All language subtitles for Madame B

As public prosecutor,

I demand that further publication
of this novel be forbidden

and that its author, Gustave Flaubert,

be found guilty of committing
the misdemeanor

of an outrage against public morals
and established custom.

This man, this Flaubert,
has created a character, a Frenchwoman,

who is at once a disgrace to France
and an insult to womanhood.

Emma Bovary,
a woman who neglects her own child,

a child that needs her,

who scorns her own husband,
a husband who loves her,

who introduces adultery
and ruin into her home,

this is our heroine.

This corrupt, loathsome,
contemptible creature,

this woman of insatiable passions,

this monstrous creation
of a degenerate imagination,

this is the heroine we are asked to pity,
to forgive,

why, perhaps, to love.

Gentlemen, nowhere in this entire work

does Gustave Flaubert ask us
to blame Emma Bovary

and find her guilty of her crimes.

The state asks you, gentlemen,

to find Gustave Flaubert guilty of his.

Gustave Flaubert.

Gustave Flaubert, do you deny
the accusations of the public attorney?

I do.

And I don't.

If it were only that easy, gentlemen,
to confirm or deny.

The public attorney has read you
certain passages from my work.

Can I deny them?

He has summed up certain
unpleasant facts concerning its heroine,

as if he were a schoolboy
doing a problem of two and two.

But still, can I deny them?

He has indicted me
for the crime of forgiveness.

What can I say?

Forgiveness is still, as I understand it,
among the Christian sentiments.

I do not deny it.

Gentlemen, I do deny that I have made
any attack upon public morality.

I have shown you the vicious, yes,
for the sake of understanding it

so that we may preserve the virtuous.

Furthermore, I deny that Emma Bovary
is a monstrous creation

of my degenerate imagination.

Monstrous she may be,
but it was not I who created her.

Our world, your world and mine,
created her,

as I shall attempt to demonstrate.

There are thousands of Emma Bovarys.
I only had to draw from life.

And there are hundreds and thousands
of women

who wish they were Emma Bovary,

and who have been saved from her fate,
not by virtue,

but simply by lack of determination.

Let me proceed.

Let me take you back, gentlemen,

not to the passages
that the public attorney has read for you.

Let me take you back to the time
when Emma was 20,

when she was still Emma Roualt
and lived on her father's farm.

The night when Charles Bovary
first met her.

See her for the first time as he saw her.

Charles Bovary took little notice
of the farm.

It was rude, substantial, lonely,
in a way, miserable.

He'd seen hundreds of such farms.

Good evening. I should say, good morning.

Are you the doctor from Tostes?
Look, Madame Foulard, how young he is!

Could he fix a broken leg?
That's all I want to know.

I don't know.
I have no faith in young doctors.

We're just neighbors, but we never would
have called you from as far away as Tostes

except that our local doctor...

Oh, a very imposing man, I assure you,
with a beard, happens to be away.

His wife, poor man, is ill.

Madame, I share your doubts.

May I say that my only qualifications
are these, that it's a very stormy night,

that I have no wife,
that I am the doctor who came.

- Now if you'll show me to the patient...
- Oh.

...you both can go home
and get some rest.

Oh, right this way.

I want to see him set the leg, Mama.

Never mind. Never mind.

We're going home. Good night, Emma.
Try to get some rest.

A doctor should have a beard.

- Well, I thank you.
- That's it.

If those harpies are gone,
rouse out my daughter.

- She'll give you some breakfast.
- All right. Goodbye, Monsieur Roualt.

Doctor Bovary? You must be very tired.

- How is my father?
- Your...

Oh, it's a simple fracture, lower right tibia,
no complications.

I'll be back in a week or so.

Boots. Your father's gonna get along just...

He'll get along fine.

I'm sure you'll want some breakfast.
I'll try to hurry.

Oh, no, no. Take your time, please.
Take a...

Take a great deal of time.

Please sit down.

- Perfume.
- Don't you like it?

Mademoiselle, I've come into
many a farmhouse kitchen at dawn.

I've smelled many smells,
sour milk, children's vomit...

I've never smelled perfume before.

Then you do like it.
I hope you like this, too.

What are you doing here?

- Why, I live here.
- Oh.

Yes, I know, but why didn't I see you
when I came in?

I didn't let you. I looked awful.

You do me too great honor.

Dr. Bovary, when I saw you come in here
out of the rain,

and you were so wet,
and you'd come so far,

and those awful women...

I cannot do you too great honor,

and if I please you, well, then,
I am honored, too.

You know, I've been thinking,

your father's leg
might develop complications.

Perhaps I'd better come back tomorrow.

Please.

Here, gentlemen, is the monster.

Here is the corrupt
and loathsome creature.

Here is the disgrace to France
and the insult to womanhood.

Emma Roualt,
the flower beyond the dunghill.

How had she grown here?

The kitchen drudge who had dreamed
of love and beauty.

What are dreams made of?
Where do they come from?

Absurd dreams of fashion and luxury
in a farmhouse bedroom.

Who was the messenger?

Ridiculous dreams of high romance
and impossible love.

The cavalier, the serenade,
the long ago and the faraway.

Images of beauty that never existed.

These things she loved.

Emma Roualt, motherless,

had attended a convent
in the provincial city of Rouen.

Emma at first detested the convent.

The scales, the eternal scales, when
she might have been learning love songs.

The discipline, the dreadful conformity.

The eternal uniform,
when a girl's young body is budding.

Perhaps it was the discipline itself
and Emma 's discontent

that drove her to dreams, and taught
a lonely girl to live within herself.

For these became the happy years,
these convent years,

when a young girl's mind could wander.

And then, as if to feed her dreams,

there was the old Swiss seamstress who
sang the love songs of the last century

and told stories about
love in a Swiss chalet

and love in a villa in Italy,

and to make
the geography lesson complete,

slipped them on the sly
novels forbidden by the sisters,

so they could read about
love in a cottage in Scotland

and love in a castle in Spain.

Novels, novels.

She lived in a world of love,
lovers, sweethearts,

persecuted ladies fainting
in lonely pavilions,

horses ridden to death on every page,

gentlemen, brave as lions,
gentle as lambs,

always well-dressed
and weeping like fountains.

Oh, love in Italy! Oh, love in Spain!

It seemed to Emma that certain places
on Earth must bring happiness,

as a plant peculiar to the soil
that cannot thrive elsewhere.

She would find it someday.

Happiness.

Fashion.

High romance.

One kind of dream and another kind of life.

The convent years ended
and Emma returned to the farm.

