Original subtitles

1773.

The 18th century was polishing its last act.

Louis XV was about to bow out.

Meanwhile, backstage, Louis XVI was getting ready.

A time of great ideas and defiant subjects.

Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais,

a clockmaker like his father,

thought, like Voltaire,

that the clocks were set awfully slow.

So he set about hurrying them up.

- The Théâtre Française, please? - Right there.

Thank you.

Mr de Beaumarchais?

He doesn't see visitors. You may write to him.

BEAUMARCHAIS the scoundrel

How inflated! How heavy!

Why so slow?

- The text demands it. - What text?

This isn't Marivaux or Voltaire. Lightness is the key.

Who's there? Will you please let us work?

Work differently. I nearly fell asleep.

Come on. Start again.

From just after the song "He's certainly no priest ..."

He's certainly no priest. His haughty, noble air ...

Gentlemen, just say your lines, nothing more.

- Aren't you Count Almaviva? - Figaro, the rascal!

- That's me, my lord. - Not a word ...

That's you indeed. With your usual kindness!

I wouldn't have known you. So well fed!

What do you expect, my lord? Times are hard.

I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't help it.

Don't stop. Especially in front of the author ...

Scoundrel!

- I've a letter, sir. - Hand it over.

From Mr de Voltaire.

- You know Voltaire? - My father is his steward.

Let's have a look, then.

Dear Brilliant Scatterbrain,

I'm afraid that in the end you alone may be right.

Through your trial, you're attacking Parliament.

You have my best wishes.

Welcome this young Mr Gudin who worships you.

He can make himself very useful.

Spare me a thought or two, as I think of you.

Voltaire.

Voltaire!

I'm at his disposal. What can I do for you?

Nothing, sir, other than read my texts.

So you're a writer too! Everyone is these days.

Even lowly Baculard d'Arnaud

who slanders me in this rag you dared bring.

Come ...

Gentlemen, excuse me.

Come along!

The bright evening star has left the skies.

I am awake, alas, with tormented eyes.

The bright evening star ...

- Miss Ménard? - Hold on, I'm not dressed.

- Beaumarchais sent me. - What for?

- To read you a poem. - Couldn't he come himself?

Well ... I wrote it.

You're a poet?

Beaumarchais asked for your opinion.

He said you like young writers.

Oh dear ... What a rogue!

Go ahead, then.

I have a rehearsal soon.

La Napliade.

That's the title of the poem.

The bright evening star has left the skies.

I am awake, alas, with tormented eyes.

Is that it?

Come on in.

Now ... Let's hear it.

The bright evening star ...

Where's that ridiculous writer?

- Who? Beaumarchais ... Your lover!

- He knows nothing. - And I know all.

- You and I broke up! - How did he know?

He must have seen I was sad.

Be doubly sad. I'm going to kill him.

No, I beg you, Joseph.

Joseph!

Beaumarchais is in danger. Hurry!

- Where? - His home, rue de Condé.

Get there before the Duke.

Get going, silly fool. Run them over!

Excuse me.

- In danger? Really? - A man wants to kill him.

- Who wants to kill me? - A gigantic duke. A mountain.

A mountain? How aptly put.

- How is Miss Ménard? - She only heard a few lines.

- What of the rest? - The Duke broke in.

- He saved your hide. - Pardon me?

Your poems are atrocious. They show erudition ...

but nothing about life,

nothing about our times

and nothing about you.

- Why send me to Miss Ménard? - I thought she'd be less blunt.

You write fairly well, but you think wrongly.

- Voltaire read your work? - He did me the honour.

- And what did he think? - The same as you did.

That's cruel.

What did Voltaire employ you for?

I prepared texts and wrote letters for him.

Thank you, Césaire.

Come along.

Come along. You're hired.

You haven't had lunch, sir.

I'll have two dinners.

Write this down, will you?

"Counsellor Goezman ..."

A new lampoon?

No, just a request for an audience.

"Counsellor Goezman,

"My appeal hearing is imminent.

"My appeal hearing is imminent.

"Parliament has chosen you as my prosecutor."

Why let this drag on? Three years ...

Are you familiar with the case?

You're using the trial as an excuse.

