Original subtitles

I was still in Paris, working for the Ministry of Justice.

I was bored.

Bouvier was just about to begin his blood-soaked career.

In 1893, I still had five years to go before meeting him.

Lourdes, May 28, 1893.

Louise, dearest Louise,

I too wished to visit our Holy Mother here,

this balm for our bodies and for our souls.

So I came here, not by train,

wallet empty.

I offered up many prayers for myself, my parents and my friends.

The high mountains around Lourdes were covered with snow.

Atop one of the highest, I wrote in the snow,

"Hail Mary, Mother of God,

"watch over Louise as you watch over me and return her to me as pure as this snow."

Louise, I should tell you, I am no longer a soldier.

They said I had worked too hard to pass my exams, that I needed rest.

But I know the fatigue came from not having seen you for so long.

THE JUDGE AND THE ASSASSIN

- You should not have come, Mr Bouvier. - It's been such a long time.

But you know it's pointless.

READ THE CROSS AS ANTI-JEW AS ONE CAN BE

I thought you'd left.

- Would that have pleased you? - Yes, I don't like hurting you.

You could never hurt me. I love you too much for that.

Here. Look. This is for you.

A gold watch! I sold my pasture for 150 francs.

You shouldn't have, Mr Bouvier. Why would you give me such a fine gift?

- To make you happy. - You know I don't want to marry you.

Why not?

- Why not? - Not here! Everyone's watching!

- Where then? - Nowhere!

- You brute! - I don't like dogs!

- What did they ever do to you? - I was bitten!

And in these godless schools, these Masonic schools,

what books do they give as prizes?

An edifying selection indeed.

The songs of Jean-Baptiste Clément,

The Insurrectionist by Valles, Zola's novels,

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo!

Is this the kind of literature with which we should be educating our children?

I say no!

School without God is school against God!

It leaves the door wide open to scandals.

The increase in crime among young people who attend these schools is the proof.

My brothers, we must fight, and fight we will!

- The men are after. - I want Jesus now.

We are now united. We shared Communion.

Are you happy, Louise?

Answer me.

Answer me, for Christ's sake!

She won't be coming now.

But all maids have Sunday off.

You have to make your daughter marry me.

After all, I have an education, I was a sergeant.

I don't understand why you don't like me.

Mr Bouvier, I understand where you are coming from.

It's her.

- You'd be better off forgetting about her. - Give me some more coffee.

It's good. My sister made it this morning.

What do I care that she makes good coffee?

Are you hungry? How about a nice, hot muffin?

If she won't marry me, I want my letters and photo back,

and the 15 francs I sent her for her to get her picture taken.

- Where does she keep her letters? - Not here.

They must be where she works. That slave driver!

I don't know about that.

- How old is Francine? - Sixteen.

You've made me miss my train. The next one is tomorrow morning.

Can I sleep here?

That's not convenient. Can't you go to a hotel?

I could, but I don't want to be alone tonight.

There's always the stable.

It's the least you can do.

Mrs Lesueur. Can you hear me, Mrs Lesueur?

- What now? Aren't you comfortable? - Oh, yes. It's as if I had a family.

We're all men in the barracks. I would like a woman.

Whores don't interest me.

I want a decent girl. I want Louise.

Let us sleep. We work tomorrow.

I know I'm ridiculous, that I'm sad-looking and impulsive,

but that's only because I was with the Marist friars too long.

I'm through with them now. I spit on them!

You could give me Louise's sister instead. What do you care?

Leave us alone. Don't say such things.

Francine is pretty, too. Give her to me.

She'll be happy.

I don't want to be alone.

I don't want to be alone.

Here. Your letters and your photo.

I'll get you your 15 francs at the end of the month.

These are good letters.

Writing like this is rare.

You're not likely to see it again.

I know.

Miss Lesueur is unworthy of Joseph Bouvier's letters.

So, you're sure.

You don't want to marry me.

No.

Louise! There's no time like the present.

In Heaven, in Heaven, in Heaven

I'll see her one day

Please be quiet, Mr Bouvier, there are sick people here.

- It can only do them good. - Yes, but not so loud.

Don't forget my statue of the Virgin. I need it where I'm going.

- You do love Our Lady. - I even went to Lourdes to see her.

I'm sure that's why Louise and I are still alive. Our Blessed Mother.

Citizens, punish the crimes Of priests against the masses

Pity these victims of our times That faith turns into asses

Watch it! I still have two bullets in my head.

I'm not going to prison. I'm going to an asylum to get care.

I heal with music.

I'll pray for you, Mr Bouvier.

Right, but you have nothing else to do anyway.

To the polls, citizens

Against the clergy

Shall vote, shall vote

And may our voice

Make priest and friar flee

- Put him there. - No!

I won't be operated on in this revolting place!

You're murderers, Christian-butchers!

No chloroform!

You're killers, not healers!

Ruling-class pigs! Long live anarchy! You kill your patients! Executioners!

Get him out of here! I've had enough! Out!

I'm glad to be rid of that one.

Let him keep the bullets in his head!

I'm so glad I'm leaving that asylum from hell.

It's only good for killing poor people.

Doctors are like rich people, exploiting the workers. Off with their heads!

Long live anarchy! Long live socialism!

Get him!

- Hold him down. - Don't let him go.

My God, shut up! Quiet!

You've removed the heads again, haven't you?

Friends. Friends!

I'm happy to bring you some good Christmas news.

Our troops have taken Timbuktu!

- Sir… - No, let him speak.

When I came to this new asylum, with its electric lights, it was not like Dole.

No more unfeeling brutes.

The poor innocent wretches here are cared for by men!

When I left Dole, asylum of filth and abomination,

I wanted to see blood flow.

If I often said, "Long live anarchy,"

it was in memory of the injustices I witnessed

against those poor, starved creatures.

I would eat my crust of bread only to stay alive.

If every misfortunate was cared for as I was…

Silence! Silence!

If every misfortunate was cared for as I was,

bloodshed would abound.

Dr Dufour, a humanitarian like yourself is better suited to lead France,

than an asylum, and that makes you worthier still!

- Thank you, Bouvier. - Thank you.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and water the garden.

They gave me pie, bacon and cheese.

You could have kept me till Easter.

I was here for Christmas. I would have gotten both holidays.

My child, no one is paying for you now, not the army, not the province.

An asylum is not an alms-house.

- You refused to operate. - But you're fine.

- I would have been brave. - I know, Bouvier.

Are you sure I'm cured?

If we can't cure a simple mental disease in three months,

then there's no hope for modern medicine.