Had she been a normal girl,
her dreams might likewise have ended,

but in Emma
there was a terrifying capacity

for pursuing the impossible.

The dream did not end.

She had learned to be a woman for whom
experience would always be a prison,

and freedom would lie always
beyond the horizon.

Here, in these books, in these pictures,
we had taught her

that the strange was beautiful
and the familiar contemptible.

We had taught her to find glamour,
excitement, in the faraway

and only boredom in the here and now.

We had taught her what?

To believe in Cinderella,

and now, here, this morning,
Charles Bovary.

Emma Roualt, you cannot know.
He is not Prince Charming.

He is only a man.

It was very wise of you
to consult me, Doctor.

In all matters of wills, deeds, notes,
assignments, etcetera, etcetera,

I am at your service.
My mind is a storehouse of details.

You will need a house.

Monsieur Guillaumin,
I haven't decided yet.

You will. Leon!

Leon, please make a note.

A house for Dr. Bovary.

A proper house with a stable,

and a rear entrance through which the
doctor may come and go out on his calls.

You see, I think of every detail.

Monsieur, the detail
that I want to know is,

can I make a living here...

Oh, yes, and a garden for Madame Bovary.

Are you making notes, Leon,
or composing poetry in your head?

- My clerk, Leon Dupuis.
- How do you do?

Leon's value to Yonville is largely cultural,
shall we say, ornamental?

He has no mind for details.

- Now, now, where was I?
- You...

Oh, yes, oh, yes.
A garden for Madame Bovary.

Well, a garden may present
some difficulty, but...

Make a living in Yonville?

My boy, why,
of course you'll make a living.

Thank you, Mayor Tuvache.
Thank you very much.

Why, of course, of course. An ample living.

Why, Yonville is the garden spot
of Normandy.

In Yonville, the temperature seldom falls
in winter below the freezing point

or in summer rises above
86 degrees Fahrenheit.

And consider, monsieur,
we have a stagecoach, the Hirondelle.

It'll be a great convenience to your wife.

It leaves the inn at 9:00 every morning
for shopping at Rouen.

- Why do you laugh?
- My wife, she...

I don't even know that she'll marry me.

Oh, never fear. She will.
Tell her about Yonville.

- Yes, tell her about Yonville.
- I will.

Yonville. It sounds like heaven.
Tell me all about it again.

Well, there's the Place d'Armes.
That's the...

And the inn
just the other side of the canal.

This is a... The Mayor said
I should tell you about Yonville,

but I never thought
it would work this well.

Emma, your father's almost well now,

and I guess
I won't get to see you anymore.

Why, I mean,
you haven't known me very long, but...

Emma, please will you marry me?

Oh, I'm sorry.

Well, there's no reason in the world
why you should marry me.

I'm not a very good doctor.
I'll be lucky if I make a living.

I haven't had much schooling.

If I work hard,
it's because I know I have little talent.

- I have to work hard.
- Oh, don't say that.

Emma.

Emma, listen to me
before you say anything.

I'm easy to get along with
and I'll be a good husband,

but I'm not very exciting.

Charles! Charles, you're the handsomest,
most distinguished man in all this world.

Emma, remind me to thank that Mayor.

- How can you laugh at them?
- Oh, they mean well.

Take me away, Charles, please.

I would like to propose a toast.

Sit down, sit down, sit down!

Charles. Charles!

A country wedding scene.

Please help me.

The cruelty, the ugliness,

the drunkenness, lechery, vulgarity.

The sheer noise.

There they go!

- I want to kiss the bride.
- Charles!

- I wanna kiss you.
- Leave her alone.

There she goes.

There they go.

- Go and get them.
- Watch it!

He took her away from the squealing pigs,

from the dunghill beside the door,

from the boors and the backcountry
and the shame. He took her away.

Yonville.

It's like a picture in a storybook.

Hyppolite, the inn boy,
he'll take care of your horse.

I didn't think you'd want to be bothered
tonight by such a detail.

Hyppolite.

Light the lamps.

Also, some of our leading citizens planned
a formal reception for you tonight.

I took the liberty of discouraging them.

Oh, it seems we've found a friend.

Thank you.

It's a small village.
I hope you find another.

- Why, we'll find many friends.
- Of course you will.

Don't expect too much of the house,
though. This isn't Paris.

In my humble opinion,
it's a modified rattrap.

Why, Monsieur Dupuis,
I'm sure it's a beautiful house.

Well, I'm sure you can make it beautiful.

There is a linen-draper here
named Lheureux.

He is a scoundrel,
but he knows his business.

He can help you.

Don't let me intrude further
on your privacy.

I live alone with my mother.
I believe she's waiting up for me.

- Good night and congratulations.
- Good night.

Oh. The key.

- Oh, thank you.
- Good night.

Oh.

Hyppolite, what are you going to do,
stand there all night?

Could it have been otherwise?

She had wept, no doubt,
in the early morning hours.

Was Emma the first bride to weep
while the bridegroom slept? Or the last?

Tristan. Lancelot.

Love in a Scotch cottage.

Love in a Swiss chalet.

- Charles, wake up! Charles!
- What is it? What is it?

Charles, I am going to make you
the most beautiful home in Yonville

this side of Rouen, this side of Paris.

What are you talking about?

This house, it's so ugly.
I'm going to do it over myself.

No, I mean it. I'll talk to that linen-draper

and that young man last night, the clerk.
He seemed to have good taste.

- Good morning, Madame Bovary.
- Oh, I will, I will.

I'll give you a home you can be proud of.
We'll be gay. We'll entertain.

New dreams for old.

Could this morning have been otherwise?

- Where?
- Higher, Leon.

Higher yet.

- Could you get it to the top?
- I'll try.

Oh, I shall probably be impaled
on the arrow.

I abhor arrows.

But for you, Madame Bovary,
I'd die with an arrow through my heart.

Oh. Oh, Leon, I can't believe
you've never been to Paris.

Oh, this is lovely.

How much is it, Mr. Lheureux?

For you, Madame Bovary, 12 francs a yard.

For anybody else, 10. What a scoundrel!

It's quite expensive, isn't it?
Let me see, now.

The chair, that was 30,
and the sofa and the mirror.

I must have the mirror.
And my new carpet...

- My poor husband, when he sees the bill.
- He needn't, you know.

We can keep anything you choose
a private transaction between you and me.

I'd have to ask you to sign certain notes,
just as a matter of record.

Oh, monsieur, I couldn't.

Oh, this is nice, isn't it?

You have unfailing taste.

Madame Bovary,
you have only to command,

and I will undertake to provide
anything you wish.

Furniture, gowns.