Please explain.

You don't care about what Count de La Blache owes you.

I think ...

Parliament is a platform for your ideas.

You favour your ideas over theatre.

That's not incorrect.

This is dangerous, sir. It may turn nasty.

- Your father's watch! - How do you know?

He gave it to you when you became Royal Clockmaker.

You were 22.

Is there anything about me you don't know?

What you haven't done yet, which may need a witness.

Might that be you?

Paris is dangerous, Mr Gudin.

Too much poverty, too many taxes.

- And people suffer it. - Who'd risk the Bastille?

You ... given what you write.

I'd like to prove Parliament corrupt.

- Could you prove it? - I think so. Here we are.

- What's this? - My professional garb.

I am a defendant, but I am also a judge.

- And Master of the Royal Hunt. - You're a magistrate?

Worse still, I wanted to be one. So I paid for the charge.

Thank you. Hello.

- Why seek this honour? - I seek all honours.

Thank you so much.

Parliament remembered me. My appeal is to be next week.

Come on!

Gentlemen, all rise.

Ladies and gentlemen, please sit down.

Now ... Good day, sir.

- Where is the plaintiff? - Here, Your Honour.

Come closer, sir. Don't be afraid.

Your wall was destroyed?

I built it at the bottom of my pasture.

To deter prowlers.

And who knocked it down?

Speak up, my good man. Don't be afraid.

The Prince de Conti.

The Prince de Conti?

Why did he demolish your wall?

To hunt, sir. For his hounds and horses to get through.

Master of the Royal Hunt!

The Duke de Chaulnes! Such an honour!

I'm here to avenge my honour,

Mr Caron.

- Prepare to die. - This is hardly the place.

No matter. You will die.

I wouldn't count on it. A moment, please. Have a seat.

I wouldn't make a wronged man wait unduly.

Thank you.

Given that no man, be he of royal descent,

is above the law that governs mere mortals,

Louis-François Bourbon, Prince de Conti,

is sentenced to rebuild Master Mouillot's wall,

or be constrained to do so by the authorities.

You have a good heart, sir.

A Bourbon to rebuild a wall, outrageous!

I'm all yours, Duke!

Guard, kindly lend me your sword.

Why, thank you!

If you'll excuse me, Duke.

- Thank you, madam. - It's Miss.

En garde, sir.

- Oh no! - So sorry.

Duke ...

please allow me.

Mr Gudin, would you kindly do me a favour?

- Certainly, sir. - Thank you.

Be my witness.

A duel with such a man will get me into trouble.

I've already killed a man in a duel.

You won't kill another!

- Note I'm not the aggressor. - Quite, sir.

- Mr Gudin! - Sir?

Call the guards quickly. Very quickly!

Guards!

Mr de Beaumarchais!

I arrest you in the name of the king.

Counsellor ...

How long can we detain Beaumarchais?

Until the trial.

Stop him preparing his defence.

Fear not, Count. I'll see to it.

That's what you're paid for, Mr Goezman.

If I can't prepare my case, I'm a dead man.

- Talk to Sartines, please. - Talk?

- You've helped me before. - Not with a minister.

He's Police Superintendent. Not bad-looking.

Do it yourself if you fancy him.

I don't like boys, truly. And I can't leave here.

Marion ...

Marion ...

If I'm found guilty, I'll never write again.

Not even for you.

You'll never play anything but vaudeville.

Marion ...

- You're asking me ... - To do what you do best.

- You're disgusting! - I only meant acting.

I'm not asking you to love him,

just to make him think you like him.

And make love.

Maybe we should wait a bit.

- I'll come back. - It won't be much longer.

There. It's over.

Mr Gudin ...

what about your poem?

How's your head, my friend?

In working order.

Then I have a task for you.

- The Barber of Seville? - I've improved on it.

I work best in prison. Tell me what you think.

My opinion?

Tell the actors at the Comédie about the changes.

Be my representative. Hurry, the rehearsal starts soon.

- Le Bihan! - Coming, sir.

- The young man is leaving. - Yes, sir.

Tell Beaumarchais to stop attracting so much attention.

And to drop his attacks on Parliament.