Well, I hope you're right.

Wait!

Here, a St John Francis Regis medal, apostle of our mountains.

It might come in handy.

A fish!

Oh, right. It's April Fool's Day. You have one, too.

- Here we go. - I'll keep it as a souvenir.

We fed you. What do you want now?

He plays so badly.

- I play better. - Of course you do.

So, why don't you keep me on? I'll take care of the organ.

I'll be a servant.

Not for the big jobs, the sun makes my head throb.

- I become like a drunk. - I said it's impossible.

I was here for two years! I made no trouble.

I wore the gown. I went to Catechism.

- Not after what you did! - It's the least you could do!

- It was here that I got all those dark ideas. - Quiet, Bouvier!

God, he knows I was raped here, when I was 16.

Bouvier!

Say it. You know. Say it!

He doesn't answer.

Maybe he's not even there. I wouldn't be surprised!

All you're good for is excommunicating demonstrators!

Rich man's priest!

Mariette's two sisters were fired from the factory,

and the killer is still on the run.

There are countless killers on the run.

But this one has long legs, Counsellor.

- It's as if you know him. - Let's follow his trail.

Ready, Mother?

- Here I am. - Let's begin.

"October 20, 1894, Vacquières.

"A 13-year-old girl, chest slashed open, both breasts cut off,

"seven abdominal wounds, sodomy."

Sit down, Mother, sit down.

"May 12, 1895, in Étaules,

"a shepherdess, 15, disembowelled, raped, throat slit.

"August 10, '95, Bénonces, a 16-year-old shepherd…"

Throat slit, testicles ripped out, anal coitus, signs of sodomy prior to the murder.

From his boss, no doubt.

"September '95, Busset, an 18-year-old factory girl is disembowelled with a scythe.

"In St-Marcel-du-Bon-Accueil…" Oh, that's right nearby.

"December 14, '95, a 13-year-old boy, disembowelled, probably sodomized."

One moment, Mother. Near the body of the young victim,

they found a paper with the four following letters,

"M-A-R-C. Marc."

So the police arrested an ex-circus wrestler named Marseille.

- Do you see why? - I'm sorry, no.

They said it was the first four letters of the word "Marseilles".

And that's not all.

They said his jacket was splattered with traces of human flesh. It was cod!

- So they let him go. - After six months internment in a madhouse.

Go on, Mother.

"March 13, '96, a shepherdess was disembowelled near Lourdes."

My God.

- Is this one worse? - No, but, near Lourdes…

Her shoes were never found. May 8, '96, two months before you came,

a girl in St-Étienne-de-Boulogne is strangled and sodomized.

- Finally. - What do you mean?

Weren't you hoping he'd come back here?

- In your jurisdiction? - Yes.

Yes, I hoped for it, and it happened just the way I imagined it.

Except the arrested man was innocent.

Right away, I saw that it wasn't him.

He didn't look like my killer. I did a pencil portrait of him, you know.

Not a sketch, a real portrait.

I carefully examined all the crimes committed in recent years

that were similar to each other.

I concluded that witnesses living hundreds of kilometres apart

had all unwittingly described the same man.

And here he is!

- He looks like a Steinlen hobo. - I'm sure it's him.

- You're sure he committed all these crimes? - I'm sure of it, I feel it.

Anyway, even if he doesn't exist, you've given him life.

- You're wasted as a judge. - Excuse me?

Sure, you should buy canvas, paintbrushes, colours. You should paint!

Forgive me, Emile. You have a real future in law.

The magnificent prey you're stalking leads to Paris and the Legion of Honour.

Don't joke, Mr de Villedieu.

I value your opinion. Do you think I've done something useful and worthwhile?

I so enjoyed listening to you that I didn't ask myself the question.

The lovely roses. Come in.

Thank you.

Ah! Baby quail.

Quail with herbs, a local speciality.

- I've just read an enemy author. - Zola?

- No, Mirbeau. - Same thing.

He has some interesting ideas on murder. Do you mind?

- Please. Sorry. - Excuse me.

He says we are all potential killers.

But we find legal outlets for our need to kill.

Industry, colonial trade, war, anti-Semitism.

I chose anti-Semitism.

It's safe, fashionable and has the Church's blessing.

What a beautiful bouquet.

- Excuse me. - Thank you.

That nice boy of yours brought it.

I would hate to lose him, or for him to marry.

It's the same with maids.

You train them, and their husbands reap the benefits. Please, have a seat.

A man of colour couldn't easily find a wife in these parts.

Let's hope so. He's indispensable to me.

- Did you get him young? - I'd been in Saigon a year.

I had obtained the death penalty for his brute of a brother.

As for the boy, he was still a juvenile,

he only got five relatively pleasant years, as he worked for me, as my cook.

Weren't you afraid he might poison you?

No, first I had him converted to Christianity. Baptism, First Communion.

It was a very moving ceremony.

Naturally, confession every Saturday. The priest kept me informed of his progress.

As you know, I was forced to resign from the magistracy.

When I left Cochin China, I decided to bring him with me.

I hope he'll help me adapt.

You'll see, the atmosphere of your motherland…

My dear lady, I'm a little old to be going home to mother.

It's late, Emile.

Don't make Rose wait, especially not today.

I'm done. Shall I read it to you? Sit down.

"Important. According to procedure, etc.

"We commission our colleague from X to seek the culprit described as follows.

"Age, about 40, medium height, black hair and beard.

"Identifying characteristics: Vertical scar on the left upper lip,

"bloodshot eyes.

"His stare leaves a disagreeable impression.

"Has been known to wear clogs."

- That's new. - Testimony from a policeman in St-Ours.

Here. Wait. No, there it is. Here. Look.

"He carries a cloth sack and an accordion." That's in the description as well.

"He asks for soup or bread, buys wine or milk.

"He often works as a shepherd at farmhouses.

"Claims to be infirm. Speaks French or local dialects.

"Wire me with any leads."

This goes out to all 250 benches of France.

If they're conscientious, we have a chance. There you go.

It looks simple, but it shakes things up.

- I'm proud of you, my dear. - I'm taking a risk.

- I'll be attacked. - You're used to that.

Here's the list.

That's 250 envelopes to address, Mother. I don't like asking that of you.

Oh, my darling, I have nothing else to do.

I'll start tonight after supper. You're going to be late.

- You didn't change your shirt. - It's clean.

That's true, you usually don't get dirty.

Here. A present for Rose's birthday.

Brandied cherries. She liked them last year.