I make regular trips to Rouen,

and I have connections
with the best houses in Paris.

Charming, isn't it?

I can't, of course, accuse the woman,
but I certainly have my suspicions.

After all, to allow this strange man
into her shop and to close the shutters.

Oh, it was all well and good
to claim he'd come to repair her stove.

She might just as well have said
that her bread needed a bit of yeast.

- That was wonderful.
- Bravo, bravo! Bravo!

Excellent. Yes, indeed.

Excellent.

Madame Bovary has requested me
to read you a selection

from one of the greatest works of poetry,
the lliad.

- By Homer.
- The lliad, my favorite epic.

One of the noblest achievements
of literature.

I, myself, had the good fortune
of hearing it read

by one of our greatest actors
at the Com�die in Paris.

- But I...
- Monsieur Homais.

Pardon, pardon.

"O Greeks! Respect your fame

"Respect yourselves
and learn an honest shame"

Magnificent.

"Let mutual reverence
mutual warmth inspire

"And catch from breast to breast
the noble fire"

Paris...

One never forgets its flavor.
The masked balls, the champagne,

and if you knew what went on
in the Latin Quarter. The dancing...

That's utter nonsense, and you know it.

- Charles, when are you coming?
- Oh, come in, dear. Come in.

Madame Bovary,
the Marquis D'Andervilliers.

I must apologize, madame, for taking
your husband away from your soiree,

but I was just passing through the village
and felt an attack of dizziness.

Oh, it's nothing, truly. I'm honored.

You see, I'm just a village doctor,
and it isn't often

that I have the opportunity of murdering
such a distinguished patient.

Charles!

Such a handsome young couple.
You must come to the ch�teau sometime.

Well, good night.

Good night, sir.

Charles, Charles.
He invited us to Vaubyessard.

Oh, no, he didn't, not really.
He was just being polite.

Why didn't I offer him some refreshments?

"Now shakes his spear, now lifts"

You're not a farmer.
What do you know about agriculture?

May I... May I offer you something?

Some other time, perhaps. Good night.

Well, how's the party? I'm sorry
I had to stay away for such a long time.

Emma, what's the matter?

Is there anything wrong?

"Once sons of Mars
and thunderbolts of war!"

I have at the same time exposed myself...

Emma?

Emma, what in the world
are you doing up here?

Well, everybody's gone home.

I thought it was a wonderful party,
didn't you?

Marquis seemed like a very decent
sort of a fellow, didn't you...

Don't ever mention his name to me again.
I don't ever want to hear it. Never.

What is the matter?

- Emma, look at me. What is...
- Let me alone.

Emma. Emma.

Get control of yourself.

Oh, Charles.

Charles. Charles, I want a child.

I want a boy, Charles.

A boy grows to be a man.
A man can be free.

If he doesn't like his life, he can change it.

If there's anything beautiful, if there's
anything grand anywhere in the world,

he can go out and find it.

I want a baby, Charles. I want a boy.

I want a boy.

New dreams for old.

The dark hours of a woman's life
when old dreams perish

and new dreams are born.

Well.

Emma. It's a girl, Emma.

It's a girl.

The dark hours when new dreams perish.

Monsieur Homais is opening his shutters.

It must be one minute to 9:00.

Monsieur Guillaumin, the notary,
will now come out of the Lion d'Or,

scratch himself and spit.

- Good morning, Monsieur Homais.
- Monsieur.

People do the same thing every day.
They have to.

The town clock will now strike 9:00.

The Hirondelle will leave for Rouen.

Hyppolite will sweep the steps.

Goodbye.

Leon Dupuis will come running over
the bridge, late to work again.

Do you know, Charles,
why that clock strikes?

To announce the death of another hour.

Good morning, Leon.

I wish I were clever.
If I were clever, I could understand you.

If I could understand you,
then perhaps I could help you.

I love you so much, Emma.

I like a clock that strikes the hour.

I like knowing today
what'll happen tomorrow.

I like everything.
I suppose that's what's wrong with me.

- What is it you want, Emma?
- How do I know what I want?

Well, it's after 9:00.
I have to leave for my calls.

It's after 9:00.
My husband has to leave for his calls.

Oh, Berthe,
are you filled with madness, too?

Are all women?

Do you remember
the Marquis D'Andervilliers,

the man who came here?

You said never to mention his name
to you again?

Yes, of course I remember him.

Why mention him now?

I don't suppose a man can ever know
what a woman really wants

or what she really means.

A ball. At Vaubyessard.

It came yesterday.

He's sent us several of them
in the last couple of years,

but I never told you because...

Oh, Charles, you fool.

I don't know why he's asked us.
I suppose he felt sorry for us.

You never told me what happened
that night at the party.

- I only knew that you hated him.
- Oh, you idiot. You idiot.

He's asked us before
and you never told me. I love you.

- I should have stayed single.
- Vaubyessard, Vaubyessard.

The only marquis I ever met.

This could be a disaster, Emma.
This is aristocracy.

I know some of these people.
I've treated their servants.

Charles.

You come from a farm.
I'm a village doctor.

We're peasants, Emma.
We could be laughingstocks.

Are you saying we can't go?

The one chance in my life, the only...

What are you doing to me?

Are you showing me this
and then saying that we can't go?

No, Emma. No, I'm not.

Oh, you fool. You wonderful fool. Felicite.

Well, where are you going?

I'm going to Monsieur Lheureux
for a new gown.

Madame. Enchanted to see you.

Forgive me, my dear.

Good evening, madame,
delighted to see you.

Doctor. What a charming couple. May I?

Doctor, as your host, I demand the
privilege of the first dance with your wife.

Oh, well...

Perhaps you'd care to join the games
in the billiard room?

Thank you.

Gentlemen, 100 louis, if you make it.

Drinks.

Thank you.

That's my wife... Wife.

Thank you.

The most amazing hunting country
in the world.

- Match, please.
- Wild boar, deer, stag.

I wish you'd join us.

I'm afraid it would be impossible.
Perhaps the next time.

Oh, what a pity. What a pity.

Three kings.

- Who is she?
- Some doctor's wife.

Oh, yes. That peasant.

- I'm exhausted.
- May I have this dance, Madame Bovary?

Oh, I'm sorry.
This is a waltz, and I don't waltz.

- It's quite easy.
- I could show you.

Oh, no. No, I should be afraid to try.

May I?

Oh, I'm sorry, I don't waltz. No, really, I...

No. I would like to stop, please.

I can't breathe. I'm going to faint.

- The lady is going to faint.
- Break the windows.

Emma. Emma?

Emma.

Emma?