One of these days the king won't be able to protect him.

Here you are. He's a free man.

Is there anything else I can do for you?

We'd have to wait a little while.

I'm very sorry, but I have a matinée.

I hope there are other prisoners you want freed.

Oh goodness, sir!

Oh goodness, sir!

Your hands over your heart, Rosine!

She's flustered. The hands go over the heart.

- She's going to faint, Alonzo. - It was such a blow!

A seat. Get a seat.

- Rosine! - This is unwise.

You're too far apart.

They fear Bartholo but their attraction is too strong.

Like this. "This is unwise."

- Indeed, how unwise! - Pierre!

Come on. Let's continue.

Simply say your lines, no more.

You asked to write Beaumarchais's life,

not to live it for me!

- I was doing my best, sir. - It was a good imitation.

Do you still want to help me?

Well, that's my dearest wish.

It seems that Parliament has already found me guilty.

I've only one weapon left. My enemies' best weapon.

Corruption.

Beaumarchais will lose this time.

Not so! He has the king's support.

Like the rope supports a hanged man.

- He'll be ruined if he loses. - He's used to it.

Forget money. They want his head.

The Parliament or the king?

Parliament, king, they're in bed together.

Sorry.

Excuse me. Sorry, sir.

Gentlemen, here is the object of this hearing.

A mere paper signed by the banker Duverney

just before his death,

shamefully despoiling his legitimate heir,

Count de La Blache here present,

in favour of Squire Caron whom we're judging today.

However, neither Mr de la Blache

nor the experts appointed by the court

acknowledge the authenticity of the signature on the paper.

Who should we believe?

A man respected by all and who, so far,

has never dishonoured his rank,

or a public entertainer

whose trade is make-believe,

whose very name is a lie

and whose fortune originated

in the providential death of his two former wives?

This man, gentlemen ... and I solemnly declare this ...

this man is a forger.

A forger and an imposter society must be rid of!

Do you have anything to add?

Indeed I do, Your Honour.

- What do you have to say? - Plenty.

Plenty, beyond that little paper

you and Count de La Blache have decided was a fake.

How do I prove my good faith with my word alone?

We know what that's worth for the Parliament I loathe

and you its chief speaker!

- Are you referring to me? - You and this institution.

You all scorn the truth to protect your privileges.

Yes, Counsellor.

We're sick of those scandals erupting daily

which are buried by nightfall.

We're sick of insipid ministers

who would govern us, unable to govern themselves.

We're sick of lettres de cachet.

Sick of imprisonment for undisclosed reasons.

Can't you see that France is weary of your deceptions?

Leave France in peace!

France won't be left in peace. Listen to her.

Listen to her and beware!

- It is an offence ... - And my defence!

As I'm not a barrister, I'll go to the truth.

The truth!

It's coming, friends.

Truth is on its way.

Once set in motion, Counsellor,

it won't be stopped.

This isn't the Comédie-Française.

Pity! Actors often show a sincerity sadly lacking here.

Come to the point, Mr Caron.

De Beaumarchais, Count.

My nobiliary particle is there. I paid dearly for it. It's mine.

Mr Goezman,

before going to prison, I asked for an audience many times.

- You refused to see me. - I only see plaintiffs in court.

Most commendable! So why finally see me?

Christian feelings overcame me.

Christian feelings and a tidy little sum.

Meaning?

As if by magic you gave me an audience ...

not that it helped me, mind ...

for 100 gold pieces given to your wife

along with a valuable watch.

You're raving.

I occasionally rave. But not in court.

Enough. I'm lodging an action for slander against you!

And I'm dislodging you.

- You're a liar. - The lies are yours.

Should I name his accomplice?

His name!

Lejay the bookseller, here present.

Stand up, Mr Lejay.

Do you know Mr de Beaumarchais?

I've never seen the man before.

This proves Beaumarchais lied.

Enough allegations and stains on our honour.

Allegations? I'm talking about tangible proof.

Lejay published a book of mine. That's not an offence.

Come here, Mr Lejay. Take an oath.

It's time.

Let me remind you, Mr Lejay, you're under oath.

Your testimony could have dire consequences

for the accused.

I do not know this man.