- Be careful, it drips. - Yes. Of course.

- You don't mind taking them? - No, no, why?

A judge with a jar of cherries…

It's all right, I'll take the side streets.

Thank you, Mother. Goodbye. Thank you.

- Hello, sir. - Hello, Suzanne.

Suzanne, I've told you before not to wave to the passers-by.

It's not right and it's dangerous. One day, one of them just might jump the fence,

a tall, bearded man with a white cap.

He'll take out a big knife and slice you in two,

from top to bottom.

You think that's funny. Silly girl!

- Did you go to the doctor's? - Yes.

- What did he say? - That it's not serious.

- Are you still in pain? - Yes.

- Hello, Godfather. - Hello. Hello, Victor.

- What are you studying? - Robespierre's death.

Who was Robespierre?

A bloodthirsty monster who reigned by terror of the guillotine.

Good.

- Shot down by a policeman named Merda. - Victor!

- It's written in my book. - Some say "Meda", others "Merda".

Whichever it was, he was a brave policeman who rid France of a great criminal.

- Don't ever forget it. - It's easy to remember.

True enough. Here is three sous. Go buy a nice cake for Rose's birthday.

Anything you want, except a rum baba.

Those are my favourites.

I know, but no alcohol in the house. No alcohol. Now go.

Mother gave me a jar of brandied cherries for you.

- I threw it in the river. - Why?

I don't like Mother's brandied cherries.

- How did the appointment go? - We spent the afternoon at the hospital.

- Was she afraid? - No. She seems to like the doctor.

He's a Freemason. They say he abuses his patients.

He asked some strange questions.

If she was interested in men…

What did you answer?

That she blows kisses to passers-by over the fence.

She's just naturally affectionate.

He doesn't know what it is, but says she needs care.

She is. You're here. That's your job. That's why I had you leave the factory.

- I hope you don't regret it. - I had friends there.

Factory girls, which, to many, means whores.

No, it means workers.

They work 12 hours a day for two francs a day, seven days a week.

It was high time you left, Rose.

- I'll leave you some money. - Put it on the table.

- You could stay. - It's not our day.

- Yes, but I can tonight. - I have work to do.

The doctor said it's not necessarily nightmares.

What is it, then?

I'll be right back.

An innocent girl can trouble only a deeply corrupt man.

- Would you like me to stay? - If you'd like.

Louise, dearest Louise.

So much has happened since our unfortunate accident.

Surely, you, like I, have bravely borne many ups and downs.

Yet how happy we should be

that Providence saved us both so miraculously.

Providence, which stands tenderly, watching over Heaven's smallest creatures,

could not fail to lay a protective hand on two inexperienced brows

where parents and society failed to give all the moral and material aid

that life demands.

God. Rights. Duty.

Among the great travellers

are many true friends of God.

You wouldn't have seen a man like yourself, Sergeant?

I've never seen a man like me. What do you call a man like me?

A hobo killed a shepherdess near Courzieu.

What if it's a rich man? You're looking low, he may be high.

Anything's possible. Your papers, Sergeant.

Do you ever miss the army?

That's where I learnt to march! Long live the army!

Louise. Louise.

I've been gone for over three years now

and, though forced to live in exile by our own doing,

at least God has seen fit to let me roam.

Two years ago, wearing cheap clogs,

I was in Brittany and everything did I see.

Five departments.

Normandy. Five departments. A great and rich province,

and good cider, like in Brittany.

There and in the Maine, two departments,

the people are truly religious and humane.

In Beauce and Brie, as well,

where the people snub even the humblest among them.

I only have soup.

- It's only poor man's soup. - Well, it's not the rich who give the most.

I've written my fiancée every week.

How can she answer you? You're on the road.

It's true, she doesn't.

Here. Three sous for the soup.

You're poorer than I am. Pay me by praying God.

God doesn't need prayers.

- Do you have smuggled matches? - I leave that to the little ones.

It's too heavy.

That's not yours!

No one speaks that way to Jesus Christ, the Son of God!

That water's awful.

Even the dog doesn't want it.

But even that's too good for you, you dirty little whores!

You have pretty little asses but they're reserved for the rich.

No ass for Bouvier!

Beat it!

Beat it!

Louise, I find more of the truly religious, in Brittany and Savoie

and less hypocrisy than around Lourdes.

Other travellers have noted this as well.

Now, Louise, may I ask you

to send me a brief reply,

to tell me if I must give you up now and forever?

Only then will I be able to resign myself. Bouvier, Joseph.

Thank you. Thank you, my beautiful angel!

No doubt, my love, luck wasn't with us.

There was the war and we were 20 years old.

The winter of '70 was a winter of suffering.

And crueller still the misery of the spring that comes.

On the heights of Belleville, the lilacs are in flower.

On the hills of Montmartre, the shores of the Seine,

we'll go a'gathering them in a better hour.

The Commune is struggling.

Tomorrow we shall win.

Bunch of Christian-butchers!

Death mongers!

Wretched bourgeois!

I am God's Anarchist!

Judge, we can't find work because of you. People think poorly of us.

But I released you.

Once the police have brought you to court in handcuffs, you're done.

All we would like is a note saying we're innocent and have never killed anyone.

No, I can't. You'll have to leave. You're in our way.

But it's your fault!

That poor devil may have a point.

- We're literally flooded with vagrants. - I know. I make everyone uncomfortable!

I make my colleagues do their jobs.

Re-open old files.

I refuse to let sleeping dogs lie.

I wonder if it's wise to turn Privas into a campground months before the elections.

The opposition has enough to feast on with the strikes,

the anarchists, the factory shut-downs,

the suicide rate.

I know. I'm becoming a danger to society.

Come on, let's hurry it up, girls.

- What a feast! - Right you are, brother.

- You're still here? - I was waiting for my friends.

We'll serve you, but since we're being so nice, you have to sign first.

- What is it? - It's an act of patriotism against Dreyfus.

We can't write.

- Then no soup. - Bitch.

This is ridiculous.

Hey, look at the hobo.

- Not another one. - Greetings, hobo!

- You're coming, we're going. - That's life.

Don't worry, here you're in and you're out.

The Republic is worthless!

We're led by scoundrels and parish priests! Long live anarchy! Long live Ravachol!

It's up to us to strike while the iron is hot.

Hurry up, Constable!

No, don't touch that. It's precious to me.

It's all right.

Sit.

- It's warm in here. - Symbol of innocence.

- Do your eyes hurt? - It's the sun. I don't like the sun.

