a postman at Christmas.

What has our Augustine
got under her apron?

Wait for me, children!

Two months later,

having celebrated
Candlemas at length,

three whole days at Auntie
Rose's tossing pancakes,

we came home one evening
to find Augustine smiling,

but pale and weak
in the big bed.

A little sister was born.

For me, Mangiapan's
theory was confirmed.

I kissed my mother tenderly

while thinking how she
must have suffered

when the time had come
to unbutton her navel.

At first, the little creature
seemed like a stranger to us.

Our Augustine breast-fed her,

which shocked me deeply,

and frightened Paul.

She eats our mommy
four times a day.

Uncle Jules and Auntie Rose
lived in Minimes Street,

in a new flat with all
modern conveniences.

- And we now cook… - With gas.
Come and see.

With gas, and still
with olive oil!

And what about a
phone, my dear Jules?

That thing that summons
you like a servant?

No such bad manners in my house!

Lunch is served, Madam.

My dear Jules, you
live in grand style!

- Have you been made prefect?
- No, thank God.

Well, I doubt very much

that your God interferes with
civil servants' promotions…

Come on, let's eat.

- Yes, I'm ravenous.
- You must eat for two.

I noticed with surprise

that it was my dear Auntie
Rose's turn to start swelling

and immediately predicted
an imminent unbuttoning.

The children of older
parents are always frail.

My sister is only 28.

For a first child,
it's quite old.

Don't forget that
her husband is 40.

Thirty-nine.

28 and 39, that makes 67.

That day, we were going to
visit an older parents' child.

He'll be 67, you see.

He'll be all wizened, with
white hair and a white beard.

Like Granddad's?

Yes, but smaller,
obviously, and finer.

A baby's beard.

Doesn't sound too pretty.

Being so old, he may
be able to speak.

He'll tell us where
he comes from.

No, no, look!

But we were sorely disappointed.

Though a bit pale, Auntie Rose
seemed perfectly buttoned up.

Next to her, there was a baby.

A baby with no beard
and no moustache.

That baby looks very young.

What does he mean by that?

That the baby doesn't
look its age.

Come on, Little Toad,
I need your help.

- What for?
- You'll see.

Joseph, what do you
think of this?

That your hat suits you.

Not the hat, the scorpion fish!

Ten pounds, a real monster.

And you posed for the picture?

Of course, such a feat
deserved to be immortalised.

You posed with a fish?

I accept he was pleased to
have caught a fine specimen,

but to have his picture
taken with a fish!

How undignified!

Of all the vices, vanity
really is the most ridiculous.

Do you know where
I'm taking you?

To Ali Baba's cave.

I nearly forgot your chairs.
What time is it?

- It comes to 50 francs.
- Oh, too expensive!

But beautiful. The
chest is period.

Whatever period, it's not ours.

You like modern style?

I'm not buying for a museum.
Give me the lot for 35 francs.

- Impossible.
- Why?

I owe my landlord 50 francs,
he'll be here at noon.

- What time is it?
- 11.45.

So if you owed him 100
francs, you'd ask me?

I'd have to.

But if I owed him 40
francs, I'd charge you 40.

If I owed him 30
francs, I'd charge 30.

In that case I'll come back
later, when you've paid him.

Come along!

No, it's not possible,
it's quarter to twelve!

You're in it now.

It's bad luck, that's all. It
could've happened to anyone.

But you're young, fresh as a
daisy, stiff as a ramrod,

your eyes are gleaming.

Compared to blind people and
humpbacks, you can't grumble.

Fifty francs.

Go on, Marcel, go
fetch the chairs.

Paul, what are you doing?
Come here.

Daddy, what can I do?

You are going to be very useful.

You see, tools can
be very malicious.

The moment you need one, it
knows about it, and it hides.

Because they're scared of
being hit by a hammer?

Of course.

So, sit on this stool and
keep an eye on them.

It will save us a lot of time.

- Dad!
- Ah, give it here!

Come on, chop chop!

Can you guess what all
this work is for?

Make sure the children don't
touch all this rubbish!

In those days, of course,
germs were brand-new,

as the great Pasteur had
only just invented them.

Our mother imagined them
as tiny little tigers,

about to eat us alive
from the inside.

All this rubbish, as
your mother calls it,

will be the foundation
of rustic furniture

which she'll never
tire of looking at.

Rustic? It sounds nice,
but what does it mean?

It means,

"from the country".

And since, as it happens,

your mother needs a bit
of fresh country air,

Uncle Jules and myself are sharing
the rent on a villa in the hills.

That is where we'll spend
our summer holiday.

Where is this villa?

Right on the edge of
a moorland desert,

stretching from Aubagne to Aix.

A real desert.

Maybe there will be camels?

I didn't see any.

What about rhinoceroses?

Ah… Perhaps.

My father talked,
Paul questioned him,

Augustine helped us,

and in my head, I
repeated magical words.

Villa, hills, garrigue…

Cicadas, desert…

Marcel!

Papa!

Augustine!

On the day of the
departure, at 8 o'clock,

we were already wearing
our holiday outfits,

made by Augustine.

Uncle Jules, ever the
great organiser,

had arranged everything.

The two families would
travel separately.

He could afford a removal van,

but we'd have to make do with
a farmer and his horse cart.

Sorry I'm late, I was
selling my apricots

at the market.

Wretched townsfolk!

I almost had to pay them so
they would buy my apricots.

