All language subtitles for Les Enfants du Siècle (1999) - good eng subs

CHILDREN OF THE CENTURY

We were born
into a world in ruins.

The wars were over,

leaving no glory or ideals to die for.

Despair was our religion

and scorn our only passion.

Women dressed in white like brides,

while we, the young men,

wore black like orphans,

and stared empty-hearted at them,
blasphemy on our lips.

I was living in this wilderness,
wrapped up in my selfishness,

until, suddenly,

one day, I met her.

Wait for me, for God's sake!

What's wrong?
You could at least tell me.

- It's only a novel.
- No, a confession!

Which means telling the truth!

Am I really like that stuffy lady?

No one recognizes themselves in books.

Readers will. Believe me, Buloz!

For pity's sake... George!

His leg's better.

- Water him.
- Yes, ma'am.

Boucoiran!

Mama!

The pumpkins are ripe.
Time to make jam.

Let's go to the kitchen garden!

George!

If you don't like his version,
why don't you write your own?

Perhaps I will, one day.

But you won't be the publisher.
Adieu, Buloz.

You can catch the midday coach
at La Chatre.

SEVERAL YEARS EARLlER--JUNE 1832

Mama...

What are you doing down here?

They're all so noisy.
I can't sleep.

Go back to bed.
I'll be up in a minute. Go on.

I'll tell them to be quieter.
Go to sleep now. It's late.

Is it Papa shouting?

- They're talking politics.
- Is he drunk again?

No, you know how he likes his drink.

Come on now. It's been a long day
and you must get to sleep.

No, leave it.

Will we go to Paris one day?

Why?

To get away from his shouting.
You said we'd go.

I don't know.

PARIS, A FEW DAYS LATER...

Come on!

Stay there! Don't move! Hold on tight!
Don't lose the bag.

Solange!

My book!

Maurice!

Mama!

Let go of me!

You have to let me in!

- Sorry, not dressed like that.
- Aurore!

- You have no hat!
- I lost it!

I was told you were here.

Where have you come from?

Chateauroux.
Did you not get my letter?

But I've left my husband.

Can we at least sit down?

Come this way.

- Is she hurt?
- No.

Get her some salts.

I'm not likely to faint now,

but give the children
sugared water.

You risk cholera!
Bring tea!

Don't people know what's happening?

Boulevard St. Martin is a bloodbath.

I live near there!

I must go.
You'll need friends in Paris.

I'm home most afternoons.

I'm Marie Dorval.
I'm an actress.

I'm sorry...
Latouche, editor of Le Figaro.

Baroness Dudevant.
We wrote Rose et Blanche together.

You're Jules Sand?

Yes. Well, it was us.

I couldn't use my married name,
so Sandeau gave me half of his.

Aurore Sand, then...

I want a man's name.
No one listens to women.

Women will.
It's to your advantage.

I'm a writer,
not a woman who writes.

I'd like to call myself George.

George without an "s".

George!

Cigar?

He won't spread his tail.
Turn round.

Show him your feathery rumps.

Put some life into it!

Put some life into it!

The peacock's call
is like a lover's groan!

Well, Musset?
Does my farmyard not inspire you?

Put them in the cage,
then he'll mount them.

You can stop now.

- What's wrong?
- It's not you.

They irritate me.

Let's change prey.

How about an actress?
She's prey for Sappho.

- She is?
- I'll wager 1,000 francs.

You're on.

See that woman over there?
I want you to seduce her.

- That's Marie Dorval.
- So?

I want to see
her hand between your legs.

Go on, I'm watching.
No cheating.

What's the matter?

I'm scared.

Of who?

Musset.

Beware!
He's ruthless and spiteful.

Who with?

Women, of course.

Unlike us, men are fragile lovers.

They pick at old wounds.

Come on, Marie,
you're taking all night.

It's odd how experience hardens men

but makes women softer.

There you are!

I knew it.

Will you accept my dirty money?

Dirty? You don't even know
the meaning of the word.

And now,
to more serious business!

Did you think
I hadn't seen you drawing?

Show me!

No. It's not very good.

Don't toy with desire, Musset.
It's a dangerous game.

Come with me.

You know, drawing the two of you
has managed to get me...

- Care to join us?
- No, thank you, not tonight.

Excuse me, sir.

Musset!

Your father's very ill.
It's cholera.

Don't go in there! Alfred!

Alfred!

No one's here.

Where is he?
I want to see him.

You even missed our father's death.

ONE YEARLATER...

Flat sleeves are the best.

Did Palmyre make this?

- Do you want the waist tighter?
- I'll look like a stovepipe.

I wore trousers too
when I was a camp-follower.

I want to feel at ease,
and in trousers, I'll pass unnoticed.

When I come to see you at the theater,
I won't need an escort.

I'll fetch the jacket.

I can't afford to have
my dresses cleaned every day.

They won't have
any doubts about us now.

I couldn't care less.

You're the best thing
that's happened to me in Paris.

- Solange, what are you doing?
-Just playing.

"In marriage,

"a woman is enslaved.
She has no rights.

"She can't think for herself,

"can't own property

"nor feel erotic pleasure."

Quiet!

"It is easier
to accuse a woman of frigidity

"than to try to give her pleasure.

"Modern man's ideal wife is a whore.

"An honest woman has no choice
but to give in or commit suicide."

It's a scandal!

Marie! You're leaving?

Yes, I need some air.
I told you it was a mistake.

To tell the truth?

Some written words
should never be spoken.

Was it Buloz's idea?

Do you think it was wrong?

She doesn't understand.
No one will.

What counts is that your true friends
admire your courage.

Beuve, Pinson's leaving.
Get his opinion.

Your name will be on everyone's lips.
The book will sell like hotcakes.

You sound like a baker.

Come on!
Romanticism is his stock in trade.

I know.
He once climbed a barricade, but...

- Give me a cigar.
- In public?

What public?
They're all leaving.

- What do I tell Buloz?
- It's fit for the water closet!

He'll send you a set of proofs.

To shine my boots!

Instead of licking other people's.

Musset, I had no idea you were coming.
No one told me.

Beuve, how are you?