Emma?

Emma!

Emma!

Emma!

Wait. Hey, I want to dance with my wife.

Madame.

I don't like to disturb Dr. Bovary.
He's in his consulting room.

- It's Monsieur Leon.
- I'll be right down.

Wait.

- Send him up.
- Up here?

Hello.

Do you know, all the years,
and I've never been up here before.

How was Vaubyessard?

- Charles is downstairs.
- Hang Charles.

Leon.

Leon, after all these years... Don't. Don't.

Leon, this is not Paris.
This is a small village.

Charles is downstairs.

- Madame Bovary.
- Yes.

Madame Dupuis is calling.

- Did you say Madame Dupuis?
- Yes.

- Good afternoon, Madame Dupuis.
- Mother.

- Forgive this intrusion.
- Oh, it's nothing.

Leon was helping me.

I was trying to clear out some trash
in the attic.

- Yes.
- Won't you sit down, please?

- Where is Dr. Bovary?
- Why, I believe he has a patient.

- Did you want to see him?
- No.

It's always such a pleasure to see you,
Madame Bovary. You're so beautiful.

Leon sees you so often,
and I get so little chance.

Leon is very sensitive to beauty.
He is a very susceptible boy.

- Mother.
- Yes?

Would you like some chocolate?
I'll ring for Felicite.

No, I can only stay a moment.

- How is your husband, Madame Bovary?
- Oh, he's well. Very well. Busy, of course.

Yes, of course. A nice man.

Not brilliant, but then if he were brilliant,
he would leave for Paris.

Then who would stay in Yonville
and look after simple people like me?

That's quite right, Madame Dupuis.

I'm happy you understand your husband
so well, Madame Bovary.

- Leon is leaving for Paris. Yes.
- Mother.

An old friend of the family
will find him a position,

perhaps in Paris, perhaps in Rouen.

- I didn't know.
- You didn't consult me.

What is this? I thought
you always wanted to go to Paris.

But this is absurd. I...

Don't tell me that you suddenly find
greater attraction in Yonville

rather than in Paris.

No. No, of course I...

Don't you agree, Madame Bovary
that my son has no future in Yonville?

Yes, I've overstayed my welcome.

Please give my best regards
to your husband.

Come, Leon, you may see me home.

Well, go on.
Don't keep your mother waiting.

There we are. That's fine.

Might be a little sore
for the next few days...

- Oh, I'm sorry.
- Oh, Emma, did you want to see me?

- No, I...
- Come in, dear, please. I'm just finished.

- Is Leon still here?
- Leon is going to Paris.

- He'll never be back.
- Oh, I'm sorry.

Still that's what he always wanted,
isn't it?

- Stupid little village. Stupid...
- Emma, please.

I intrude.

Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger
of La Huchette.

I believe we met at Vaubyessard.

Well, I'll go along now.

And I'll bring you this dull fellow
twice a week until he's well.

- That'll be fine.
- Come along.

Good day.

Attention. Attention.

Our village of Yonville is honored today
in having been chosen to present

the agricultural show
of the entire Seine district.

So you see, madame, it's in the air.
Everyone senses it.

This is the age of progress.

Mark my words, Madame Bovary, you will
live to see miracles of science unheard of.

The blind will see, the lame will walk.

Where is he? There. Look. Look, madame.
A perfect example.

Do you see that poor, wretched Hyppolite?

Do you know, madame,
that physicians in Paris

have practically perfected an operation
for the cure of strephopody

or, to be exact, endostrephopody or,
to be vulgar, a clubfoot?

May I be permitted, first of all,

to pay a tribute to the administrators
of our government?

Oh, were I but a physician
I could cure Hyppolite.

Yes, and bring renown upon our village
and celebrity upon myself.

I might even be awarded
the Legion of Honor.

Monsieur Homais, it's so hot.
Would you excuse me, please?

Certainly, my dear.

The Legion of Honor.

You farmers, agricultural laborers,
have understood that political...

- She's taken his arm.
- They do say he has plenty of money.

Plenty of money and no wife.
You know what that means.

It means he'll continue
to have plenty of money.

- Oh, Monsieur Lheureux.
...more patriotism than in the country.

I'm sure everybody's asking

why a man like you
would come to a village fair like this.

Why? Well,
because I've run out of excuses.

For weeks I brought my man
to your husband,

until not even I could pretend
he was still ailing.

- So now I'm reduced to agricultural shows.
- Madame Bovary.

You villain.

So now you want to risk my reputation
in public places.

What alternative do I have?

Since you won't let me risk it in private?

The welfare of the seaman, the fisherman,

the rich man in his ch�teau.

Upon the broad hands
of the agriculturalist

guiding his plow,

sowing his seed, reaping his harvest,

planting his cabbages,

depends our great industrial centers

where commerce and fine arts
are flourishing.

But the farmer's crying for fertilizer
and there is no fertilizer.

Shall we listen to the speeches?

My husband's sitting
not 30 feet from that window.

My darling,
I know what you're going through.

Your duties, your loyalties, your chains.

But this face...

Now, before heaven, must this face
be wasted on the shopkeepers of Yonville?

- This face that haunts me, drugs me...
- Rodolphe...

These hands that were designed
for a thousand pleasures.

These lips. Were they meant to speak
of love or grocery lists?

Don't, Rodolphe, don't.

Now, we ask for manure.

We demand manure
for the further development...

I adore you.

Now, Dr. Charles Bovary.

Gentlemen, as Monsieur Canivet
has so happily remarked...

- That's my husband.
...about our fair, fair land,

everywhere, commerce and the arts
are flourishing.

Be careful, they'll see us.

...means of communication,
like so many new arteries...

Well, then for heaven's sake,
let's go where they can't.

...established with any new relations...

Why, I've got to be down there
while he's speaking.

- Why?
- I can't hurt him that way. I...

No, Rodolphe, don't touch me. Please. No.

...a brash imposter...

- When will I see you?
- For you are the...

- Rodolphe, I...
- Have you a horse? Do you ever ride?

- Now just tell me, do you ever ride?
- No, please.

...you farmers, you artists,
expecting neither glory nor praise.

The same can be said of the village doctor.

Idiot! Murderer!
You might have poisoned us all!

Do you want to see me
in a prisoner's dock with criminals?

Do you want to see me dragged off
to the scaffold? Speak! Answer me!

- Articulate! Say something!
- You told me to get you a spare pan.

Did I tell you to get it from my laboratory?
Look. You see this jar?

You see what it says? "Dangerous."
Do you know what's in it? Arsenic.

You, you've taken a pan
that was next to it.