- Mr Joseph?
- Well, yes.

Morning, Sir.

Morning, Sir.

- Morning, Sir!
- Morning, Sir!

Come on, let's load the
cart with all this clutter.

So you understand?

You go on your tram, and we meet
at the Four Seasons junction.

- You know the way?
- I have my map.

Bye for now. Giddy up, old nag!

In case I'm late, you'll
find refreshments there.

We'll see about that. Come
on, we have to walk 9 km.

- It's a long way for the children.
- Yes.

- Are you enjoying that?
- Yes.

Giddy up!

- Is that the village of La Treille?
- It is, but we're not there yet.

Up there, the lady
will have to get down,

and we'll have to push.

The chocks, the chocks!

You must hit harder, hit
him under the belly.

No, no, I don't want to!

We must gouge his eyes out!
This man's eyes!

Gouge my eyes out? What
kind of brute is this?

I say we should stick
him in this drawer.

No, I don't want to!

But if you want to gouge
people's eyes out,

they'll want to lock
you in a drawer.

He was only joking.

Even as a joke, you
shouldn't say such things.

And just on the day I got myself

a pair of sunglasses
from the market.

You can still wear them.

Silly boy! With my
eyes plucked out,

if I was wearing sunglasses,

I might as well try to
look up a mole's bottom!

Come on, then.

This once, I forgive you.

With much shouting, pushing,

wedging the chocks, taking
them out, using our stick,

we finally reached the village.

In the middle of the square,
the fountain was singing.

- No one wants a drink?
- Come on, children!

Nothing better than the virtues

of this pure, thirst-quenching
and free water!

What about you, Augustine?

And then, we got out
of the village,

and the enchantment started.

The love blooming inside me was
to last for the rest of my life.

A large black bird marked
the middle of the sky

and like a sea of music,

the coppery hum of the
cicadas surrounded us.

That one there is Tête
Rouge, "The Red Head".

That's Tête Ronde, "Round Head",

and that is the Taoumé,
sometimes also called Tubé.

What does it mean?

That it's called Tubé,
and also Taoumé.

But what is the origin
of these words?

Their origin? It means
it has two names.

And?

And? You have two names too.
And so do I.

And in the background,
it's Garlaban.

Aubagne is on the other side.

- I was born in Aubagne.
- You're a local, then.

Giddy up, old nag!

I was born in Saint-Loup,
am I a local too?

Just about, hardly at all.

He's a bloody idiot!

- What are you doing?
- You'll be more comfortable.

- You ninny, we can't stop here.
- Why? We'll catch up with them.

How small she was now!
She looked 15.

Look at this thyme, we'll
make a wonderful stew.

- Not thyme, savory is much better.
- What is it?

It's like thyme and
mint put together.

But I can't describe it,
I'll show you some.

We're not short of
herbs, round here.

Marjoram, sage,
rosemary, fennel…

You chop your savory very fine to
stuff the hare's belly with it.

Add a large piece of
bacon, it's delicious!

We're there.

That is the Bastide Neuve.

That is our holiday villa.

This was the start of the
happiest days of my life.

Fabulous storm lantern!

Seeing it burn brightly, with
the serenity of an altar lamp,

made me forget my cheese soup,

and I decided to devote
my life to science.

Soup is Man's greatest conquest.

No, I want to do it!

I want to do it!

No, I want to do it! All
right, eeny, meeny, miny…

I know you, you're
going to cheat again.

I'll do it!

- All right, my turn tomorrow.
- Your turn tomorrow.

The song of the cicadas and
the scents of the garrigue

suddenly filled our
illuminated bedroom.

Have you been to the country
where orange trees blossom?

That is where…

- No, "That is where…" - No.

That is where…

Ah!

Here, happiness came
naturally, as easy as ABC.

Even washing was no
longer abominable,

thanks to my father's
brilliant invention.

He had fitted a rubber
hose to the kitchen tap.

This progress tap, as we called
it, was an extraordinary luxury.

A real miracle, as we were
now in the land of thirst.

There was a large water tank
at the back of the house.

We just had to turn
on the copper tap,

and crystal-clear, cool
water started pouring.

Enough! When the tank is empty
we'll have to go back home!

Mom, no!

Will you stop that?

Go and get dressed,
or you'll get cold.

Come on, quickly!

To think that in Marseilles,
I have to beg them to wash!

- They are obedient.
- Pretend to be, at least.

Marcel, particularly, he's
a real smooth talker.

Have you been to the country
where orange trees blossom?

That is where…

- No, "That is where…" - No, no!

That is where…

That is where I
would like to live

How soft your skin is!

Look at you, all scruffy!

We're on holiday, I've
made myself comfortable.

You should do the same.

- Like that.
- But I'll look like a…

Yes. Undo one more button, and
you'll be an Alcazar dancer.

Uncle Jules had awarded
the title of housemaid

to a bewildered country woman
who came in the afternoons

to wash up and sometimes,
do the laundry,

giving her the chance
to wash her hands.

We were not allowed
to leave the garden,

and the fence was reputed
to be impassable.

But we soon proved the contrary.

This was the start
of great adventures.

Stop thief!

Who said you could
steal my butterflies?

Your butterflies?

They are not yours!

Yes, they are! Mine,
no one else's!

And that's why they call me
Edmond of the Butterflies!

If it was Edmond of the Goats'
Droppings, would they be yours too?

Tell me, who is
this insolent boy?