Why, it's Marie Dorval.

Alfred, where have you been?

I was gambling.
I need to borrow 200 francs.

- You're joking.
- Not at all.

So, is the reading over?

Capo de Feuillide, critic,
"Revue de Paris".

Your reading will be featured
in my column.

Thank you, sir.

No need to thank me.
I'll drag you through the mud.

You may dress like a man,
but to me you're even less than a woman.

With just enough syntax
to link your vile thoughts.

Fear not. It will sell.

By the pound! Like manure!

I'll see to him.

Drink this. Don't cry.
Not in front of them.

Why should I cry?

I don't know.
Stupidity makes me want to cry.

That wasn't stupidity.
It was hatred.

A critic's hatred. What of it?
Hatred at threepence a line.

You know what?

That idiot has made me
want to read your book.

I've been through this too.

Three years ago,
I had a play staged.

At the Od�on, no less.

I felt like killing
every one of them.

Critics, audience, actors
and me included, as punishment.

What for? For boring them?

I tried to please them.
It's much worse.

- You hate the public?
- Not at all.

I realized then
I wasn't writing for them.

You and I know that the joy of writing
is in the execution.

Something terrible is happening.

I hardly dare tell you.

I want to kiss you here and now.

Don't worry, I won't.

I know it's impossible.

I'm thirsty.

Don't move.

What's this story of a fiasco
with M�rim�e?

What?

Dorval is telling
anyone who'll listen.

- You're joking.
- She's in there.

What are you doing?

You tell everyone my secrets?

I was trying to explain your nature,

that you'd never known pleasure.

Anyway, you have no secrets now.
It's what you wanted.

At least 30 men
are ready to take up the challenge.

But it'll still be a fiasco.

You force yourself.

And you force others.

You impose yourself on them.
It's very unpleasant.

She just left, I think.

Here.

You just missed him.
Another party, another crowd...

- The night is young for him.
- George!

- I've had a row with Marie.
- The critics are at war.

That's it.
The debate is under way.

They're here!

It's like a coffin.

No, it's a bathtub.

- Is it heavy?
- Yes, of course.

Why are they washing you?

For his portrait.

Mr. Delacroix is painting a battle,
with soldiers...

Naked soldiers?

Bath time, Planche.

No, it was a bad idea.

Come on!
Courage, Mr. Planche!

- I'll pay for the water.
- Be brave!

- Hello. What's your name?
- Maurice.

Is your mother in?

Ouch, I'm not a lobster!

Some cold water?
Beuve, please close the door.

You'll be the death of me.

We have a visitor.

- Musset!
- I should have charged an entry fee.

Forgive me...

Don't worry.
It's always open house here.

- You all know Alfred de Musset.
- Of course.

I agreed to undergo this humiliation
if Madame Sand scrubbed my back.

Now I'm getting cold.
Close the door.

I've just finished your book.

I was afraid that I'd dislike it.

You look like Marat.

Musset, would you care
to share my bath?

I chose the wrong day.

Musset in the tub!

Come on.
I'll make room for you.

I'll let him take my turn.
Here, Planche.

Enjoy yourself.

I'll come another day.

Have you seen Bocage's Louis Xl?

I hear the play is dreadful.

I have a box for tonight.

- Are you angry?
- It's not your fault.

It's the actors who ruin plays.

Not actresses?

No, they ruin one's life.

- Who is it?
- Dudevant.

I'll say good night then.

Please come up.
I have something to give you.

- Do you have five minutes?
- Of course.

Drat!

You'll wake Boucoiran.

Is that the dog?

Are you still up?

I was preparing tomorrow's lessons.

What would I do without you?

- Mama!
- Isn't he asleep?

- I'll go.
- No, it's all right.

How was the play?

A dozen butcher's boys dressed as pages
take three acts to kill each other.

Romantic drama is dead.
It reached perfection too soon.

Hugo and Dumas
have spoiled audiences.

That bogus Renaissance!

You've been "spoiled"!

They're this century's
greatest writers.

This century has barely started.

- I must be going...
- No, wait...

That's our only copy.

Maurice wants a glass of water.

He had a nightmare.

Good, it will make a writer of him.

Here... I'd like your opinion.

Not a historic drama, I hope.

Yes, but since you hate the genre,
you'll be merciless.

"A Conspiracy in 1537"
My mouth is watering already.

Good night, then.

Would you like a candle?

No need. I'm like a cat.

I live by night.
I can see in the dark!

- Did you land on your feet?
- Yes, don't worry.

- What's wrong?
- The play!

I read it in one go.

I've just finished. It's amazing!

Lower your voice.

You know what you have here?

- Your Lorenzo is Hamlet!
- Not so loud.

An Italian Hamlet!
But he's still Hamlet.

- What is it?
- Does Boucoiran sleep here?

Yes. Why?

- I've woken you up...
- No, I was working.

- Would you like some coffee?
- Yes, please.

Where did you find this story?

In the Varchi chronicles.
I didn't invent a thing.

In 1537, the tyrant who ruled Florence

was murdered by his cousin,
Lorenzo de Medici.

It's true.

It's a true story.

I like the character,
especially his dark side.

I'd make him die like a dog at the end.
It's what he wants.

- No, he wants freedom.
- Freedom, you say?

People dream of freedom,
but no one really wants it.

Freedom is terrifying.

Oppression is so much more comfortable.

Sit down.

I see I've shocked
your republican conscience.

My republican conscience
has seen worse.

I was a baroness for ten years.

No, you're wrong.

Oppression in marriage
is far from comfortable.

This place is so calm
without your pack of bohemians.

What do we do with Lorenzo?

Kill him?

It's the only possible ending.

So we've got the ending to do.

No, we have to redo the whole play.

"Lorenzaccio enters,
looking melancholy.

"The Duke, in a low tone:

"Look at him,
drained by his orgiastic fever.

"Look, he shames his parents,
his mother weeps."

"Look at that ambling aftermath
of an orgy."

"Look at that...

"ambling...

"aftermath...

"of an orgy."

"He shames his parents,

"his mother weeps and Florence says:

"Here's the wicked Lorenzaccio,

"the spy, the traitor..."