- What about when you're on the road? - I suffer.

Constables, remove the sun.

Listen, stop pacing, you're making me dizzy.

He's been here three weeks and you still haven't called your witnesses.

Oh, Mother! What is more idiotic than a witness?

Soft, narrow-minded ignoramuses!

Even if they recognised him, I wouldn't believe them.

In any case, I want him to confess on his own.

- You're sleepy, Mother. - No, stay.

- You can't hold him forever. - I can keep him as long as I like.

He's a hobo without counsel.

At least until I come up with some way to make him talk.

We need a confession. Without one, I can't even arraign him.

- What a fine profession. - The manhunt. My life's dream.

You know, this case could create as big a stir as the Dreyfus trial.

Well, Bouvier, it's time for us to part ways.

You're the 11th vagabond I've been sent, and the 11th with no grounds for arrest.

I hope you won't think too badly of me.

No, Judge. You're the only one here who's been loyal and humane to me.

It's unusual to find a tramp who's a former sergeant, who's literate.

I wish I'd seen what you've seen.

Between you and me, Bouvier, the hobo world fascinates me.

- That's strange, Judge. - Why? It's very current, you know.

Look at the paper, read this. "400,000 vagabonds in France."

I couldn't have read that because I'm in jail.

You read Le Lyon Républicain?

Reading the paper is the privilege of the free.

Especially articles exposing lecherous priests!

Down with the clergy!

This may interest you. Look.

Whenever a vagabond comes my way, I question him, of course. We talk.

See, this represents four years' work.

What for?

I'm planning to write a book

about what our great poet Jean Richepin calls "the hobos."

Would you like to help me? Yes?

When two hobos meet… Get up please.

This is what you do, right? "On the road"?

On the road, mate!

- You know, that has beauty, it has grandeur. - It's the custom.

You're like migratory birds. You follow the seasons.

At first frost in September, you go south, a free stay on the Riviera.

You know poor judges like me can't afford to go south for the winter.

Oh, I go down south in the summer, too.

- Have you been to Nice? - Menton, too!

I went to see my sister two years ago in November.

She's a whore. They call her Kilometres. But I didn't stay.

She couldn't take the small burden that Providence had sent her way.

You were in Lourdes, too.

You're really something.

No, I saw your stick.

There are two words carved on it. "Maria. Lourdes."

At first, I thought she was your mistress.

No, Maria is the Virgin Mary.

She lives in Lourdes, she lives everywhere. She's there.

- You're very devoted to the Virgin. - She's Our Lady of we who have none.

- The patron saint of vagabonds? - No, tramps tend to be atheists.

I made the pilgrimage for personal reasons of veneration.

- Did you go by train? - After all she's done? No, on foot, Judge.

I started out almost at the top of your map, Beauvais, in September.

Tell me, from Beauvais to Lourdes,

even in a straight line, it's quite a trek.

No, I didn't go that way.

I think this is the route. I know how to read a map.

- Oh, I botched it. - No, that's fine.

- So you went through Bénonces? - Yes, Bénonces. So?

That route, Bouvier, passes by six murders.

Vacquières, Bénonces, Busset, St-Martin- du-Bon-Accueil, St-Ours and then Lourdes,

where, on March 13, you killed a young girl, between 10:00 and 11:00, near a sheep farm.

All the dates and places match. And that's not all!

I accuse you of at least two other murders:

Étaules and St-Étienne de Boulogne on May 8, '96. Look.

Here are the victims' photographs. The victims! Look! Bouvier! Look at them!

The ones you've disembowelled! Raped! Defiled!

I feel sorry for you.

No, thank you.

Why go to Paris when Paris comes to us? Lunch?

No, thank you. I was just passing by.

It doesn't matter. I'll see you later.

He hasn't eaten today.

Leave me alone with him. Don't worry.

I can't keep you out, but since you're here, come and see.

It's full of ants.

That one is behaving strangely, and the others don't even care.

Are you hungry?

It's over. It won't do it any more.

You're a sly one, Judge.

It's unfortunate, very unfortunate.

The way you go about things moves me to pity you.

You knew it couldn't last, Bouvier.

Deep down, I'm sure you're relieved. It was too heavy a burden.

I helped you.

I'm on your side, mate.

We'll take the road together.

I can't talk, but I'll write you a nice letter.

No sense in the world continuing to endure the woes of a very ill man.

I'll get you something to write with.

And some sausage.

- It takes time to write such a letter. - What if he doesn't write it?

My apologies, I had to let it dry. We're out of blotters.

Remind me to see to that.

"God. Rights. Duty."

"To France." Nice opening.

"Yes, I committed said crimes and did so in moments of rage.

"I was bitten by a mad dog." Was he really?

"I've always thought it was the medicine that had tainted my blood,

"but it might have been the dog.

"I've often said I don't know what's wrong with me.

"There were times I had the urge to kill.

"I would then take to the fields,

"staying away from paths or roads.

"I thought it best to seek refuge in the fields."

Your hobo knows how to write.

You see? I was right to persist.

Of course, but you must continue.

Right now, you still have nothing. No details. No names or places.

And if by chance this extraordinary man decides to retract, which is very possible,

they'll say you're naive, a professional braggart,

a daydreamer mystified by a lunatic.

It would be awkward for your career.

- You mean I'd look like an idiot. - Or a poet.

Do the judges not enjoy fine music?

They call him The Red Donkey, a hero of the Algeria campaigns.

He buried 100 Arabs up to their necks and kicked their heads in. Charming.

So, Colonel, have you read Zola's latest article?

Zola is a chamber-pot on which I shall sit till they shoot him.

A bold metaphor.

"Without suffering, can we know bliss?

"Is it not true that ugliness renders beauty alluring and sweet?

"And without sadness would gaiety be?

"Poverty makes dear what we desire

"And it's thanks to death that to life we aspire"

Yes! I'm The Ripper!

The only way is anarchy or socialism!

The true guilty party is the doctor who released me from the asylum!

Well, Bouvier? Leave us.

- How are you feeling? - Innocent, Judge, as it was all God's will.

I am an instrument he created with a plan no earthly soul may know.

Yes.

- Tell me, the letter you wrote me… - No, it was not to you, it was to France.

It's written at the top. You must not have read it very well. It's very clear.

Fair enough, but you leave many things unclear…

My silence is more eloquent than my pen could ever be.

Undoubtedly, but we still need more details.

Cast aside these sordid preoccupations. They're so ugly

and harmful to the morality of the youth.

Listen, Bouvier, an accused person must give a detailed account of his crimes.