- Monsieur Homais.
- Oh, you imbecile...

- Monsieur Homais.
- Oh, Madame Bovary.

Oh, you've no idea
what I have to contend with.

Sometimes I'm horrified myself
when I think of my responsibilities.

Monsieur Homais, may I speak to you
for a moment alone, please?

Please. Justin, put down that jar.

Go back into the kitchen. Madame.

- Monsieur Homais...
- lf you please.

Yesterday at the fair

when you said that if you were a physician
you could cure Hyppolite...

Madame Bovary, you mean to say
you were listening to me?

I'm dumbfounded, but I'm very flattered.

You said that a doctor could win
the Legion of Honor.

Well, I said,
but no one would listen to me that...

Could he really win the Legion of Honor?

Well, I'll only say
that if an obscure village doctor

could perform such a great feat, his name
would be blazoned across France...

So you're sure it can be done?

My dear lady,
I have all the information here.

All the literature...

- Why do you ask?
- Charles will do it.

- Charles?
- Oh, Monsieur Homais,

if he could only be important and famous
and people listen to him.

He'll do it. I'll talk to him.

- Have you said anything to him yet?
- No, but I will.

- You're afraid he can't do it?
- No, no, not at all.

Why, any physician... It's simple surgery.

It's merely a matter
of following directions.

It has been done, hasn't it?

Well, I won't say that it's been done,
but the method has been perfected.

Madame Bovary, it is typical

of the threshold
of the great advances of science.

First, the method. Second, the practice.
This is inspiration.

- You'll help him? You'll find all the books...
- Help him?

I shall devote every waking moment
to this great project.

Charles, you'd be famous.
You'd be known and respected.

And Homais will help you.

- He's finding more articles about it now.
- Where?

Where's he looking for them?
In some butcher's catalog?

- Charles Bovary, the butcher of Yonville.
- Why do you want to talk like that?

Because I don't want to talk about it at all.

Emma, I don't say that it can't be done.
Perhaps. How do I know?

But I do say that for me to attempt
an operation like this would be butchery.

How many times have I told you
that I am no surgeon?

I'm not even a good doctor.

I have a right to be a doctor
just as long as I know my limitations.

Why did you ever think up
something like this?

Do you want me to love you or don't you?

What?

Don't you understand that I'm trying?

I know you love me.
I know you're good to me.

Oh, I'd rather you were worthless
and dashing and brutal

and that you'd strike any man
who looked at me.

Emma, this is storybook.

Oh, I don't want you like that.
I don't expect it of you.

But if only you could be famous.

If you could be the kind of man
who wears the Legion of Honor.

Charles, you could push me aside
and ignore me, but how I could love you.

This is still storybook.

I can't help it. It's how I am.

Save me, Charles.

- Save me, before I...
- Before what?

I don't know. I don't know.

Dr. Bovary is your benefactor.
This isn't costing you a sou.

Look, the whole village is cheering you.
Already you're a famous case.

You'll be a hero to Yonville, to all France.

- And if...
- Leave him alone.

I don't want to be a hero.

What are you afraid of? You'll feel no pain.

Well, practically no pain at all.

A mere snip, no worse than the extraction
of certain corns.

But how jolly and brisk
you'll feel afterwards.

And how much handsomer you'll be.

Come, come, man. Where is your vanity?

You want to be rid
of that hideous deformity, don't you, eh?

And be like other people? Yes, indeed.

And what a fine figure you'll cut
strolling around, huh?

And how you'll please the ladies.

Who knows but what you may be dancing
with the girls

at the next village festivities, huh?

Oh, you'll be a gay dog, a gay dog.

I can see now there'll be no stopping you.

I'm gonna dance with the girls.

Go on, Hyppolite, I'm not able to cure you.
Go on back to work.

- What are you doing?
- Let go of him.

Dr. Bovary.

There'll be no operation.
If I'm a blunderer, all right,

but I'll not make him or anyone else
the victim of my blunders.

- Fool.
- You disgrace our village.

What happened?

Charles? The operation?

I...

I didn't perform it.

How could she have gone riding?
I have the horse.

She... Monsieur Lheureux,
the linen-draper,

he brought her a horse this morning.

I believe she bought it.

- Oh, Charles.
- Where have you been?

- Riding. I tried to come in quietly, but...
- Why?

Oh, I don't know.
I have a headache, the riding.

Some other time.

- You bought a horse.
- I'll pay for it myself. I'll use my dowry.

- Your dowry's all gone.
- I don't want to talk...

Where did you go?

Do I have to come in and report to you?
Am I a child? Can't I leave the house?

I can't have this, I can't have that.

Emma, look at me.
Don't go away from me.

- I'm so tired.
- I don't care about the money.

I know you don't, Charles.

Please. I love you so much, Emma.
You know I love you.

I know you do, Charles.
I know you do. Good night.

Please.

It's almost noon.

Oh, why must it always be
time to go home?

You, I know. You're glad.

You want to call your dogs
and go back to your hunting.

- The pheasants are excellent this year.
- Oh, you beast.

I could take my revenge on you, Rodolphe.
You know I could.

I could straighten up this room.

The way you live,
with everything piled every which way.

Guns and boots and pipes
and magazines and books.

- I like it.
- What a woman could do to this house.

Oh, I know what a woman
could do to this house.

She could destroy it.

And you, you witch,
if the woman were you...

I'm in love.
Like a silly schoolboy, I'm falling in love.

That this should have happened to me.

- Oh, Rodolphe.
- I'm bewitched.

I'm losing my interest in pheasant.

I wake up in the morning.

Do I think of my best hunter
that went lame?

No, I think of you crossing the fields,
and hope you aren't seen.

I'm losing my senses. You possess me.
You possess my house.

You know every corner of it
as if it were yours.

I detest this intrusion.

I adore my bachelor privacy,

but I adore you more.

Oh, Rodolphe, Rodolphe.

Am I joking?

Your letters.

- And what are these?
- Other letters.

Saint Petersburg, Rome.

Paris.

I kept souvenirs when I was young.
Now I no longer bother.

- I don't like it, Rodolphe.
- It's my life. I do.

- Don't torture me.
- Don't destroy me.

Tomorrow?

Isn't that wonderful?

A new spread and a new nightgown, yes.

- Hello, darling.
- Isn't she a sweetie pie?

I'll put her to bed.

- But I always...
- Is she my child or isn't she?

- But she's used to...
- Hello, darling. Oh, there, darling.

Darling, darling, it's just Mommy.
Oh, we take her shoes off, huh?

We take the shoes off. Oh, darling.