Have you ever betrayed anyone?

Perhaps.

Did you enjoy doing it?

I hope not!

Then your heart's too pure
to understand Lorenzo.

To him, betrayal
is as exciting as love.

His pleasure comes when he sees
his victim realize the truth.

I think you're right.

I can't begin
to understand perversity.

I find it hard to believe it exists.

I learned that
from the first woman I loved.

She seduced me
in order to betray me later.

I know Lorenzo
and every corner of his mind.

I could do everything he does.

You could kill your cousin?

I almost killed my brother

in a hunting accident.

Your hero is just like me.

How did you do that?

I just imagined the worst.

And you turned up.

Mama!
Maurice pushed me in the pond!

You didn't fall.

Liar! I didn't push her!

What are you doing?
Come out.

Don't wake them, they're asleep.
Come along.

What's happened?

They've been working.

Let's surprise them.

How late did they work?

All night.

We'll bake them an apple pie.

Have a safe journey.

Three months isn't long.

I'll think of you every night.
Will you?

Yes, I'll think of you.
Off you go now.

There's a chicken and some bottled pears
in the basket.

Come here, my darling.

Hold me tight.

Give my love to everyone.
Off you go.

Can we go to the zoo again?

Yes, we'll see the monkeys next time.

He's right.
They'll be back soon.

They won't. Their father's sending them
to boarding school.

- They learn more with you.
- I have no choice.

Don't you want to see Rome?

Florence?

Touch the marble, see the palaces?

A moth has a fine life.

-Just a few days spent dancing...
- In flames, you mean!

They're right to burn.

Life is too short to be petty.

No, we mustn't.

I can't love you in that way.

There's a place in my heart,
but for a true comrade.

If you want it, it's yours.

What's the matter?

I've swallowed a moth.

Mother, did you know
Alfred is preparing a masterpiece?

He is?

Hermine, you haven't eaten a thing.

Leave her plate, please.

A new poem?

No, you'll be pleased.
It's a play.

About time, too.

I knew you wouldn't dwell on a failure.
This one will be a success.

Yes, because I've rid myself
of what makes a play fail:

the audience and the actors.

It's only to be read,
never performed.

I'm calling it "armchair theater."

A play without performances?

What's the subject?

It's about a conspiracy in Florence,
under the Medicis.

By the way, I must tell you
about a journey I plan to make.

I need to touch the marble,

see the palaces.

I'm going to Italy.

Do you plan to go alone?

Nothing has been decided yet.

Until Madame Sand decides.

- Where are you going?
- I'm leaving this house!

Sit down, please!

Hermine, leave us.

Shouldn't I have mentioned it?

- Is it a secret?
- You want to discuss family secrets?

We're talking about today.

You won't waste your life on an
older woman with a husband somewhere!

He has given her back her freedom!

That's what they all say!

I will not let you go.
I forbid it.

Not with that woman!

You'll thank us one day.

You're out of your mind!

- I beg of you, Alfred!
- Out of my way!

Don't go. I fear for you.

You fear for yourself.

Alfred's leaving!

You don't understand.
I'm in love.

You may respect her,
but you're incapable of love.

And you destroy those who love you.

What's happened?

Can you put me up?

Come in.

Have you lost your key?

In a manner of speaking.

You can have the sofa.

Any earlier
and I'd have had time to cancel.

I'm off to the Girardins'.
Do you want to come?

No, thank you.
I've had enough theater for one day.

- There are sheets in the cupboard.
- Perfect.

It's too dull, isn't it?

- The color, maybe?
- The fabric, perhaps.

It's taffeta.

Or the shawl....

No, it's the dress.

Is this the latest Byron translation?

Buloz sent it over this afternoon.
Take it if you like.

Have you told your mother
about our travel plans?

We've fallen out.

It's not good
to fall out with one's mother.

That's exactly what she said.

Ah, no comparison!
Let me.

- What's that?
- Fragonard's "Girl with a Ribbon."

The first woman
to share my room.

She must know a thing or two.

There.

Could you do me up?

Are you sure you won't come?

I hate to abandon you.

Don't worry.
Your perfume will keep me company.

It lingers in rooms after you've gone.
What is it, patchouli?

You're armed?

Paris is a dangerous city.

I wouldn't like to meet you
in the woods.

Then again...

Go, before it's too late.

Your carriage is here.

Pay it off and send it away!

Wait.

You imitate passion
but you feel nothing.

I know men aren't meant
to say such things.

But to the author of"L�lia"...

Savor this moment with me...

Every day, I think of your body...
all its movements...

In every shade of light,
I imagine its shadows...

its hidden secrets.

What skill!
Were you raised in a circus?

Absolutely! I was doing
the "dive of death" at five.

Those words I swore not to say...

Should I utter them,
don't believe me.

Come here.

I hate heights.

- Shall we jump?
- I dare you.

We'll never live
another moment like this.

Are you ready?

Shall we do it?

See the way I am?

I want to give you so much

and the best I can offer
is to die with me.

Escape while you still
have the chance.

It's too late.

Baroness Dudevant
for Madame de Musset.

Please wait.

I'm against this journey.

That must be why you're here.

It's not a whim.
He is deeply inspired by Italy.

My son keeps me informed
of his work.

But why not wait until spring?

His mind is set on the new year.

Bring him back to me.
That's all I ask.

Don't worry, Madame.

I love him... I love him like...

Like a mother?

Wait.

2,000 francs for his journey.

I'd rather give it to you.

Don't thank me.

Are you taking your whole library?

Keep the key. You might want
to come back someday.

You'd think I was headed
for the New World!

I'm staying here.

I'll be right here when you return,

a bit more covered with more dust
perhaps, like an old kitchen pot...

Come now.
Take care of yourself.

Your beard scratches!

Forgive me for staying behind.
It would feel like a funeral procession.

What do you mean?

Or a wedding procession,
if you prefer.

Sadder still.

Like a fish marrying a rabbit.

- I suppose I'm the fish!
- What's all this racket?

I almost forgot.

Father would have
wanted you to have it.

Thank you, Paul.

Wonderful!

I'm glad you came, Paul.

So you're really going to go?