My brother.

My big brother.

You're no asset, you two.

Butterfly thieves, rascals,
you'll end up in prison.

In prison? There was one
where my brother was born.

It doesn't surprise me.

And what are you doing, here?

Nothing, we just
walked up the hill.

- What for?
- To have a look.

- What?
- To see what's on the other side.

My God! Since the
beginning of time,

it's Man's obsession, to see
what's on the other side.

He fights in wars, he has
children, he travels…

He even embraces religion,

just to see what's
on the other side!

Sir, are the cicadas
yours as well?

Not them, no. You can have them.

So I can catch them?

- With your net?
- Well, yes!

You'll still be
here at Christmas!

I can tell you're city children.

Fine, I'll show you the way.
Come closer.

Come closer, that's it.

A cicada is less trustful
even than a customs officer.

The moment it knows you're
there, it stops singing.

No chance of catching it then.

The secret is to let
it get used to you,

and it will start singing again.

It's started singing
again, foolish thing!

Don't cicadas ever stop?

Are they disturbing you?

I thought they would
shut up at night.

It's strange.

They must have mistaken
the lamp for the sun.

The strange thing is,
they are so loud…

It's as if…

- Edmond! Are you playing or not?
- What are you doing?

We're waiting for
you, it's your turn.

- Hello, Mr Teacher!
- Hello!

Will you please come here?

I'll be with you in a minute!

- We're waiting for you!
- Eagerly!

Edmond, come on! What's up?
Come on, now!

All right, I'm not deaf!

You're not deaf but
you're a pain!

- At last!
- All right, let's play!

Boules are a serious matter,
no time for anything else!

I'll give your boules some
attention, you'll see.

- What now?
- Hear that?

A cuckoo, so what? Are
you playing or not?

A cuckoo in this season?
No, it's Batistin.

What about him?

Batistin is my lookout.

Just in case it's
him, bye, everybody!

Excuse me, gentlemen,
you haven't seen a…

What?

- We're after a poacher who…
- No, sorry.

Thank you very much, gentlemen,
for your valued collaboration.

- Don't mention it.
- It was nothing.

- Our pleasure.
- Bye-bye!

You told me there's no
game in your hills.

Game? No, there isn't any.

But partridges, ortolans,
hares, yes, plenty!

If you know how to catch them.

You're from the city, but maybe
you could team up with François,

to finish the game!

No way, I'm bound to lose!

- It's not fair!
- Yes, Dad, go on, go on!

I'll try.

- You see, he'll try.
- You can't say no.

All right, do you shoot
or do you point?

- You tell me.
- You tell him.

I don't have any boules
left, you'll have to shoot.

Careful! Mr Teacher, you can't
learn this from a book.

Out of the way, out of the way!

- This time, you need to… - All
right, I can see, I get it.

- They've adopted you, well done.
- Had I not won at boules…

Thanks to the candle I
lit for you at church.

Whatever you say.

Excuse me…

My dear Joseph, let me
introduce you to our vicar.

It was the first time
I'd seen my father

face to face with the sly enemy.

- Hello, Sir.
- Mr Teacher, nice to meet you.

Your brother-in-law said you'd
like some tomato plants.

No.

I have some in my
garden, if you like.

No, thank you.

Have you found some?

No.

But I've decided to do
without tomatoes, this year.

Good day, Sir.

Marcel, come here.

"I let him know his
name should be Friday,"

"which was the day
I saved his life…"

Marcel, come and see,
Uncle Jules is cooking!

Yuck, it smells nasty!

- Uncle Jules?
- Yes?

- What is it?
- Shall we eat it cold?

No, we won't be eating it,
neither tonight nor ever.

- Why are you cooking it?
- To set little boys talking.

This is what I was cooking
this morning, fatty wads.

- What are they for?
- To make cartridges.

- Are you going hunting?
- I am.

- With Uncle Jules?
- Yes.

- Do you own a rifle?
- Indeed I do.

- Will you kill elephants?
- Time for bed!

And rhinoceroses?

And giraffes?

Daddy's going to kill elephants,
rhinoceroses and giraffes.

My wedding present
from my older brother.

A Spanish weapon.
What's yours like?

My father showed him
a large yellow case,

which he had probably bought
from the second-hand shop.

I got it from my father.

Having made this ancient
fire-arm into a family heirloom,

he pulled out of this
laughable cardboard box

an enormous rifle.

Good Lord, this is an arquebus!

Almost, but it's meant
to be very accurate.

Quite possible, indeed!

Stay where you are, don't move!

Two pounds too many, but it handles
well and shoulders nicely.

Let's get our cartridges ready.

What do you think we'll
find in those hills?

We must pack the wads firmly.

- First of all, little birds.
- Oh, tiny little birds?

Mmm, a nice little brochette of
sparrows, my dear Augustine…

But I forbid you
to kill canaries!

Neither canaries nor
parrots, I promise!

But wheatears and ortolans…

Ortolans… They are delicious!

This is the gauge to
measure the charge.

Graduated in grams
and decigrams.

Yes.

And what about thrushes?
Are we allowed them?

Yes!

But…

There is much better still.

In the Taoumé ravines
lives the king of game.

Guess.

- Elephants?
- Paul!

Will you please go to bed?
Come on!

Not elephants, I don't think.

Though you never know.

Come on, Joseph, joking
apart, make a little effort.

The rarest game?

Partridges?