Here, Mommy will sing to you.

Oh, no, darling, darling.

Felicite. Felicite!

Oh, baby, baby.

Let me put that on you.

Here it is.

Sunset. They go down for water.

- Would you take me away, Rodolphe?
- We've a few more minutes.

No, I meant, away.

You and I, Rodolphe,

someplace, somewhere
where it's only ourselves,

and we'd never have to go home.

I don't want to go home.

We could never come back, Emma.

Your...

Your husband.

I can't face him. I can't look at him.
I go home and I...

Your child?

This is where dreams leave off, Emma.

You know how we'd live.
We couldn't take her with us.

I know.

How long can I pretend
that I have any right to her?

I lost her, Rodolphe. I lost her to Charles.

I've even lost her to my servant.

But, Madame Bovary,
two traveling trunks and traveling clothes,

an entire southern wardrobe...

These notes,
nothing yet paid on these notes.

But you renewed them for me,
at twice the interest.

Surely, surely.

But I am a business man,
and I must consider the risk.

There isn't any risk.

I'm going to Italy. I'm taking a holiday.

Of course.

Why don't I just speak
to your husband about it?

- No.
- Isn't your husband going?

He's busy.

- His practice...
- I see.

Of course, if some reputable gentleman
were willing to countersign these notes,

your husband, for instance,
or the master of La Huchette.

What's his name? Monsieur Boulanger.

What are you saying?

His name just happened to come
to my mind.

This is impudent.
I hardly know Monsieur Boulanger.

I am a discreet man, Madame Bovary.
I am in the business of making money.

I leave matters of morals to the priests,
to the philosophers.

I ask only one question, what is the risk?

I'll make out a note.

I'm afraid it will have to be

for double the value
of the merchandise received.

Now, if I know from your lips

that you are going off
with the master of La Huchette,

then I shall not hesitate
to accept this note.

Even if you don't come back,
I'll have confidence

that someone will pay it.

Who do you mean? Charles?

- When are you leaving?
- Friday, a week.

- By what means of transportation?
- The mail coach in the evening.

The mail coach doesn't stop in Yonville.

- Rodolphe will arrange it.
- Excellent.

Your trunks will be waiting
in the front of my shop.

The coach can pick them up here,
and your husband be never the wiser.

Mama.

Madame Bovary?

I hope you like Italy.
I've never been there myself.

Wait! Wait!

There's a basket of fruit on the table there,
from La Huchette.

No, I didn't open it.

Emma.

Emma.

Emma.

Emma.

Emma.

- Emma.
- No!

What are you... Emma!

Emma!

The letter, the letter.

- Doctor, what is it?
- Please.

Emma.

Can you see this?

Can you see what I have here?
It's the letter.

I haven't read it.

Darling, please try to understand me.

Can you see what I'm doing?

Emma, can you see this? Can you see it?

Rodolphe.

Rodolphe.

Was it sickness?

If sickness, was it of the body
or of the soul?

The summer fled.

Autumn pursued it down
the empty spaces of half-forgetfulness.

And then, in the winter months,
Emma recovered.

She recovered, that is,
in the sense that she did not die.

But while Emma had given up all hope,
Charles had not.

Oh, you stupid dunce.

Look what you've done
to my beautiful frock.

I'm sorry.

Oh, my lovely gown
and now you've just ruined it.

- Charles Bovary.
- How could you be so stupid?

- Leon Dupuis. My apologies.
- Stupid idiot.

Same old Charles.
This is delightful, delightful.

The mustache, the clothes.
You see, it's an old friend of mine.

Well, what in the world
are you doing in Rouen?

I thought you were in Paris.

Oh, it's a long story.

But what are you doing in Rouen?
You never leave Yonville.

- Come, I writhe with curiosity.
- Emma... You can join us, can't you?

Of course.

Drink it, and then faint.

Look.

Leon. Leon Dupuis.

Charles, you knew he was in Rouen
all the time.

- No.
- You arranged it.

No, it was luck. It was absolute luck.

He won't even tell me why he left Paris.

Look at him, the man of the boulevards.

- Why did you leave Paris?
- No mystery.

There was a law firm here in Rouen,
a partnership.

Oh, the sacrifices one makes
on the doubtful altar of success.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Our own Leon, a lawyer.

Then I said that I did like the opera,
everything except the music.

Oh, no, it's all over. Here come the people.

I wish we hadn't missed the third act.

Oh, you know you couldn't have stood
another minute of it.

- That dreadful Lagardy.
- Precisely.

Why, in Paris,
Lagardy is regarded as quite...

Oh, really?

I was just beginning to like him.

Oh, darling, you're the most
wonderfully stubborn man alive.

I wouldn't know about that.

I only know I'm the happiest.

You should be happy.

Well, you didn't have to watch
Lagardy's third act performance.

In Paris, you know,
he's considered a has-been.

But here in the provinces,
I suppose we're still impressed

with his reputation with women.

His what? Oh, Leon, tell us.

Didn't you know?

Why, he's quite notorious.
Countesses, duchesses...

No.

I should have stayed for the third act.
No, I mean it.

Darling, you should have forced me
to stay.

I should have... Oh, no, I must be drunk.

Waiter? Bring me the bill, please.

You know, my head goes
around and around.

- Oh, here, Charles, let me...
- No, no, no.

You know, we could come back
tomorrow night to see the third act.

Darling, why don't we stay over
an extra day?

Oh, no, I can't.

All my patients are waiting for me
to get back so that they can die.

What a pity.

Do you know, that third act
does have some fascinating moments in it.

The great aria.

Oh, I can't bear it.
I want to see the third act.

Oh, you know,
I'll never understand a woman.

Well, you stay. You stay over until Sunday.

No, no, we have to go back.

No, you stay over at the Croix Rouge.
I'll go home. I hate Lagardy.

- Darling, be serious. May I?
- Yes, of course.

Make him take you. He likes Lagardy.

Oh, Charles, you are a darling.

- Monsieur Dupuis?
- No, no. Go away, please.

- Boy, what is it?
- Are you Monsieur Dupuis?

- Yes, yes, what is it?
- A note.

What are you doing in my room?
I sent you a note.

I don't find it satisfactory.

People from Yonville stay here.
Somebody may have seen you.

You'll treasure the memory
of our friendship in Yonville.

Please get out.

My woman of the world,
flirt with me in public, lead me along,

then in private, "Oh, no, go away, get out."

I meant it. I meant what I said in that note.

You spoiled, ridiculous child.

A horrid little rendezvous
in a horrid little hotel.

Is this what you think I am?

The way you deceived Charles.
The way you tricked him.