A thousand francs says you'll return
with a different woman.

- Very thoughtful, Tattet.
- Wasn't Delacroix going to come?

Forgive me.

- I'll write.
- Be careful.

Off to a good start!

Friends, I will not write.

Charming. Thanks, Musset.
That way we won't have to reply.

So is it Florence or Venice?

We'll draw lots on the way.

- You're in love.
- Aren't you?

What is it?

I don't want to be eaten by bedbugs.

They should be so lucky.

I'm not well.
I have a fever.

I'm in pain.

Do you regret this journey?

I've never been so happy.

Where are you going?

I'm not sleepy.
I'm going up on deck.

Where were you?

Mind my papers!

You're quiet. Don't you like Italy?

I didn't expect to spend
my nights alone...

while you're out on the town
with a coachman.

The Venice coach is leaving.
All aboard, please.

What do you two
find to talk about?

He's a local.
He showed me round.

What do you expect me to do?
Watch you write?

If you want me to stay in,
make me.

It's not in my nature.

It's beneath your pride.

What you retain by force, you kill.

Haven't you noticed?

What? Is he still drunk?

No, we're alone.

Alone at last!

I can't go on.

- I'm letting go.
- Me, too...

Good day.
You're entering Venice,

Austrian territory.
May I see your passports?

This is Venice? We're in Venice?

His pockets!

Got it!

Get the key.

It's a great honor for us,
Madame Sand,

to have you here at our hotel
for the New Year.

My God, I'm so impressed.
All Venice is eager to meet you.

I'm not very well. Could you send up
some hot water and quinine?

Do you require a doctor?

If you can find one.

Let me take care of it.

Send for Dr. Pagello.

I must go and lie down.

Will you send up the bags
and pay the porters?

I can't, I...

What's wrong?

- I've been robbed.
- What?

I've just been attacked.

Close that window, I beg of you.

Why are you in a bad mood?

Another attack of the spleen?

Yes, so I'll take my "spleen"
into the city.

Of course. Enjoy yourself.

- At least you do that well.
- I could have been killed just now!

May I?

Where will you go?

The nearest casino.

I thought you had no money.

I'll wager my inheritance.

Excuse me.

I'm Dr. Pagello.

Thank you for coming so quickly.

You're running a fever.

I may have dysentery too.

Is it serious, Doctor?
Should I stay?

Don't worry.
Leave her with me.

I'm not a very good nurse.

I think I'll take another room.

Don't unpack my bags, please.

Come in.

- How's my patient today?
- I think you've cured me.

I feel much better.

Good.
I feared it might be typhus.

Really?

Good.

They've featured you in the gazette.

I didn't know you were so famous.

- Neither did I.
- George.

Excuse me.

What a miraculous recovery!
Congratulations, Doctor.

How are you today?

"Andante ma non troppo."

What have you done to yourself?

- What?
- Look.

- Let me clean it up.
- No, leave it.

I want a reminder
of last night's sins.

What's the news?
Is something happening at last?

Our arrival is announced
in the gazette.

Our arrival?

It's mostly about you.

Allow me.

Can one find opium here?

Of course.

- For insomnia?
- No.

For boredom.

It's the only thing
one can't drown here.

You don't like my city?

It disappoints me.

I wanted Casanova's Venice,
Guardi's Venice...

Not some petty Austrian garrison town.

You promised
we'd see no Austrians here.

Well done!

What's going on?

I don't know.

This is ours.
We don't have anywhere...

Just a minute.

Friends, we need your help.

We're selling everything,
even the furniture.

They're being deported
and are selling everything.

- And the others are just as poor.
- Why are they selling it here?

Jews are forbidden to do business
outside the ghetto.

We need money...

- No, you mustn't.
- I insist.

Thank you!

- You said you had nothing left.
- I won it all back at the casino.

See you tomorrow.
Eight o'clock at the Florian.

I must ask your forgiveness.

I've been odious
these last few days.

I was angered by your illness.
I almost felt you did it on purpose.

Never leave me.

My papers!

Fancy writing in bed!
Do I sleep on your desk?

You sleep where you like...

but you don't write anywhere.

Will "Lorenzaccio" ever be finished?

You might say why finish a play
that won't be performed?

Why perform a play
that will be a flop?

You don't deserve your talent.

There he is.

Oh, no, he's brought his friends.

Shall we go back to the hotel?

We can't do that.

We'll stay five minutes,
then I'll say I'm tired.

What's wrong?

- We're not married.
- Give me your arm.

If it's an arm you need, you should have
stayed with your husband.

Did you find any opium?

Sorry, I forgot.

Please...

He's leaving?

He's leaving.

- Fourteen.
- Your cloak?

George...

meet Romeo.

He'll keep you company
when I'm not with you.

Whenever he sings,
you'll know you're in my thoughts.

Then he won't sing often.

It's the quality of the song
that counts.

Get dressed.
A gondola's waiting.

I have work to do.

I promised Buloz 150 pages
by the end of the month.

He won't pay until he gets them.

Doesn't he realize
inspiration needs feeding?

Touch the marble, see the palaces...
That's what we came for.

Is that why you spend
your nights in brothels?

You've come a long way
for so little change.

Maybe I'm a poor judge.

Venetian whores must be
more picturesque than Parisian ones.

Can't you see
I need to live badly to write well?

I'm sure you do.

So?

For someone who defends women,
I find you very scornful.

Is this some game?

If I have to compete,
at least give me a fair chance.

Draw me like them.

How much would you pay me?
Thirty ducats?

I think he's dumb.

As much as 40?

Twenty.

Charming.

If you want to play,
play by the rules.

It's not just bestiality.
There's avarice too.

Men enjoy lowering the price.

How do you want me
for that price?

Tender? Docile?

Passionate?

- Brutal?
- Stop this stupid game!

Don't try to imitate them.

For them, it comes naturally.

They have the grace of animals.

Ah! You're no longer with me.

You're right.

Once you've loved someone
body and soul, you can't turn back.

You taught me how to love that way.

So if you can't give me that,
I want nothing.

We'll have tried everything.

We've exhausted each other.

Love shouldn't demand such effort.