That's the law! I can't help it, for goodness's sake!

Come now, be reasonable.

Help me out.

On one condition, that my letter appears in three newspapers:

Le Lyon Républicain, Le Progrès, and Le Petit Journal, with my picture.

I want the public to know that, at 16, I was bitten by a mad dog,

that my blood was tainted by the medicine they gave me

and then, by the poor treatment at the Dole Asylum,

asylum of destruction and death,

which explains everything I've done.

When you show me the newspapers with my letter published,

then, as a token of my friendship, because you're loyal and humane,

I will tell you everything.

Otherwise, no deal.

Bouvier, you know that's illegal.

An exceptional case calls for new laws.

You want something, I want something in exchange. That's loyal and honest!

Salve Regina. Filthy monks.

One can never be too obstinate if one is on the right path.

- Insane? Him? - He is completely deranged.

Deranged, yes. Perverse, rotten to the core, a pederast and a sadist, but not insane.

He doesn't behave like a lunatic when he insists on his photo in the papers.

It's actually quite smart, making an appeal to the public before the trial.

He can influence opinions, the witnesses.

No, he's a wily peasant who's trying to con me,

so I pretend to go along.

He wants his picture taken in a white shirt? Fine. Great.

Are you sure it will fit? His neck is bigger than mine.

It was one of your poor father's last shirts.

He's making a fool out of you with his demands.

This photo is important, Mother. I'll put it to good use, believe me.

You don't mind lying to him?

Why? It's part of the job.

That's perfect, Judge,

but I would like something to hold besides the book.

Like the keys.

- They're the prison keys. - Let him have them.

I'll take responsibility.

These are the keys to Paradise.

- My parents will be proud. - What's the book?

The Life of Joan of Arc. Down with Prussia!

- Is this all right? - Very nice.

This photo is to appear in Le Petit Journal with my letter,

so I need to look good.

- Stop moving. - Sewer pansy!

I'll take your picture in front of God!

Sorry, Judge.

Make the face bigger.

I want the most illiterate peasant to be able to identify him.

- I want 100 prints. - 100?

- That'll be expensive. - I'll pay for it out of my own pocket.

GOD — RIGHTS — DUTY

You'll see, everyone will know me. My name will go down in history.

And you can say you paid for Bouvier's photograph.

It's nothing, really.

Thanks to you, the world will know my face.

It's the least I can do. A case like yours for a provincial judge…

It might be the biggest criminal affair since Dreyfus.

- You must have heard of him. - Yes, maybe.

If what you admitted in the letter can be proved,

the government won't dare refuse me a promotion or a medal.

I feel confident in the future.

Yes, but what about me?

I was getting to that, Bouvier.

When I say, "Go into detail,

"it's the number and horror of your crimes that can save you,"

you think I am doing this for my own sake. I am not.

I'm thinking of you.

Justice isn't interested in madmen.

You don't guillotine a madman.

The Legion of Honour? Personal advancement?

I can do without them.

The only thing that concerns me is the truth.

I almost forgot. My shirt and tie.

No, no, come here, Judge. Come here.

Sit.

You deserve a bishop's throne, Judge.

Thank you, Bouvier.

You dog! Shooting at a little girl! Aren't you ashamed?

- I warned them. She shouldn't have come. - Take him away!

Attempted murder! Imbecile!

Come. Give me your hand.

Stop! Stop!

This child is to join yours for Communion.

A murderer's daughter should not receive Communion with our children.

The murderer has been arrested!

He's under lock and key! His name is Bouvier!

His confession is on the front page!

That changes nothing.

So you'll take the sacrament alone.

- What are you doing here? - I had to talk to you.

- You haven't been by in a long time. - I have to be careful with the press.

- How are things at home? - Not good.

- Suzanne tried to run away. - You didn't tell me.

What for? You never come around.

She's being admitted to a home.

When?

Tomorrow morning.

So soon?

That's why I came. She leaves at 7:00.

I think she'd like to see you.

I'll be there.

It may make it easier.

Is that him?

Is he in pain?

Perhaps.

He screams like the mad before a storm.

And those he killed, how did they scream?

Here, you'll need it.

- Give it to me tomorrow when you come. - It's all right.

- I don't have my bag. - Take it.

Your picture was in the papers, like the Tsar of Russia.

Yes, my poor Rose, I've raised circulation.

100,000 more per day. What a responsibility.

- Some Americans came? - From Chicago, The Chicago Tribune.

- It's like a serial, a new crime every day. - I'm sure it's not over yet.

It's like he enjoys making me wait.

What if it wasn't true?

What if he made it all up?

Why?

Just because. To talk.

Not to feel alone.

Come quickly. I can't wait any longer.

We'll both go.

Out of the way!

Mr Bouvier has an infected ear.

- And who are you? - Dr Radeuf.

- For the ear too? - No, for the man.

- This is not a museum, sir! - I requested permission.

And I refused. It's a complete violation.

Please leave.

Get out, I said! Before I decide to press charges! Out!

I wanted to help advance French medicine. We're very behind!

Leave!

The Army takes good care of its soldiers.

My only goal is to prevent other Bouviers, even if it costs you your job!

- Did you bring me the paper? - Yes.

And a cheap rag it is. Look at the front page.

See how they've depicted us, in the same barrel.

You invent crimes so I'll think you're crazy,

and I lap it all up like an idiot.

The dirty dogs. The dirty dogs!

Fine, Judge, if that's how it is, we'll take them down a notch

I may be a killer, but I'm not a liar!

I'll tell you about one more, that'll make 12.

After that, don't ask for more. That's the best I can do.

But, Bouvier, they'll just say it's another lie.

No, no, I've got them this time.

It's a kid I once threw into a well.

I'm the only one who knows that the body's there.

And what village is near the well?

- I don't know. - What do you mean?

I was crazy.

Oh, come now.

Well, bring me a map. Maybe I can show you.

Then they'll have to believe you.

He who laughs last, laughs best.

I'll get the map.

Judge, when can I go back to an asylum?

I felt so good back at St-Robert's. I'm just passing time here.

Anything yet, gentlemen? It doesn't take an hour to dredge a well.

Don't worry, Judge, he's there.

Judge!

Thank you.

- You've been very helpful, Bouvier. - You, too, Judge.

Without you, I might have ended up killing to steal.

- So you've never regretted a thing? - No, it was God's will.

After, I would feel such a relief. Even my face was different.

No one was afraid of me any more. It's strange, if you think about it.

But you made your victims suffer horribly, Bouvier.