The way I tricked him?

Can't you be ashamed?
Charles is your friend. He trusts you.

Charles. You know it isn't Charles.

What happened? You're dressed.
You intended to meet me.

Is this where I end up?
A dirty little hotel bedroom,

broken mirrors
and no curtains on the window.

Don't, Emma.

You know me, Leon.
This wasn't what I ever wanted.

Did I ever want anything cheap or ugly?

No, Emma. No.

Is it a crime to want things
to be beautiful?

I love you, Emma.

No, somebody saw you.
Somebody must have seen you.

Nobody saw me.

- Well?
- Where's Dr. Bovary? Isn't he home?

He was called away.
He won't be home until tomorrow.

- What happened?
- He's gone to Daudeville. His father died.

Poor Charles. What a pity. Hello, Berthe.

Myself, I felt sorrowful for the master.

What do you mean? That I don't?

I mean, with so much happening,
his wife away and his father and the bills.

The bills? What bills?

Something with this linen-draper fellow.
How should I know?

I signed those notes. You agreed,
my husband wasn't to know about it.

I'm pressed for money myself.

But you went to him.
You broke your word.

Don't be alarmed.
I only showed him a bill for 1,000 francs.

Poor man, if he knew the whole amount...

Monsieur Lheureux, this isn't the time.
He's upset.

His father and the funeral
and settling the estate.

- The estate? What's it worth?
- I don't know.

Find out. Sell it.

- How could I? It belongs to Charles.
- At least investigate it.

Do you know anyone
who could handle it for you?

I know a lawyer in Rouen.
He's quite successful.

Excellent.

Madame Bovary,
why do I have to instruct you?

You are a clever woman.
Your husband is not a clever man.

All right, he's upset.

When he comes back from Daudeville,
share his burdens.

Save him from the sad business
of settling his father's estate.

Get him to give you his power of attorney.
Take it to your lawyer in Rouen.

Have the estate investigated.
If it's worth anything, sell it

and report back to your husband
that it was worthless.

Madame Bovary, you don't seem
to understand that you are in trouble.

That'll be all, thank you.

- Could I get you some...
- No. No, nothing. Thank you.

Oh, you're here.
I meant to be here when you arrived.

Well, I got here earlier than I expected.
I brought all the papers about the estate.

Oh, my partners will take care of it.
We have a whole week for that.

I think they're all here, let's see.

- Oh, yes, here's the power of attorney.
- Emma, aren't you glad to see me?

Of course I am.

I must apologize for the room.

It's hardly in the best of taste,

but I did have to find a place
where you wouldn't be known.

- I'm afraid the decorations...
- Leon.

I love it.

Put those things down and get out of here.

We don't want anything.

Wait, there is something we want.
Bring us some champagne.

Well, you heard the lady.
Champagne, quickly.

Dupuis.

Yes, sir?

Who is this Madame Emma Bovary?

Why, nobody, Monsieur Dubocage.
Nobody special.

Where have you been all this week?

Well, I was ill, sir.

Ill? Have I a clerk in this office or haven't I?

- You have no right to be ill.
- I beg your pardon, sir.

- It won't happen again, sir.
- Get back to your desk.

The papers...
You said you wanted new business, sir.

New business? This?

I've had a report on it.
It's nothing but worthless trash.

I wondered, sir, an advance on my wages?

Physician's fees, you know.

Physician's fees. Let that be the last.

Thank you, sir.

Dupuis, tell the woman goodbye.

Oh, Leon, I waited and waited.

Our last day, I have to go back
to Yonville in the morning.

Aren't they worth anything at all?

We had endless conferences,
my partners and I.

They are very conservative men, of course,
but still, they agree.

The estate isn't worth anything.

The power of attorney's there
with the papers.

I'm afraid you won't need it.

Oh, Emma, let's forget it, what's money?

You can afford to say that,
you've got money.

Why is it that
I should suddenly be overwhelmed

with the vulgarity of this room?

Oh, Emma, some day, you and I,
we'll go to Paris.

You and I, Emma, I swear it.

Some day, Leon,
I'll probably stop hoping for anything.

Here, no more sadness. Go dress yourself.

We'll dine, the Caf� de Paris.

We'll subdue our sorrows
with wine and music.

I'll go and dress.

Good evening.

- Morning, Monsieur Guillaumin.
- Morning.

- Morning, Monsieur Homais.
- Morning, Monsieur.

Goodbye.

- Good morning, Madame Lefrancois.
- Good morning, Monsieur Lheureux.

A pleasant day. Good morning, Hyppolite.

Why did you come here?
You can't come in.

I only wanted a few words
with your husband.

In there, please.

- You can't stay.
- Really, Madame Bovary...

I've pledged our house, our furniture,
everything we own.

- What more do you want?
- To see your husband. Just a few words.

You said that if I signed
his name to those notes

and gave you the power of attorney,
you'd leave me alone.

- You wouldn't say anything.
- I have no intention of saying anything.

- I am no talebearer.
- Then what do you want?

You want something more.

I come here
with nothing whatsoever to gain.

I ask to see your husband
out of a sense of decency,

in the spirit of justice,
as his friend and neighbor.

It seems only friendly
that he should know.

Monsieur Guillaumin
is preparing to take legal action.

Monsieur Guillaumin?

Well, what has he to do with it?

I needed money,
so I sold your papers to him.

So, you see,
it's really quite out of my hands now.

- You'd take our house?
- I?

Madame Bovary, I repeat,
I no longer have anything to do with it.

If Monsieur Guillaumin chooses
to take your house...

- You scoundrel!
- I beg your pardon.

- You monster!
- It's hardly becoming, Madame Bovary,

for a woman of your character
to start calling names.

I've tolerated your conduct for too long.
The things I have witnessed!

The cheating, the lying,
the insatiable greed.

What iniquities! What sordid passions!

Your child and your husband deceived.
All morals abandoned.

Every loyalty foresworn,

while you indulged yourself
with any man that came your way.

- Oh, don't, please...
- And now you call me names.

I am in the business of making money,
Madame Bovary,

a recognized, honorable profession,

a profession, which I am confident,
bears public comparison with yours.

Please, I beg of you, go.

I beg of you humbly. Please go.

- Good morning, Madame Tuvache.
- Good morning.

- Good morning, Monsieur Binet.
- Good morning.

- Is Monsieur Guillaumin in?
- Yes, he is.

- Monsieur Guillaumin.
- Why, Madame Bovary.

Please, do forgive me for coming so early,

- but...
- Quite all right. Will you join me?

Oh, no, thank you. Please go on.