Forgive me...

I don't think I love you anymore.

Monsieur de Musset,
I have your opium.

Not too much at once.

Take a coat.
It's going to rain.

Is anyone there?

Show yourself!

We found him in a canal.

Send for a stretcher.
I'm taking him away.

A stretcher?

Send word to Dr. Pagello.

Dr. Pagello, yes...

Madame Sand...

- I fell asleep.
- No, rest now.

Nothing more can be done.

It's my fault.
I gave him the opium.

Calm down...

What are you doing?

Give me that.

I can't do anything.

But he can fight it.

Get some rest now, please.

I'll stay with him.

Please.

"My dear Buloz,

Alfred is critically ill.

He has a brain fever

and his doctor is at a loss.

I fear for his life.

Ifhe dies,
I don't care what happens to me.

Ifhe recovers, I don't know
how we'll pay the doctor.

I can't send you anything for now.
I'm unable to write.

He is delirious,
and I can't leave his side.

Farewell, my friend. "

Don't drink my blood, Mother.

It's poisoned.

You must get better, Alfred.
Do you hear me?

Why are you burying me?

I'm alive.

You've put me in a coffin,
but I'm alive.

Alive!

Urine!

It's urine! He's going to live!

A few days ago,
I'd have given my life to save him.

Now I wish his illness
would never end.

I'm going mad.

In that case, I'm mad as well.

I won't be able
to look at him again.

We've saved him,
and that's what counts.

You and I have saved his life.

Leave me, you murderers!
You want to kill me!

- Take your medicine.
- You want to kill me!

The doctor's here to look after you.

No, he's not here to look after me!

He wants to bleed me!

He wants to bleed me like a pig!

That's it, isn't it?
Leave me alone!

Give me some air!

I want air!

Let go of me!

Don't open the window!

Let go of me!

Don't move!

Get down from there.

I want a doctor who speaks French!
A real doctor!

I am a doctor,
and I speak French.

No, you...

You're a conspiratore!

Not a dottore, a conspiratore.

Right, George?
A conspiracy in 1834!

That's it, isn't it?
Murderers!

He's mad!

I'm alive!

Take the key.

I'll kill you both.

Open this door! George!
Open it or I'll break it down!

What's going on?

Everything's fine.

I'll give him a sedative.

He'll soon calm down.

I need to talk to you.

I'll kill you all!

Dr. Pagello says Mr. de Musset
is on the road to recovery.

It's been more than two weeks
since you told us you were leaving.

We can't travel now.
Surely you can see that.

You haven't paid
your bill for ten days.

Is that the director
of the asylum?

Excuse me, I must go.
Excuse me.

It's the director of the asylum!
He's come to get me.

The French...

He's mad.

No, he's raving, but he's not mad.

Drink this.

What would I have done without you?

George, open this door!

Open it or I'll break it down!

What will become of us?

When I get out of here, I will kill

every one of your old lovers
and all the new ones.

Don't go to him.

You don't know
who this doctor is.

He's the devil!
The devil incarnate!

- What is this?
- Dirty devil!

"Dear Pietro,

When you receive this letter,
I shall be far away.

Perhaps you will never receive it.

Alfred is fully recovered,
so we're returning home.

My life is bound to his
as long as he needs me.

I'll never forget you.
I love you.

Farewell. Pity us. "

Just a second. Doctor!

Madame Sand has said she is leaving,
but I have a problem.

It's about her bill...

What are those for?

My resurrection.

Here.

You went out?
You're sure you're not too weak?

I'm in the pink.

Were you writing? A new novel?

No, still the same one.

Am I interrupting you?

No, I'd just started.

Of course... Buloz!

Give us each day our daily chapter.

I haven't written a line
in two weeks.

That's not like you.

I've been looking after you
day and night.

We have no money left.

You should have left me with the nuns.
I wouldn't have bothered you then.

I wasn't the only one
you looked after night and day.

Or so I believe.

What if we were to talk frankly?

About what?
I have work to do.

You're right.

I must start writing again, too.

What did you want to say?

During my fever,
I thought I saw certain things

between the doctor and you.

- Was I mistaken?
- Yes, you were.

Swear to me.

I swear.

Let go.

Let go of me.

Look.

Look.

Look at the face of a liar.

Look!

Eat it.

Go on, eat it.

Eat your words!

You never loved me!

Never...

Liar!

Liar!

You never loved me!

Oh, my God! Help!

Help!

Come on.

Never leave me alone with him again.

- You have nothing to fear now.
- Don't leave me.

We'll have him locked away.

Don't send me to a madhouse.
I'll go back to Paris.

I'll get help there.

I'll go back. Please...

Don't send me to the madhouse.
I'll get better.

Go and say good-bye to her.

It's a long journey.
Are you well enough?

If I end up in an asylum,
I'd prefer it to be in France, and soon.

You're not mad.

In Paris, you'll recover and forget.

I don't want to forget.

I don't want to recover from you.

The coach won't wait!

What did he say?

You didn't understand.

Deep down, you're lucky.

You'll have no regrets.

I've left you nothing
but bad memories.

I have no bad memories.
I never will.

I only remember the good things.
You know me.

Will you write?

No, you're right...
Don't.

Farewell, George.

Farewell.

Take care of her.

Write to me soon!

Write to me!

Go!

"George, in four days,
we'll be 300 leagues apart.

Why not be frank?

That far away,
there are no more fits or violence.

If our last kiss
was the last in my life,

I want you to know that as I left,

I realized how much
I deserved to lose you.

You told me to leave and I left.
You told me to live and I'm alive.

But I am lost.

I no longer know if I'm walking,
breathing or speaking.

But that's fine
if I know you are happy.

I have been such a poor lover. "

"I am in Geneva.

I wanted to be sure of myself
before I wrote.

My love is still as strong.

But I am serene.

By taking you,
Pagello took everything I had.

Yet I love him
for bringing me back to life.

Is it not absurd
to love one's rival?

Write to me. "

"It has rained for a week
and the squares are flooded.

I live almost alone.
Pagello is busy with his patients.

I shut my bedroom door
and wrap myself in pipe smoke.