The most beautiful?

The red-legged partridge?

The most mistrustful?

- The hare.
- The hare?

Come on, Joseph, the game
the hunter dreams of!

The pheasant!

Well, Joseph?

I don't know.

Let's see…

I'm chattering.

Well, then? The rarest, most
beautiful, most mistrustful?

No, I don't know.

The bartavelle!

What's that?

You see, this bird is so rare

that even Joseph has
never heard of it.

A bartavelle, ladies
and gentlemen,

is a royal partridge,

more royal than a partridge,
because it is huge and rutilant.

A bartavelle is almost a capercaillie.
It's not just a…

Uncle Jules had spent all evening
talking like an erudite teacher

whilst my father, an examiner
for primary schools,

who played draughts superbly
and shot expertly at boules,

had listened to him carefully,
with an air of ignorance,

like a pupil.

I felt ashamed and humiliated.

What's up with Uncle Jules?
Has he got the runs?

Let's check the spread of the bullets.
Careful!

Go ahead!

My father took aim.

I was trembling for fear
he might miss the door,

which would have been
utterly humiliating.

The shot had hit the
centre of the door.

I felt intensely proud

and expected Uncle Jules
to express his admiration.

That's not a rifle,
it's a colander.

He hit it bang in the middle.

Not a bad shot, but a
partridge taking flight

has little in common
with an outhouse door.

Now, let's have a
go with buckshot.

Here.

Ladies, plug your ears.

Gunpowder is a serious matter.
You're going to hear thunder.

Make sure to hold
the butt tightly.

Right… One, two…

It's hard wood, they
didn't go through.

But had we used bullets…

Fortunately, they hadn't.

Through the battered door,
we heard a small voice.

Hesitantly, it was saying…

May I come out now?

It was the housemaid.

The dog goes "woof woof woof".

The partridge, "flap flap flap…"

Take one step back,

the partridge comes
along, flap flap flap.

Shoulder, take aim.
Flap, flap, flap…

What are they doing?

The partridge is 10 cm away.

Bang, bang! Thud.

That's the "King's shot".
You get it?

- Yes.
- I'm asking your dad.

- It doesn't look easy.
- Go on, Dad.

Er, hide behind a bush…

Shoulder my rifle. No,
isn't that right?

- One step back, come with me.
- It's not easy. So, I…

The dog goes woof woof, the
partridges go flap flap…

Rifle, one step back, shoulder…

10 cm, bang, bang!

So I hide behind a bush,

I shoulder my rifle…

Aim, don't shoot!
Partridge, 10 cm…

Bang, bang!

My father was preparing
for the opening

with such meticulousness
and humility

that for the first time in my
life, I doubted his omnipotence.

I had to go and hide in a
bush with my eyes shut.

I waited there, my ears pricked,

listening for the slightest
snapping of a twig.

Did you hear me coming?

Not wanting to hurt
him, I replied…

No, Dad.

And I just grew more
and more worried,

because my father, city-bred
and a school prisoner,

had never killed beast nor bird.

I'm not too happy about
Dad going hunting.

Why is that?

Have you not noticed
Uncle Jules,

always talking and
bossing Dad around?

It's only to teach Dad.
It's an act of friendship.

No, he's damned pleased
to be better at it.

Dad always beats him at boules,
but I'm sure he's going to lose.

Raspberry or plum jam?

It's silly to play games
you're not good at.

I never play ball games because
my legs are too small.

But I play marbles,
because I know I'll win.

What a ninny you are!

Hunting is not a competition,

it's just like going for
a walk with a rifle.

- If Dad doesn't kill any… - If
he doesn't, I'll be disgusted!

I'll be disgusted and I
won't love him anymore!

Marcel…

Oh, Goodness, how
handsome they are!

This is no jacket,

more like 30 pockets
sewn up together.

Oh, my God, their bottles!

12 km in the hills is not excessive,
but still, it's quite a distance.

I'll carry lunch!

What lunch?

Ours.

Where?

When we go hunting.

But Marcel…

I don't have a rifle, so I
should carry the lunch.

If you put it in the game-bag,
there'll be no room for the game.

And when I walk, I
don't make any noise.

- Marcel… - And you have no dog.

When you kill partridges,
you won't find them again,

but I'm small, I can wriggle
my way inside the bushes.

Dad…

Dad…

Come here.

You heard what Uncle
Jules just said.

We'll be walking 12
km in the hills.

Your legs wouldn't
take such a long walk.

But I don't have a big
bottom like Uncle Jules,

so I never get tired.

Oh, I don't like the way you're
talking about my bottom.

For a start, if you
don't take me hunting,

it will make me ill!

I'm already feeling sick.

Marcel!

- Mom!
- Marcel?

Marcel, calm down.

No, no, no!

You talked to him about
it too much, see!

Then, Uncle Jules proved
to be great and generous.

This may be none of my business,

but I'd say that Marcel deserves
to do the opening with us.

Jules…

He'll carry our
lunch, as he offered,

and he'll walk quietly behind
us, ten paces behind the guns.

What do you say, Joseph?

In that case, it's
fine by me too.

Uncle Jules!

Calm down!

- But… - But what?

Not a word to Paul, he's
too small to come with us.

You will lie to
your brother, then?

I won't lie, I just
won't say anything.

- What if he mentions it?
- Then, I'll lie to him.

Because it's for his own good.

He's right. You've just said
something very important.