They're not really to be pitied. They only suffered for 10 minutes.

I've been walking all over France half-crazed for two years

with my two bullets and my ear dripping in my mouth

and the sun beating down on my half-dead brain.

Sergeant.

- It's for us. Judge. - Hello.

The Dram Shop. You read Zola in the army these days?

It's not to read, it's to burn. We're making a big bonfire at the barracks.

Everybody's bringing their books by Zola.

At 7:00. You can come. The Colonel will be there.

Maybe we will. There are so few diversions in the provinces.

That skeleton in the well bothers me.

Bouvier leaves the asylum on April 1, and kills 40 days later? It's too soon.

Had he been arrested, they would have returned him to the asylum.

It's possible.

So if an insanity plea holds for the first crime, why not the 11 others?

Unless one admits that Bouvier's mental health improved as he killed.

So, you think he's mad.

Don't you?

Now and then.

Sometimes, I wonder.

After the well, for instance, but not for the same reasons you've stated.

He looked so happy to have pleased me.

You see too much of each other. He could arouse your sympathy.

I'm at an advantage, Emile. I don't want to see him.

I might lose sight of what's important.

Bouvier represents vagrancy

and disorder,

anarchy.

He's destructive and must be eliminated.

Like Dreyfus.

- Maybe Dreyfus is innocent. - Very unlikely.

Anyway, it's not important.

"Hesitate not to deceive leaders, friends, colleagues, and fellow citizens

"if 'tis for the good of all."

Emile, you have the support of the press.

Supporters of the Church hate him because he's an anarchist,

the reformers because he's pious.

And the ones who claimed he was insane changed their minds

because their sales fell off.

You're suggesting I browbeat the public.

What about judicial secrecy?

You've riled the public up.

You mustn't deprive them of the kill.

Would you have had the courage to do what I've done?

- Of course not. - I thought not.

Here's the accordion.

Bouvier charmed his victims with it before he cut their throats.

As for the oil,

the 12 known victims were sodomized.

I say "known" because we think

there were at least 20 others, nine of them raped,

and these rapes bear the stamp of the man you so rightly named

the Ripper of the Southeast.

- He killed only the defenceless? - Yes, and in isolated spots.

Bouvier kills methodically, scientifically,

and then disappears, covering up to 60 kilometres a day.

Had he been mad, don't you think we would not have arrested him long ago?

What about the mad dog that bit him when he was 16?

Licked, not bit. We have witnesses.

Bring in Bouvier.

Glory to Jesus! Glory to Joan of Arc! Glory to all martyrs!

You're missing half the picture.

Bouvier, these reporters have come from Paris to interview you.

Who wrote that I was The Ripper of the Southeast?

Better a ripper

than a ripper-maker!

- That's all I have to say. - Stay, Bouvier.

You may ask your questions, gentlemen.

So, you are interested in Joan of Arc?

I was struck by the similarity of our missions.

She was a martyr like me,

come in another form at another time to waken France.

You think it's because she was a shepherdess.

Why do you claim to be God's anarchist?

My all-mysterious life makes me the sworn enemy of evil-doers.

- What about the anarchists? - Ravachol, Caserio, for example.

The bourgeoisie gets what it deserves.

- No! No accordion. - I wasn't going to play.

"We punish striking workers, why not vagrants?"

To kerb other Bouviers, the law must come down hard

with heavier prison terms for hobos…

Wait. Slow down.

With heavier prison terms for hobos,

parasites who seek only to satisfy their hunger and sexual appetite.

This year I counted 18,067 offences committed by these asocial persons.

This is becoming political.

Mother, you know I don't play politics.

Judge! Judge.

I'd like to recite a little verse I wrote for you.

Please do.

"A rare scrupulous man is Judge Rousseau

"If win the trust he can of the anarchist hobo

"How superb if in the end Bouvier thinks him his friend"

Very nice, but you're going to get me in trouble with Bouvier.

I'd rather you didn't mention me yet.

When then?

After.

Shepherd, shepherdess, hear my verse Pipe-playing sons and daughters

When do your flocks go quench their thirst By a stream's clear waters?

You have one and only care To see the wolf you fear

Carry off a lamb dear And take her to its lair

But greater dangers you may find Have never crossed your pretty mind

There are beasts whose ire Like the tiger's bloody wake

Is more deadly than the vampire More treacherous than the snake

These madmen in their violence Young bodies do defile

Carving their initials vile In the flesh of innocence

This world of horror grows and grows Till Bouvier the Ripper shows

To a foul breed he belongs Of tramps and vagabonds

Who beg their bread to get along Anarchists and hangers-on

And when the wheat is high Prowls the town like a cat

Always hiding 'neath his hat The strange gleam in his eye

Yet he's every mother's son When he plays the accordion

So goes this monster of our times By wandering enraptured

Committing his countless crimes Until the day he's captured

He says his youth can explain How a mad dog's bite

And medicine was quite enough To deviate his brain

Furthermore, this odious liar Claims to be God-inspired

Here I let my lament stand Till judgement is decided

The hand of Justice in our land Is not to be derided

Good people place your confidence In counsellor and magistrate

'Tis the Court will judge the fate Of he who's feared by all of France

Meanwhile that these jailers may Watch night and day

Over Bouvier

What a beautiful dirge!

Truly God has used me

and such a burden must be avenged.

The song was nice, but it would have been better with an accordion.

Few, Bouvier, are lucky enough to hear such a song

in their lifetime.

Few are as sick as I am, Judge.

For Suzanne.

They're lovely, like for a celebration.

Don't you want to see her?

No, not here.

I went up…

Invalids frighten me.

The nun said she's not unhappy.

Well, she doesn't complain.

It's hard to talk in hospitals.

I'll send some money.

Why?

We haven't seen each other in three months.

I know, the reporters.

Do you want me to kiss you?

- It's inappropriate. - Precisely.

You mean for the others?

If you like.

Go ahead.

No, don't.

"Bouvier said wryly, 'The only thing I ever stole

"'was food from a well-fed dog. Because I'm for justice.

"'I know I will pay…

"'I know I will pay for the crimes of others. I, a poor lamb

"'who left the fold for a world of misery and injustice.'"

Watch out!

Lock the door!

Escaping, are we, Bouvier?

I want to go to mass! It's Sunday! Long live anarchy!

- Let him go! - I think he broke his cell door!

Then find another!

Even the asylum had mass.

Here, take my missal. You can read the prayers.

- You'll need it. - No, I'll use Mother's.