Sometimes, I burst out laughing
at the foolish things we did,

but then it makes me cry.

Now I know we'll be
in love for life.

But without passion or despair. "

"I've been in Paris since April 12.

Two weeks before I got here,
everyone knew we'd parted.

Planche and Sandeau have been dragging
my name through the mud.

I want to write our story.

I think it could save me.

When we met, I couldn't speak.

Now that I can,
there's no one to listen,

and I haven't said anything yet.

Your letters hurt, but I prefer the pain
to the good others bring. "

"I've started a new novel.
It's not a story about any of us.

I can't write about myself
in my current state of mind.

But for your book,
do as you like.

I offer myself to you blindly.

I'm sending you an article
for the "Revue",

hoping you'll approve.

I wanted to write
about our friendship,

and silence those who say
you ruined and abandoned me. "

"I received your article.
It is true: You still love me.

I believe it. I can feel it.

It's true then. Friendship can live on
when love is gone.

Tell Pagello
that he's silly not to write to me. "

"Boucoiran hasn't written for months.

Please go see my son
and tell me how he is. "

"Maurice is well.
We're going out on Sunday.

I went to your apartment.

I found the cigarettes
you made before we left.

They were in the saucer.

I smoked them
with an odd blend of sorrow andjoy.

I only ask one thing of you:

to see you just for one hour
someday.

We won't talk about the past,
the present or the future.

Please don't use Pagello as an excuse
to turn down this last request.

Let him suffer for once, like I have. "

Look, it's dead.

I must return to Paris.
My son needs me.

I'll go with you.

Alfred...

Yes, Alfred.

She's back and she's brought
the Italian with her.

For God's sake, find another woman!

I ought to blow my brains out.

Hurry up and do it then.

I'd prefer a dead man
to someone sick of life.

Ah! How divine...

Good day, Madame Sand.

Let me guess:
It's your new novel.

No, a souvenir from Italy for you.

A peace offering?
You said you'd be gone three months.

Gautier isn't there.
What should we do?

Go see Dumas or the others,
but find the copy!

- The latest issue?
- Yes.

I need 20 more pages
before the presses roll tonight.

Would the account
of our trip to Venice do it?

By tonight?

It's already written.
Is 600 francs all right?

- I have no choice.
- Nor do I.

I've acquired the bad habit
of paying everyone else's bills.

Did you miss me?

Yes, and I wasn't the only one.

The social set got its revenge by
spreading outrageous rumors about you.

Like what?

That you entered a convent
or ran off to Constantinople with a Turk.

I should have.

An Estruscan vase.

A conversation piece
for your parties.

Quite risqu�, your Etruscans...

Who's the Italian?

- He saved my life.
- I thought it was Alfred's he saved.

Oh, well,
if you've found happiness...

Let's just say I've found peace.

Have you seen him?

How is he?

In a very bad state.

He asked me to arrange

a "chance encounter."

You'll have your 20 pages tonight.

I'll drop them by
on my way out of town.

You're leaving us again?

I'm off to Nohant.
I haven't seen my children in months.

What are you doing here?

Did you get my last letter?

Why didn't you reply?

You can't do this.
You can't.

You can't kill love before it's over.
It will seek revenge.

Dare to tell me you don't love me.

Dare to tell me you weren't happy.

Let go of me.

Is that you?

It looks good there, no?

Tell me it's not over.

George! I've changed!

I'm not jealous anymore.

I'll open the door.

I'm not violent anymore.

I am nothing.

Without you, I'm nothing.

Open the door!

George!

- Wait, Mother.
- What's wrong?

Please... I'm scared.

What of, for God's sake?

I dance so badly...

Typical of you
to put the cart before the horse!

Someone has to ask you first.

Isn't that poor Edm�e?

Isn't she in mourning?

She has a daughter to marry.

What are her chances?

A father carried off by cholera:
no health.

Two brothers in literature:
no morals.

As for the rest,

no conversation,
no appetite and no dowry.

Why is she here then?
She may as well plow the sea!

My dear Edm�e,
so lovely to see you again!

The feeling's mutual,
my dear Caroline.

You know my son Paul.
And this is Hermine.

My, hasn't she grown!
You know my friend Hortense.

Alfred couldn't come.

What do you mean? He's here!

Fancy that! Your brother's here!

I'm sorry.
I dropped my fan.

It's my fault. Forgive me.

No, don't bother.

Please don't bother.

Do they soothe your throat?

No, they soothe my life.

Would you like one?
They're opium cachous.

- Thank you.
- My pleasure.

You dance the waltz here?

Everyone does. It's all the rage.

Hermine, if someone should ask you,
I'd rather you...

May I have the pleasure
of the next dance?

Look at them!
They have no sense of balance.

They're falling all over the place!

Silly girls!

- Why did you drag me here?
- For your entertainment.

With my family here? Brilliant.

Enjoy the party.
Look at what's on display.

They're young and rich.
Some are even pretty.

Alfred!

Alfred de Musset... Aim�e d'Alton.

- Delighted.
- We just met.

Mr. de Musset gave me
an opium cachou.

Now, you promised me this waltz.

- Did I really?
- Yes.

Perhaps Alfred can replace me.

I'd be delighted.

Come on, then.

Come quickly!

He's fallen down!

Mademoiselle d'Alton...

will you marry me?

We've raised 1,000 francs.
The veterans will be happy.

In praising you,
Alfred omitted the essential.

He wanted to surprise me.

She's delightful. I'm subjugated!
Aren't you jealous?

You stand no chance.
Aim�e is faithfulness in person.

The dream after the nightmare.

That woman will suffer
for the harm she did.

She already has been.

How's that?

- Didn't I tell you?
- It's starting.

That Italian doctor...

He was selling fake Etruscan antiques
to pay for his stay in France.

People go to prison for less.

She sent him home.
Scared of scandal, no doubt.

Look, doughnuts...
Would you like some?

I'll be right back.

He's mad.
Look at the way he's dressed.

It looks like a skirt.

He's such a child!

You'll need a lot of patience.

You and I will protect him
from his demons.

I have 25,000 pounds in income.

I'll use it to further his career.

I'll start a salon.