Lying to children is acceptable,
if it is for their own good.

Don't forget that.

I'm not hungry tonight.

- Paul… - I'm really
tired, though.

I can feel sick too, you know.

As Uncle Jules had often praised
the healthy appetite of huntsmen,

I devoured my cutlet and
asked for more potatoes.

What's got into you?

I'm building up my
strength for tomorrow.

- What are you doing tomorrow?
- The opening.

The opening? It's not
tomorrow, tomorrow is Sunday.

You thought killing God's creatures
on the Lord's day was allowed?

I forget, you're not
believers in this family,

so Marcel thinks that the
season can start on a Sunday.

Please, don't take advantage.

When is it, then?

On Monday, the day
after tomorrow.

Dad…

For lunch, tomorrow,

we'll have apricot tart
with whipped cream.

- Mom… - Yes?

May I read for a bit?

They won't take you with them.

Where?

To the opening.

I never asked to go with them.

You're a big liar.

I heard everything you said,
and how much you cried.

You even promised to tell lies.

And Uncle Jules is an even
bigger liar than you are.

Why?

Because the opening is
tomorrow, I know it.

Mommy made tomato omelettes,
and she put them in game-bags.

With a huge sausage,
raw cutlets,

as well as bread and wine.

Good night.

Was this possible?

Of course, there was the
dreadful Borely park liar…

But Dad?

Was he the silent accomplice of
a plot against his little boy?

And what about Mom?

What a feast they were
planning without me!

I would go with them,
in spite of them.

- Paul, are you asleep?
- Yes!

I should not fall asleep, or
they would leave without me.

I must not go to sleep, I
must keep my eyes open…

I must not go to sleep,
I must not go to sleep…

Marcel… Marcel…

- Are you asleep?
- What? No.

Listen, they are
going without you.

Remember, Joseph, beware
of wounded boars!

I'm off!

What about Mommy?

"My dear little Mommy,"

"in the end, they
took me with them."

"Don't worry, and keep some
whipped cream for me."

"Two thousand kisses…"

I understood that the
season had started,

and I immediately remembered
Uncle Jules's advice

to climb a tree to avoid the
wrath of a wounded boar.

As I couldn't see my father,

I feared that a boar was
already goring him.

I prayed God, should he exist,
to send the boar to my uncle,

who believed in heaven, and would
therefore die more readily.

I got him!

A beautiful blackbird!

I decided on the best
course of action.

If I followed the ridge
along the cliffs,

I could see everything
without being seen.

What is it?

A woodcock. Put it
in your game-bag.

- And go back on your own track.
- Ah, yes.

Go on! After shooting,
you load again.

Ah, yes, yes!

Uncle Jules had just confirmed
his hunting stories were true.

It was time for Joseph
to catch up with him.

A young partridge!

A whole flock of them!

I decided to drive them
back towards the huntsmen.

Go on, go on!

Come on, I've told you already!

Every time you shoot, you
reload your rifle immediately.

You must always reload
immediately, every time you shoot!

And what about the partridge?

Come on!

Our failure filled me
with consternation.

It was an appalling comedy.

Check the barrel, make
sure it's not blocked!

Goodness me!

Would my father come
home empty-handed,

with Uncle Jules decked
out with birds and hares,

like a shop window?

No, that couldn't be.

I would drive back so
much game his way,

that he would have
to kill something!

What to do? Should I
simply go back home?

But how could I abandon Joseph,
alone with his ridiculous rifle

and his myopic glasses, faced
with the king of huntsmen?

They had walked round
the base of the peak,

so inevitably, by walking straight
ahead, I would run into them.

- Well?
- Not every time!

To join them, I was prepared to
face this lonely wilderness.

Dad…

I had to face the
facts, I was lost.

I thought of the great
sagacity of Little Thumbling,

the brilliant inventor
of the pre-marked track.

It was much too late
to imitate him.

I listened to the
hill at length,

to hear nothing but
a deathly silence.

Hey, you there! Don't touch other
people's traps, it's sacred!

- I just wanted to look at the bird.
- It's a lark.

Are you a trap thief,
by any chance?

- No!
- What have you got in your bag?

- Nothing.
- And what are you doing round here?

- Just walking.
- On your own?

Yes, but… No, with my
father and my uncle.

- And where are they?
- That way.

- Go on, just admit you're lost!
- No! Well, yes, a little.

You're with the huntsmen.

- Have you seen them?
- A beret and a cap.

- Yes.
- Then they are over there.

They look as if they
are going to war.

It's for the opening.

What fools…

Personally, to go hunting, I
don't ask for permission.

Don't you get told off?

Who by? Everybody's at it.

The opening? That's
for townsfolk.

Go on, go and find them.

But I warn you, they
are a long way away.

That's fine, I'm not tired.

Are you sure? Otherwise,
I can take you.

- No, I'll manage by myself.
- As you wish.

Goodbye.

- Hey!
- What?

My name is Marcel.

What about you?

Lili. Lili of the Bellons.

This vulture or this
condor could probably see

my father and my uncle grilling
their cutlets on rosemary embers,

because the sun was
at its highest.

I was still heading towards
the place Lili had indicated,

and I was terrified,

as this bird of
prey was now flying

around in circles,
right over my head.

My savage cry didn't intimidate
this bleeding-flesh ripper.

My eyes, which he would gouge
out with his hooked beak,

searched for a refuge.

Dad!