I received a memo from the Minister.

A new ruling gives you the right to legal aid during questioning.

What the hell do I need a lawyer for? I'm going back to St-Robert's Asylum.

You can't leave till the doctors examine you.

But you're right, why bother with a lawyer? You're intelligent

and don't need anyone to help you answer questions.

But this can't last.

When do these doctors arrive?

Next week.

Still no letter from Louise?

I'd have given it to you.

What is she waiting for?

I wrote her seven letters, long ones.

Was she your only love?

You know me better than that.

You know I have a passion for little earthly angels.

A passion that led you to rape.

They begged me to rape them

in hopes of calming my fit of rage.

- There are brothels, you know. - Whores are too flabby.

I prefer shepherdesses.

Children, 14 or 15 years old, even a 12-year-old.

They had no chance to defend themselves.

That's when it started,

the coarse dresses scratching their thighs,

no panties, not much hair, doing anything you want.

What horrible things to say. I attacked children because of my illness.

So maybe I was attracted by children.

So women who were not dead frightened you.

What can I do?

When the carrot's inclined, it makes its own law!

What law? There's no Bouvier law.

The only law is to kerb one's baser instincts.

Fine words, but nature speaks louder! Try to desist, you can't resist!

We all have temptations. We resist.

- Where would society be if we didn't? - To hell with your society!

I answer to God.

I served justice. France is the offender.

There is too much misery and inequality.

I am either a great saviour,

a great turn-of-the-century martyr,

or one of Heaven's elect.

- The doctors are here. - Cause and effect must be understood.

Meanwhile put on your shoe.

Welcome to Bethlehem!

"France must follow the footprints of her destiny,

"and we need a government

"which holds every man responsible for his acts.

"An essential opinion.

"Remember, doctors,

"in your weighty task and sacred mission,

"confronted with my important case,

"your duty is to consider

"my former state rather than my present condition.

"How, in fact, if I am to be deemed responsible,

"may this responsibility be justified

"when I have already been committed twice?

"Post-scriptum.

"First post-scriptum.

"If I do not deserve to be judged irresponsible,

"who on Earth does?

"Second post-scriptum.

"It is high time that upright souls

"lay the responsibility upon the true culprits.

"The doctors of the asylum in Dole,

"the doctor who released me

"and the dog that bit me."

That is more than sufficient.

Excuse me.

God forbid they find him insane.

He's poor. He hasn't got a chance.

- What do you want? - Judge Rousseau?

Yes.

I came 200 kilometres to see you.

I don't know you, madam, but I may speak with you because he made me a free man.

I was arrested. They let me go when he found the true culprit.

I'm not very clean, sir, but I'd like to hug you.

I knew Bouvier on the tramp.

You don't need to be a chemist to see that he was…

We shall see, we shall see.

One thing, I'd really like to have your photograph.

That's simple enough.

If I had money, I'd get one done too, and I could have given it to you.

By all means, my friend, come!

Allow me.

In Cochin China, gardens are poems. The roses have incredible names.

"The sky and death are the same colour."

Or how about, forgive me, "Tenderly open your thighs to pleasure"?

Imagine a French gardener offering to the President

a rose called "Tenderly open your thighs."

Perhaps those roses are not for men.

Why not?

Will you return to Cochin China?

No, thank you.

Yes, unfortunately.

Unfortunately?

- My enemies have reopened the case. - It has nothing to do with you.

It's a political machination. My only crime is being a Royalist.

Saigon has judges.

As many as you could hope for.

Judges lying prostrate before military imbeciles

and this Republican riff-raff that wants my hide and will get it.

They say the Comédie Française hires shop girls

and dresses them as monkeys.

Mother! Mother! He's not crazy!

- He's not crazy. Hello, Sir. - Hello.

The expertise is categorical.

Wait. Here.

"Bouvier is an immoral, violent man, temporarily suffering from melancholia.

"He is a bloodthirsty sadist who seeks impunity

"through his status as ex-lunatic." That's true.

"He uses his anarchist theories to intimidate, etc."

You were right, Mr de Villedieu. Here, Mother.

- Maybe. - It's better than we hoped.

They could well have concluded extenuated responsibility.

The servility of the medical corps never fails to astonish me.

Sometimes it's embarrassing.

I invited one of them to lunch, Mother.

Professor Degueldre. You will join us, I hope.

No, please, I insist. You've been so helpful.

Very well. I'll lend you my boy, just to see the look on the Professor's face.

So this monster will be tried for a single crime?

It means help yourself.

Don't worry, thanks to your admirable report,

all 12 crimes will be addressed and included in the indictment.

They will be mentioned. The jurors will be asked to keep them in mind.

But he'll be judged for his last crime only,

the farthest from his asylum release.

Writing the report, we found that he was perfectly lucid.

He is abnormal.

Like Ravachol, Caserio, Papavoine and the rest of the anarchists.

If we didn't guillotine those bastards, it would be chaos.

Pardon me, Madam.

Isn't there juniper in the quail?

- Of course. - I thought so. It's excellent.

Very good. Really, very good.

Personally, I always knew

Bouvier was an impostor.

His fits of mysticism, his incoherencies and violence,

it all rang false.

Going to a farm saying, "I am the Son of God"

was simply something he knew would be useful for when he was arrested.

Wine?

- The best wine in the region. - The best, in my opinion.

- Villedieu? - No, thank you.

Bouvier wants us to think he's irresponsible.

No proper lunatic would act that way.

The very fact he says he's ill and needs care is inconsistent with madness.

A madman who knows he's mad is a cured madman.

- But an army doctor discharged him. - After a 10-minute examination.

Then there's Dr Radeuf…

- How long? - Five minutes. Barely.

I can already hear the courtroom laughing.

I doubt they'll even let him speak.

Those quacks and their the thorough examination!

To study Bouvier, it is absolutely essential to stand on his left.

On his right, all judgements are distorted.

It took me a month to figure that out. I am certain.

- He's scared of the guillotine. - Why wouldn't he be?

A madman fears fire. He pushes his soup away when it's too hot.

He doesn't want to suffer or die.

Your portrait of a madman is a bit incomplete.

And once you touch it up, it will be a good likeness of Bouvier.

- So, if you were to judge him? - I'm no longer a judge.

Mr de Villedieu,

once a judge, always a judge.

Maybe. Doctor, if there was a war,

Bouvier would be a good soldier and would serve his country well.

- Probably, but we're not at war. - Yes, we are, against men like Bouvier.

How are you this morning?

Lousy. I'm writing a letter of complaint.