You see, a dreadful matter
has just come to my attention.

Yes, yes.
Unfortunate, these matters of money.

I haven't wanted to bother
my husband about it.

Of course not. I can well understand.

Monsieur Lheureux, he said...

He said that you were going to take
some kind of legal action.

Now just what would that be?

Oh, the natural course of events,
a judgment against the property,

the bailiff, a seizure of said property,
a sale.

Oh, no, I can't believe you'd do that.

I would be happy if it could be avoided.

- I knew you weren't that kind of man.
- Of course not. Of course not.

- Nothing peremptory, shall we say?
- Of course, I... We can pay.

I have many rich friends who would be
willing to help us if it were necessary.

Yes, I understand a certain party
has recently returned from Italy.

He should have every reason to help you,
according to these details.

You see, I have asked our friend,
Lheureux, to put them in writing.

Amazing. My old friend, Leon Dupuis.

Oh, I'm quite discreet.
After all, it's business.

- This is monstrous.
- Quite the contrary. I find it fascinating.

Who would have guessed it?
Our own Madame Bovary.

Now come, come, come.
Let's not be shy about it.

Why, I found the details most appealing.

Now, my dear, I'm a reasonable man.
I'm not like that Lheureux.

After all, money's not everything to me.

Why, Madame Bovary, I'm sure you and I
can work some detail between us.

- Let go of me.
- Oh, what a sly little thing you are.

I didn't want to, Leon.
Who else do I have to come to?

- I didn't want to.
- Well, I am sure you didn't.

But, after all, 15,000 francs,
it's a fortune to me, yes.

But to you, with all your connections
and all your success...

Don't laugh at me, Leon.
Don't humiliate me.

- Humiliate you?
- Leon!

All my success.

I'm still a clerk. I'm still a clerk.
I've lied to you.

I'm still a stupid little clerk

sitting on a high, stupid stool
that I'll never get off till the day I die.

Now you can laugh.

All my success.

I failed in Yonville. I failed in Paris.

Now I can't even succeed at pretending
that I am what I'm not.

I thought you'd hate me.

Did you see the master in Rouen?

He went in last night.
He went looking for you.

- Has he come back yet?
- No.

Why, isn't it proper for me to forgive you?
Surely other women have forgiven you.

- Or isn't that fair?
- It's fair enough.

I just don't happen to remember you
in terms of other women.

- How was Italy?
- Can't you guess? Without you?

I'm sure you found other amusements.

Why should I deny it?

Emma, why did you come here to see me?

Why, I came to tell you that I forgive you.

You're pale.

Those lines around your eyes,
I don't remember them.

I'm sure there's a great deal
you don't remember.

Would you offer me some brandy?

Oh, Rodolphe, forgive me.

Being here again, seeing you again,
I suppose in a way I still love you.

To the happiest of memories
and the saddest.

- Why didn't you take me with you?
- Don't, Emma.

If you loved me,
why didn't you take me with you?

I'm a fairly courageous man, Emma,
but I was afraid of you.

No.

Oh, I ask for too much, I know it.
I expected too much of you...

You asked for something
that consumes while it burns,

that destroys everything it touches.
I didn't want to be destroyed.

Rodolphe. Rodolphe, if I promised...

Oh, I was childish. I confess it.

We all have to grow up, you know.

Supposing I promised
never to expect too much of you again.

Oh, well, don't look so gloomy.

Really, I swear it,
I'd never ask too much of you.

Oh, Emma.

Well, you can at least look at me,
can't you?

I'm not that unattractive, am I?
I'm not that pale.

My eyes, they aren't that ugly, are they?
Oh, here.

Here.

I need money.

- Money.
- 15,000 francs.

Why didn't I know it was money?

- Oh, I love you. I do love you, I swear it.
- Oh, get up, Emma. I can't stand it.

Only 15,000 francs.
I'll do anything you ask.

- I'll never ask too much of you, believe me.
- I believe you. I pity you.

- And I don't have it.
- You don't...

Why should I share your humiliation?
Go home. You're destroyed.

I said, I'm afraid of you.
I said, I don't have it.

You don't have it?

You don't have it?

I'd have given my life for you.
I'd have begged on the highroads.

I'd have stolen for you.
I'd have worked on my hands and knees.

I said I don't have it.

The bell? At this hour of the night?
Who can that be?

Well, well, just don't stand there.
Go see who it is.

No! No!

Don't, don't!

If you say one word,

if you make one sound, I shall say
that you gave it to me by mistake.

Say one word, Justin, make one sound...

Justin. Who was it? Justin.

You've seen this?

I said have you seen this?

Come to your senses.

I'm not going to ask you
where you've been.

I know where you've been.

I'm not going to ask you
where you were in Rouen.

I can guess where you were in Rouen.

Don't hate me, Charles.
Don't hate me now.

What's the matter with you?

Emma?

What is it?

Arsenic. Arsenic.

Don't let go.

Don't let go, Emma. There'll be
another doctor here by morning.

No. No.

I hurt, Charles. I hurt inside.

- You're crying.
- No, Emma.

Always trying to save me.

Why are you always trying to save me?

I love you, Emma.

You came in out of the rain,
and you were so wet,

and you'd come so far.

Please. Please, please, please...

Where are we, Charles?

- Is this our house?
- Yes, this is our house.

I'm going to make you
the most beautiful home,

like... Like pictures in magazines

when I was a child.

There's not something wrong
with things being beautiful, is there?

No, Emma, there...

What did I do?

Hold me, Charles. Hold me.

Through this holy unction

and through his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon
all the sins that you have committed

through the sense of hearing. Amen.

Through this holy unction
and through his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon
all the sins that you have committed

through the sense of sight. Amen.

Through this holy unction and through
his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon
all the sins that you have committed

by the sense of taste and of speech. Amen.

Through this holy unction
and through his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon
all the sins that you have committed

through the sense of touch.

Amen.

And so it was.

A woman had been born into this world
and had died young.

She had touched on numerous lives

some lightly,

some not so lightly.

Some despised her.

Some mourned her a little.

Some profited by her.

And then, of course,
there were those she had ruined,

who would never cease to love her.

Now there are those
who are offended by her

and who see in Emma Bovary's life
an attack upon public morality.

Gentlemen of the court,
I maintain that there is truth in her story,

and that a morality which has within it
no room for truth, is no morality at all.

Men may dislike truth.

Men may find truth offensive
and inconvenient.

Men may persecute the truth, subvert it,
try by law to suppress it,

but to maintain that men
have the final power over truth

is blasphemy and the last illusion.

Truth lives forever, men do not.