This shepherd's hut reminded
me of my wretched situation.

I thought that I was lost
at the end of the world,

but that no one was
worrying about me yet.

The hunters think I am at home,

and Augustine thinks
I am with them.

But when they get back,
what a disaster!

Mom may well faint.

At the very least, she'll cry.

So they'll start looking for me.

Farmers and the gendarmes
will get roped in.

At nightfall, I may
be able to see

their torches shining
in the distance.

I would call with all my might…

Help! Help!

But they wouldn't hear me.

And my rescuers would walk away
without seeing me, for evermore,

like the ship off the coast
of Robinson's island.

To die or to sleep,
what's the difference?

Dad! Uncle Jules!

Soon, I thought I could
recognise a valley.

Was it the same one I
had seen this morning?

I leapt with joy, when suddenly…

I thought I was bleeding, and
was about to burst into tears,

when I noticed that the
birds were bleeding too.

They were partridges, but
their weight surprised me.

My heart gave a
leap in my chest.

Royal partridges…

Bartavelles!

You had the nerve to fire a
King's shot, a double, at that,

on bartavelles
coming towards me!

- But I saw feathers flying.
- Oh, so did I!

Taking bartavelles, at 60 km/h,
to the top of the cliff,

where they must be
having a good laugh!

He killed them!

He killed them, both of them!
He killed them!

And from my blood-stained fists,
four golden wings were dangling.

I raised to the sky
my father's glory,

in the glow of the setting sun.

Barou… Barta… Bartavelle.

"A bird from the
partridge family,"

"which lives on high
peaks in pine forests."

Is that it? Nothing about its
habits, its origins, its…

What are you doing?

I'm going to clean them out
and roast them for tonight.

Not yet! This is not poultry, this
is game, and not just any game!

No, it would be a crime
to eat them so soon.

They seem ready to me.

No, let's not miss an
opportunity to learn something.

Even the name, "bartavelle".

I'm sure Marcel would
love to know its origins.

When we go shopping, we'll get the
expert opinion of the locals.

I'm sure they'll know more about
them than many a naturalist.

Taking your rifle
to go shopping?

You never know. Come
along, Little Toad.

Holy Mother, who sold you those?

They only cost me two gun-shots.

What, a double?

- A bartavelle double?
- Well, yes.

Nothing like beginner's
luck… Where did it happen?

The Lancelot Valley,
near Passe-Temps.

I'm astonished you
found them again,

because even when they are dead,

these beasts carry
on flying for 500 m.

My boy was on the cliff,
he saw them falling.

Well done, you!

If you haven't got a dog,
you've got to have children.

Who sold you those?

They only cost me a
couple of gun-shots.

One of them weighs 1,260 g…

The other one, 1,530 g!

- Oh, royal partridges!
- Yes…

Great St-Hubert was with you.

Great St-Hubert, and
my twelve-bore!

You got an old male and
a two-year-old hen.

This partridge is not
a Caccabis Rufa.

- No?
- It's a Caccabis Saxatilis!

What is it in Republican French?

Forgive me. It's a rock partridge,
also known as the Greek partridge.

I see that your ministry
teaches you about birds, even.

Angels have wings too, Sir.

The vicar told us that
in old Provençal,

bartavelle meant "rough lock",

and that this nickname came
from the bird's creaky cry.

Well, Marcel, have you learnt
enough about bartavelles?

Yes, Dad. I think we
can eat them now.

Mr Teacher!

I'd like to immortalise
this admirable feat.

Oh, Vicar, a stroke of luck
isn't worthy of such an honor!

Of course it is, come on!
Strike your pose!

This reminded me

of Mr Arnaud, photographed
with his scorpion fish.

"To have his picture taken with
a fish!", my father had said.

"How undignified!"

Ready…

"Vanity…"

Stand still…

One, two, three… Perfect!

Dinner's ready!

- Bravo!
- Bravo, bravo!

This is good.

Listen, a lark!

Isn't it an ortolan?

- No, it's Lili!
- Lili?

We have company!

So you know him?

- Yes.
- I know you too.

You're the twelve-bore,
of bartavelle fame.

- Will you have a cutlet with us?
- No, I have my own lunch.

- Oh, a real poacher, then.
- Me? No, I'm from the Bellons.

What does it mean?

It means that the hills
belong to the locals.

And so, we're not poachers.

What's really lacking
here is spring water.

Apart from the Mulberry
well, are there any others?

I know seven of them.

Seven? And whereabouts are they?

- I'm not allowed to tell.
- And why not?

You just don't say
where the springs are.

Not even to me?

I would, but it's forbidden.

You mustn't tell even
your own family.

My granddad knew of one,

and he never told
anyone about it.

How do you know, in that case?

When we used to plough the
buckwheat field at Passe-Temps,

every day at noon, before lunch,

Granddad used to say, "Don't
look where I'm going."

And off he went, with
an empty bottle.

And you didn't look?

Holy Mother, he would
have killed us all!

Then he'd come back
with a bottle of water.

And you never,
ever saw anything?

Apparently, when he died, he
tried to tell the secret.

He called my father and he went,

"The spring, the spring!"

And just like that, he was dead.
He waited too long,

and so that spring is lost.

Rather stupidly wasted, I'd say.

Still, maybe it gives
the birds a drink.

I'm walking quickly because
the thunderstorm isn't far.

But it won't rain, and this
weather is perfect for hunting.