In ten years, he'll be
a member of the Acad�mie.

Julie, have the bailiffs been?

Madame, it's worse than that.

I couldn't stop them.

They've gone mad!

Isn't this better?

Look how beautiful it is!

No more of that Turkish bazaar.

It was like living
in a painting by Delacroix.

One curtain to go, children.

Not the curtains!

Come on, get up.

Look at the state you're in.
Go and wash.

You too, Maurice.
You should know better.

It wasn't my idea.

Off you go.
Wash their faces,Julie.

Are you angry with me?

It was Alfred's idea.

Don't be such a telltale.
Go and wash your hands now.

Can I at least keep the carpet?

What's this?

It's coral.

Who gave it to you?

There's a trunk here.

I've had my things brought over.
Do you mind?

"April 24, 1819.

I feel a love for God within me.

A vast and limitless
path opens before me.

I long to follow it."

How old were you?

Fifteen.
I wanted to be a nun.

One writes like that at 15.

"I want to love,
but without suffering.

I want to love eternally
and speak oaths never to be broken."

See how we change?

You wrote me
the exact opposite from Venice.

Listen to this.

"One day you'll look back,
and like me you'll say,

"l have often suffered...

and sometimes been deceived...

but I have loved.

It is I who have lived, not some
unreal being born of my pride and ennui."

That's beautiful. What is it?

A Schubert transcription
Liszt gave me.

When did you see Liszt?

Actually, no, I didn't see him.
I wrote it.

What are you talking about?

I wrote that piece.

I didn't want to look
like I was showing off.

So you just lied to me, then.

I was just being modest.

You're not modest.

If you'll lie for no reason...

how can I believe you
when you say you love me?

It's got nothing to do with that!

So did you see him or not?

- Who?
- Liszt!

Franz, Ferencz, Fran�ois,
whatever you call him!

No, I didn't,
and what would it matter anyway?

If you can't see that that's irrelevant,
I don't know what to tell you.

The truth!

The truth?

The truth is I love you,
but it's madness.

I love you, and it's killing me!

Will your suspicions and jealousy
and accusations never end?

Yes, the moment you tell me
if you two were lovers while I was sick.

You have no right to ask that.

You left me when we got
to Venice, remember?

You said traveling with a sick woman
was the worst thing a man could endure.

We parted the first day.
What do you want now?

The date of our first kiss?

That period of my life
is no concern of yours!

So you don't love me.

Lovers can tell each other everything.

I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

Use that line
for one of your characters.

No, I have something better.

"All men are untruthful...

inconstant...

false, chatterers, hypocritical...

proud, cowardly...

contemptible and sensual.

All women are perfidious...

cunning, vain, inquisitive and depraved.

The world is a bottomless sewer...

where misshapen creatures
crawl and writhe in mountains of mire.

There is, though, in this world
one thing holy and sublime:

the union of two of these beings,
imperfect and frightful as they are."

Where have you been?

The circus.

We saw a battle.

And elephants.
Can I have a baby one?

Two...
We'll put them in your room.

Have you been crying?

I just finished reading
Alfred's new play.

I thought it was a comedy.

It's a sad comedy, Maurice, like life.

"Unreasonable Love."

Now it's "Don't Play With Love."

Come along.
It's dinner time.

Go on, Maurice.

It's your best play yet.

It will still be staged in 100 years.
Sorry, read in 100 years.

You used my farewell letter
to Pagello.

You might have said farewell,
but you didn't leave him.

My God, we're going to be late.
Julie!

Come as you are.

What if we stayed in?

Dinner now and then to bed.

I've made blancmange.

You're wearing that?

Yes. Don't you like it?

You look like an undertaker's horse.

What shall I wear then?

The Spanish comb.

Again!
Why do you like it so much?

I like the look it gives you,
like a femme fatale.

Do we really have to go?

Yes, I want to go out.
I want to see people.

But most of all,
you want people to see us.

Yes.

They say he's a priest.

I didn't know
they had to learn the piano.

Your brother
is picking up your cast-offs.

It's only fair.
I used to wear his old clothes.

I've just had a brilliant idea.

Your portrait by Delacroix
for the review.

That will cause a stir.

You want to end up as wrapping
for fried potatoes?

I'll get us a drink.

I'll talk him into it.

Your rekindled passion
annoys everybody.

They'll get used to it.

I thought you'd sworn
to sever all connections.

We couldn't help it.
Surgery isn't always successful.

To surgery's failures then.

And to my lost wager that he'd return
with another woman, not the contrary.

I'd like to listen to the music.

You haven't sent me much
since your return.

I was waiting
for your account of Venice.

It's time
you got back to work, Alfred.

Planche, you're bitter.

No, you just don't know her.

- Go home.
- I haven't had a drop.

She's just very... organized.

The Italian was next door.
After checking one man's temperature,

she went to warm the other up.

Be quiet!
You're drunk!

It was the Italian
who bragged about it.

She can satisfy
more than one man at a time.

Just ignore him.

She's depraved.

No,just a little agile.

One from in front
and the other...

- from behind.
- Ignore him.

He's right, Alfred.

Musset!

I don't know this new dance.

But I'm not sure
I want to dance with you.

Get up, you fool.

You must be joking.
No one strikes a man who's down.

So I'm staying down here.
I'm a coward, you know.

Malicious, yes...
but still a coward.

I'll kill you, Planche.

By the book.
Our witnesses will arrange it.

Who says I won't kill you?

Apologize... He'll accept.

Never.
I'm not that big a coward.

- See what drink does to you?
- I'm sober.

You're in a fine state.

Planche, this is madness.

- I'm sober.
- You're dead drunk!

Let me talk to him.
This is absurd.

What's going on?

Try to reason with him.
I can't.

I forbid you to fight for my honor.
It implies you own me, and you don't.

I settle my own accounts.

I'm just ridding the world of an idiot.

- By killing him?
- Why not?

Will you miss him?

Stop it.

You're right.
Killing off all your former lovers

- would require an army.
- Here we go again.

Yes, here we go again.

The handsome doctor
and his miracle cures.

He may be gone but, miraculously,
he's still with us.