Patients should be treated in hospitals, not prisons!

Your half-assed otolaryngologists

and their half-assed, pus-filled science!

And you're like the dirty bishop who burnt Joan of Arc!

- But the Great Millionaire will save me. - Who?

God! You asshole!

- Aren't you afraid to be with me? - No.

Why?

- Do you have a gun? - No. This is my only arm.

Bouvier, the expert's report says you're insane.

In other words, irresponsible!

But killing me would lead you to the guillotine, despite that report!

No one gets away with killing a judge!

Forgive me, forgive me, Judge. I didn't want to do that.

I'd have done it before, I've had the knife six weeks.

Don't abandon me. Don't abandon me.

I need care. I need care.

Don't leave me, don't leave me.

I knew you'd come back.

Lift your skirt.

Here?

I said lift your skirt.

- Not like this. - Do as I say!

No.

Hurry up.

Hurry up!

Lie down.

Turn around.

Shut up. Shut up!

If only you weren't ashamed…

Is that why you came?

I think I need you.

I think I need you.

I think I need you.

Mother.

This is Rose.

- I've told you about her. - He wanted me to come.

I heard that you had a close call at the prison. I thought he liked you.

It couldn't last forever.

He's crying.

It seems so, but really it's because of eye problems.

Maybe he's crying over the friend who betrayed him.

- What friend? - You.

Mistaking your judge for a friend is not sane.

He liked me. That's not my fault.

You have no qualms about winning Bouvier's affection?

He's a wild animal. I set the trap.

- Would you like to visit him? - No, don't bother.

With this case, I took a new interest in my work. Thanks to you.

Thanks to him.

I'll skip the execution.

Execution?

He hasn't been tried yet.

I like your sense of humour.

I always have.

One, two! Platoon, right!

Tighten the ranks! Chins up, you blockheads!

The Dixies are full. Sound the music!

Sing, you imbecile! That's an order!

I AM THE VICTIM OF PRISONS AND ASYLUMS

Monster! Judas!

You should be here instead of me.

Let those who think to weep for me, weep for themselves.

I didn't sleep all night, but when I go into combat, I do it bravely.

She's a pretty one.

Bouvier.

She's as pretty as my Louise.

Poor Louise.

Louise, neither man nor weapon now

can save my head from the block.

Time is often a good master

and, sometimes, chance is a good judge.

Thank you, Judas.

I'm not dead yet!

The Tribunal first for God's anarchist.

Farewell! Come one, come all! See you later!

"You know, Louise, if the Judge isn't loyal,

"it's because he doesn't know the poor. He lives off the main street.

"He didn't come from a family of 12 where you fight hunger to stay alive.

"Louise, I'd like to send you a photo to show you how calm and gentle I am,

"like at St-Robert's Asylum.

"I have no more fits, just tears

"when I think of the misery that crushes France and me."

IT'S TIME

70,000 people came to see him die.

The papers had talked it up so.

- They came from all over. - I know, I read it.

They say the executioner had never shaken so many hands.

The papers never mentioned that they wouldn't allow him to speak to the public.

So he lay down on the ground and said, "You'll have to carry me.

"I refuse to meet death bravely."

They put him on the guillotine,

and after, they all went out to celebrate New Year's Eve.

The restaurants were full.

It was a big party.

You were there?

Yes.

I'm Mr Rousseau's friend.

The judge?

Yes,

the judge.

They say bad things about him now.

Some doctors say he let them kill a lunatic.

It's true. I should know. After what he did.

- Do you hate Bouvier for it? - No.

- Why didn't you answer his letters? - I never got them.

He sent them to an old soldier friend of his.

He threw them out because they hadn't enough stamps.

Would you have written?

I'd like to say yes, but I don't know.

Why didn't you take the stand?

I would have if the Judge had summoned me.

Actually, I was surprised he didn't.

Maybe he knew you'd say he was crazy.

I hope your judge is very unhappy now.

Not very.

But he's not very pleased either.

Does he have any regrets?

Oh, no, it's not that.

He says they're jealous of him, that they're not being fair.

What does he want, the Legion of Honour?

Yes. Exactly.

I pity you, being with such a man.

It's as if I'd already left him.

Public opinion and the press fought for his head,

and they got it.

But they want more, a medal for the brave judge

whose courage and zeal rid France of a monster!

They were laughed at.

History shows us that ingratitude is typical of democratic governments.

The Judge's case is a perfect example.

Here is a man who fought for order and society.

The lack of gratitude is surprising enough,

but the attacks against him are unforgivable!

And the doctors, professors, and journalists

who dissected Bouvier's brain and claim to find the stigmas of madness,

ALL THAT IS NATIONAL IS OURS

these pro-Jew pseudo-scientists,

are the same people who hope to rehabilitate Dreyfus!

To sully justice is like sullying the Army.

It is the same thing. It's to sully France!

Mr Rousseau now contemplates resigning.

He needs our help and admiration.

Only men like him can exterminate the enemy within,

this clique of Jews, Masons, socialists and Protestants

who exploit, betray and occupy France. They must be exterminated!

Rousseau is a murderer! Rousseau is a murderer!

Clear the room!

Don't cry, Mother.

It's nothing.

Things will work out.

It doesn't really matter.

Look at me.

We'll go somewhere else, the two of us,

if you still want me.

- There going towards the factory. - It's not my business any more.

No doubt, my love Luck wasn't with us

There was the war And we were 20 years old

The winter of '70 Was a winter of suffering

And crueller still the misery Of the spring that comes

On the heights of Belleville The lilacs are in flower

On the hills of Montmartre The banks of the Seine

We'll go a'gathering them In a better hour

The Commune is in struggle Tomorrow we shall win!

We have heard The voices of our comrades

On Paris the infamous Are marching from Versailles

You said to me I'll join you on the barricades

The place of a woman Is at her husband's side

The soldiers with us!

Ready!

The first of our number On the pavement lies

This fall is his last A bullet through his brain

Over him you bend And gently close his eyes

The Commune is in struggle Tomorrow we shall win

Between 1893 and 1898 Sergeant Joseph Bouvier killed 12 children.

During the same period, over 2500 children under 15 years of age

perished in the mines and silk factories.

Our parents knew Neither reading or writing

Berated and insulted They held their anger in

Equality for all is the reason we're fighting

The Commune is in struggle Tomorrow we shall win

The tyrant and his knaves were more than thousand-strong

We had to surrender And now we shall die

But from the shadows Will burst our hopeful song

The world will listen or know the reason why!