If he had to drink all
the rain that's coming,

he'd be peeing until Christmas!

- Bye-bye!
- Bye-bye!

Marcel, are you coming?

No, go without me, I'll
see you back home.

- Ah… - It's a pinhead.

Townsfolk call them Crossbills,

but we call them pinheads
because they're stupid birds.

- What's that?
- A kind of ant.

There, the thunderstorm.
Chop-chop!

We just about have time.

Maybe we should get back.

No need. I know a place
where we won't get wet,

and we'll have a great view.

For a town boy, you're
doing very well.

Time to start now!

It's beautiful.

Beautiful, yes, but
it's bloody stupid.

Bend down, and pick
up two big stones.

Turn round very slowly.

- Is it a vampire?
- No, it's an eagle-owl.

We call it a big owl.

If he attacks us,
mind your eyes.

Let's go. Better wet than blind.

We're lost!

No, just stay with me.
Here, give me your hand!

Your house is over there.

- Where?
- Over there.

Don't worry, Madam,

my Lili will bring
your Marcel back.

- Here they are!
- You see, they're not lost.

Oh, my God!

- My God, they're drenched.
- As if they'd fallen into the sea!

Careful, careful!

There, take this towel.

Children don't mind water,
especially from heaven.

They look like lobsters.

Lobsters?

It's calmed down.

Come on, Lili, we're going.

Madam, the suit… May I keep it?

Don't be so cheeky!

That is something you
must ask Marcel.

Yes, the suit is yours, Lili.

Thank you.

Lili knew everything.

What the weather would
do, hidden springs,

and he revealed them to me in
exchange for solemn promises.

"Cross my heart
and hope to die."

He knew the ravines where
mushrooms and wild lettuce grew,

as well as almond
trees, sloes, arbutus…

In a thicket, he knew
of some vine plants

on which clusters of sour
but delicious grapes grew.

He would take a very dry clematis
branch and cut it into pieces

which we smoked like cigars.

In exchange for so many secrets,
I talked to him about the city.

The shops where you
can find everything,

the toy displays
at Christmas time…

The torchlight parades
on 14th July…

And the enchantment
of Magic City,

where I had a ride on
the roller coaster.

I would imitate the rumble of
the iron wheels on the rails,

the shrieks of the passengers,
and Lili would scream with me.

- Look, an owl. You have it.
- Thank you.

I wouldn't be surprised if
we caught a few thrushes.

Autumn is starting today.

- Autumn? Is autumn starting?
- Yes, so what?

Each day of the holiday being
similar to the next in Provence,

time hadn't seemed to pass.

And though the summer was already
dead, it had no wrinkles.

Autumn…

Let's make the most of this evening,
because we'll start packing tomorrow.

What are you saying?

It's the end of the holiday.

The end? When?

Mommy!

We're leaving the day after tomorrow.
Today's Friday.

Was Friday, we're leaving
on Sunday morning.

Marcel… You know that on Monday
it's the beginning of school.

Ahead of you lies an
important year in your life.

In July, you'll sit
your scholarship exams

for high school.

At high school, you'll learn Latin.
I'm sure you'll love it.

The holidays were over.

I didn't want to cry
in front of them.

- First one to open the shutters!
- You do it.

Do you understand
that we're leaving?

No more going hunting.

No more cicadas.

They're all dead, anyway.

So you're pleased that
the holidays are over?

Yes, and at home, I have
my box of soldiers.

So why were you
crying last night?

I don't know.

They can leave if they
want to, I'm staying here.

- How will you do it?
- Easy.

Tonight, I'll pack my bag, and
I'll go and hide in the cave,

the one we went to shelter in.

- The one with the big owl?
- Yes.

- You'd do it?
- Yes.

- You don't know me.
- I'd like you to stay.

But in the hills, what
will you live on?

- I want to be a hermit.
- A termite?

No, hermits are people who withdraw
from the world to meditate.

How do they get their food?

Some of them don't
eat, special ones.

I'll go looking for
asparagus, snails, mushrooms…

I know, I'll plant chick peas.

- Do you know how to cook them?
- I'll soon learn.

I was thinking, if you're up there,
I could set twice as many snares.

I'll bring half of them home,
and we'll sell the rest.

And the snails, at the market.

And the fennel.

The herbalist pays
three cents a kilo.

And with all this money,
we'll buy rabbit snares.

A hare gets at
least five francs.

I say, at this rate,
from being a hermit,

I'll soon become a millionaire!

- Millionaire? What's that for?
- They have plenty of money!

You don't need to eat ten
cutlets at each meal.

As my granddad used to say,
we only have one asshole, so…

This would be my last evening
with my family, then.

I was about to give
in to tears, when…

It may sound strange,
but I can't wait to see

my pupils and my
blackboard again.

Had this maniac forgotten
the bartavelles?

He was nailing shut the
coffin of our holiday,

and nothing would
make any difference.

Dad…

What I've missed most here

is gas.

Honestly, I couldn't wait
to leave because of gas.

Auntie Rose…

As for me, what I've missed most
were comfortable lavatories,

with no ants, no spiders,
and with a proper flush.

So this was what this fat-bottomed
wine drinker was thinking about.

I felt intensely indignant,
but also proud of my mother,

who was not blaspheming
my beloved hills.

I decided that she
would be the only one

I'd give a goodbye kiss to.

"My dear Dad, my dear Mom."

"Please don't worry, I have found
my vocation, I'll be a hermitt."