Here!
It was him who gave you

this taste for pleasure!
There!

His parting gift?

You've been odious before.
Now you're vulgar.

You're the vulgar one,
like your novels.

Find someone else for this game.

This is where I stop.

Careful! That's too much glue.

Careful! That's too much glue.

Leave me alone.
I'm working.

Mother, pass me the fern.

Look out!
Quick! Close the window!

Madame, Mr. de Musset...

Paul...

Am I disturbing you?
It's early.

No, no, not at all.

My brother asked me
to return this to you.

He has taken our advice
and shut himself away to write.

Would you kindly return his things?

Not forgetting...

the small Fragonard
I believe he left with you.

Mother's very fond of it.

Please, take it with you now.

Don't make things any harder.
It won't help anyone.

Madame Sand to see Mr. de Musset.

He's not here, Madame.

I assure you.

He's expecting me.

Don't insist, Madame.

Alfred.

Why won't you answer my letters?

I have things to say to you.
Open the door.

At the risk oflosing you forever,

I'll tell you now
the truth you ask of me.

Yes, I lied to you in Venice.

I would have told you
had you been able to listen,

but you were sick and delirious
and could not have withstood it.

Yes, I betrayed you, my love,
and I lied to you,

and I should have died
that very day.

Look.

Literature will never
produce anything better.

All of Lamartine is there.

But after a while
it grows tiring...

Did you see her again?

Does she know you're here?

You can't remain angry forever.
Paris is too small.

You'll either forgive her
or forget her.

- People forget quickly.
- You don't understand!

It's over!

It's over.

This book is my farewell.

You'll take it to her for me
when it's finished.

I'll never see her again.

- It won't be easy on your friends.
- I have no friends.

Tattet's the only one
who ever told me the truth.

Will we walk much further?
My feet are soaked.

Shall I tell you the simple truth?

All this greenery doesn't inspire you.
It bores you.

Stop playing the hermit
and come back to Paris.

Once I stop loving him,
I'll recover my pride.

Ask him to see me one last time.

One last time...

Can you give him this letter
in person?

Shall we begin?

How do you manage, Lacroix,
when you suffer?

I give in to it.

When it's run its course,
it lets me go.

Put this on.

Suffering is like time itself.

It has to be tamed.

It leaves scars.

But scars are beautiful.

They tell a story.

I'm ready.

- Yes?
- It's Beuve.

I'm sorry, but I'm busy.

You've come for news?

She wants to know how I am?

Well, tell her...

Tell her that I'm well.

That I'm managing
to survive without her.

That's a good thing.

Your happiness
would never have lasted.

You're not the same species of animal.

Is the book going well?

I've almost finished.

Why do we write
about people we've loved?

To immortalize them?
Or to kill them off in our hearts?

A critic like you
should consider that question.

I think you've just answered it.

She insisted on coming with me.

I suppose you have no wish
to say good-bye.

It's wiser...

I'll be right back.

He's gone to see her!

Calm down.
They're saying good-bye.

They'll mention the letters!

What letters?

Those she writes every day.
We intercept them.

Are you that afraid of her?

Don't worry.
They won't mention them.

How can you tell?

I trust in their pride.
They're beyond that now.

You have nothing more to fear.

See, he's just saying good-bye
to a woman in a carriage.

The real George, for Alfred,
is on these pages.

Name me one writer
who doesn't prefer fiction to reality.

You've changed.

You've cut your hair...
like Mademoiselle de la Mole.

Don't look at me.

I'm not a pretty sight.

I'm going back to Nohant.

I wanted to see you again
before I left.

Get in. You're soaked.

What are you looking at?

You want to see
if the flame is still burning?

You know it is.
It will until I die.

That's the worst part.

That's how love avenges itself.

Adieu, George.

Drive!

Stand back.
You're scaring them.

Why are they attacking me?

They know you're a stranger.

You smell of the city.

I'd like to see you
after a ten-hour journey!

You see? I warned you.

Let me see.

Here.

There.

- I'm so glad to see you again.
- It's been a long time.

Don't you country people embrace?

My, you're looking prosperous.

You've eaten up
all your competitors.

I'll put some arnica on that.

Did you get them?

I have them here.

He said you can keep them,
but he wants his back.

It's only fair.

Now perhaps you can tell me
why you wanted them.

I'm writing my version of our story
for you to publish.

I've waited so long for this.

My writing slanted
in those days.

Is he still as handsome?

He's not at all well.

He tried to find inspiration
in absinthe.

It's his heart.

What heart?

You're hard on him.

Some are missing.

The last ones.

Did he keep them?

Why would he do that?

I had a hard time convincing Paul.

It wasn't easy...

with those two women.
The sister-in-law is so jealous.

Is Paul married?

To Aim�e d'Alton.
Didn't you know?

What's going on?

Hermine!

- What's going on?
- An accident.

I'll walk the rest of the way.

I'll be there in five minutes.

- Are you sure?
- I'd rather face them alone.

Don't be too hard on him, for once.

Mr. de Musset. I'm expected.

Madame, it's impossible.

Not this time.

You don't understand.

I was there at his birth, Madame.

He was destined
for a brilliant future.

We forgave him everything
in the name of his genius.

Then he met you

and his inspiration dried up.

And earlier today,

he died.

Your betrayal destroyed him.

Here.
These are what you've come for.

He never read them?

He never received them.

"I want you to read this one day
and know how much I loved you.

Oh, my tears, sign this page

so that his may find your traces
near his name one day.

There, that's the last one.

And now it's my turn
to write the truth about us...

And you'll have no say in it. "

No need to feel embarrassed, Madame.

It would be a sad thing
if one couldn't talk to the dead here.

He never received them.

Look at this tree, dry as a bone.

Fancy planting a willow here.

It's sandy, and there's no water.

If he had received them,
would that have changed things?

Yes.

No.

I don't know.

I don't know.

Love does exist.
It's not an illusion.

I'm sure of that now.

One merely has to recognize it

and be humble before it.

We didn't understand it.
We parted in the arrogance of youth.

We didn't know then
what we learnt with time:

We only love once
with all our soul.

Today, I know it.
It was him.

He was that one time.