"It's too late for my studies now.
I have given up on them."

"I'll find my happiness
in adventures."

"There's no danger, I've
packed two aspirin tablets,"

"from the Rhône factory,
so, don't panic."

"Paul will be a little
jealous, but never mind."

"Give him a hug from me."

"Dear Dad, look after Mom's health,
I will think of her every evening."

"I kiss you all tenderly,
particularly my dear Mom."

"Your son Marcel,
hermitt of the hills."

"PS: don't look for me, you
won't be able to find me."

- I didn't think you'd do it.
- I've made my decision.

You're fantastic.

I assumed the best
fantastic air I could,

but I remained quiet.

- What's that?
- It's a night sound.

Mind you, it's
always a bit scary.

What's that?

A fox. He's driving some
animals back to his mate.

He's warning her.

- What's the matter?
- There's no denying it,

you're fantastic.

You're one in a million.

You really are the
hermit of the hills.

His stunned admiration,
whilst flattering me,

suddenly filled me with anxiety,

and I had to make an effort
to remain fantastic.

I was about to succeed, when…

- We forgot something.
- What?

And I can't believe
we forgot that.

I should have remembered,
but you forgot too.

What? Are you going mad?

The big owl.

- The eagle-owl?
- Yes.

The one that tried to
gouge our eyes out.

I bet you 12 snares that
his mate lives with him.

We were approaching the cave, and
I was overwhelmed by the news.

However fantastic you are,
sometimes, destiny lets you down.

At night, an owl is
worse than an eagle.

- When there are two… -
There are two of us too.

Two big owls? I saw them
flying over my head.

I was all the more fantastic,

as I decided to beat a retreat
at the first opportunity.

This is the Breguette spring.
You'll come here to drink.

The spring never dries up.

It yields at least
ten liters a day.

This gave me the inspiration
I had been hoping for.

Ten liters, are you joking?

Not at all, maybe even 15.

What can I do with
15 liters of water?

- You'll never drink that much.
- What about washing?

A handful of water is enough.

Not for me. I have to soap
myself from head to toe.

Why, are you ill?

No, but I'm from the city, which
means I'm covered in germs.

- I need to be wary of them.
- What are they?

A kind of lice, but so small
that you can hardly see them.

If I don't soap myself every
day, they'll eat me up.

One day, you'll find
me dead in the cave.

- That would be silly.
- It's your fault!

Had you not said there was
as much water as I needed,

I would never have ventured it.

I didn't know. I don't
have any "derms", do I?

I don't even know how
you say it in dialect.

After the fear of the big owls,

came the fear that my father
might have found my letter,

and above all, showed
it to my mother.

Oh, no, the bedroom light is on!

- They must be getting dressed.
- Then maybe they haven't seen it.

Up you get, hurry up, Marcel.

Come on, hurry up,
Marcel, up you get!

There, the leather case!

In a typical act of generosity,
Uncle Jules had insisted

on treating us to a hire cart.

No way were we going to walk back
in the rain with all our luggage!

And don't forget this case!

- Marcel, come and have breakfast.
- I'm not hungry.

Marcel…

- Mom, I… - Come on!

You must eat something.

It's a long journey, and
we won't be stopping.

Come on, Marcel,
you're not a baby.

There's more to life
than just pleasure.

I would like to stay here too,
you know, and live in the hills.

In a cave, even.

Yes, even all by
myself, like a hermit.

The reference to the
hermit struck me,

but I thought anyone could have
this idea, since I had it myself.

You'll have work to do this
year, especially in spelling.

He spells panic with a "k".

And I bet you couldn't
spell "hermit".

I could feel myself blushing,

but I immediately
dismissed my concern.

He hadn't read my letter, since
I found it where I'd left it.

So you'll have to
work really hard,

but if you are serious and
you make good progress,

we'll come back here
for the holidays.

Is that really true?

It's all down to you.

Mom…

Yes!

Rose, come on!

All right, be careful!

Lili!

Going back to your city, then?

- Yes, but we'll write.
- Yes, well…

Why didn't we meet earlier?

And why does the best
always come last?

- Marcel, come on!
- Yes.

- Make sure to lock the door.
- Not that we left much inside.

Come on, Little Toad, jump in!
Goodbye, little Lili!

Don't forget your school work,

and that an educated farmer
is worth two or three.

Goodbye, Marcel.

Goodbye.

Giddy up!

I was being taken away
from my homeland,

and large raindrops were
weeping for me down my cheeks.

Wait! Mr Teacher, wait!

- A souvenir of your holidays!
- Thank you!

Bye-bye, Vicar!

God be with you!

- Well, well!
- It's beautiful!

- So true to life!
- Indeed, what a good picture!

This is silver-nitrate paper,
which has a singular property.

It gets dark in daylight.

That's right.

Excellent lighting.

Although the position of the sun
makes my nose look quite long.

I don't think so.

The focus is perfect,

which shows that the
vicar knows his onions.

Since we have three, I
should send one to Granddad,

so he can see how
Marcel has grown.

Yes, he was very
proud of his feat.

He would send one to Granddad,

and he would show one to the whole
school, like Mr Arnaud had.

I had caught my superman in
flagrante delicto of humanity.

I felt I loved him
all the more for it.

And from my blood-stained fists,
four golden wings were dangling.

I raised to the sky
my father's glory,

in the glow of the setting sun.

MY FATHER'S GLORY