Nor do I know the Counsellor's wife.

It seems, Mr Caron, that your defence is seriously lacking.

Your Honour, I have no other choice

but to cite the man who acted for me

with Mr Goezman's agent.

Mr Paul-Philippe Gudin de la Brenellerie.

- Who are you? - Gudin de la Brenellerie.

I negotiated for Mr de Beaumarchais

with bookseller Lejay and his wife Mariette.

Here she is.

Your Honour, to save time, may I question the witness?

She must take an oath.

Mrs Lejay, raise your right hand.

Swear to tell the whole truth.

- I swear, Your Honour. - I am Your Honour.

Sorry, Your Honour.

Did Mrs Goezman receive before you 100 gold pieces

and a watch in exchange for an audience with her husband?

Yes.

Did she, in your presence,

ask your husband to deny that the transaction occurred?

Yes.

Did she suggest he go abroad while the affair blew over?

Yes.

Finally ... you'll understand.

Your Honour, gentlemen, now you'll understand.

Do you accuse Mrs Goezman of saying, about her husband

in front of witnesses,

"It would be impossible for him to honestly hold his position

"with what the king gives us."

Yes, she did.

What more did she say?

"We'll pluck the chicken, but it won't squeak."

The chicken, gentlemen, the chicken meant me.

This session is adjourned.

If this depraved Parliament charges you,

I'll cut off Goezman's ears.

Joseph, you're smothering him ...

The Prince de Conti thanks you for charging him.

Let me embrace a free man.

So France should treat citizens like you.

Parliament may not agree.

Thank you.

He dared. He told them.

Judges are corrupt.

Long live Beaumarchais!

Down with Parliament!

Parliament is a den of thieves.

- May God hear you. - The people are with him.

They're scared of the people.

- I'm scared too, Mr Gudin. - Don't be. I'm here.

- Madame? - Is Mr de Beaumarchais home?

Sorry, but who are you?

He doesn't know me, but he's expecting me.

Please follow me.

For you.

The lady you were expecting, sir.

I didn't know I was expecting you,

but I would have been wrong not to.

I remember you!

The Royal Hunt Tribunal.

- The duel. - You were disarmed.

You were disarming. What can I do for you?

I come from Parliament.

Should I fear the worst?

You will kneel before the tribunal

and be declared infamous.

All your possessions will be seized.

You will be barred from public office.

Your plays will no longer be published or performed.

So I've been found guilty.

And you came despite all that?

Not despite it, sir, because of it.

You will have battles to fight.

You can count on my heart and my intelligence.

You aren't the only one who's brave, you know.

My name is Marie-Thérèse Willer Maulaz.

I've admired you for a long time, but now I know I love you.

Will you have me?

- My third marriage proposal. - Please sir, spare me!

You killed your first wives. Don't marry me.

So you want something that will last for life?

Let life decide for us.

Meanwhile, I'll follow you everywhere.

Let's start with my bedroom.

They're calling for you.

Long live Beaumarchais!

Long live freedom!

"Long live freedom!" Sartines!

Freedom! Why not "Long live the Republic"?

We'll not endanger the monarchy

just because Parliament found your protégé guilty!

Your Majesty well knows that Beaumarchais is faithful.

A faithful troublemaker!

With this trial, he wasn't targeting you or the regime.

- So you like Beaumarchais? - He's loyal.

He's a plotter.

He like plots. A good thing for a playwright.

Not just for a playwright.

Would he really have the talent to conclude our affair?

I'm sure of it. He's our only choice.

Beaumarchais!

They say that not long ago you were a clockmaker.

So they say, yes.

I have an unruly watch I'm very attached to.

Would you look at it?

I'm out of practice. I may prove clumsy.

One can never forget one's origins.

I warned you.

Mr de Beaumarchais.

Come forward.

I've decided you won't be cited before Parliament.

I'll spare you the humiliation.

But you will have to behave.

Being found guilty is one thing.

But it might do to be humble.

Be seated, gentlemen.

So what are you planning to do now?

I can do nothing, Sire.

I cannot write or bear my name.

I'm barred from public office.

Please take a seat.

When you were less sure of yourself,

less proud, less insolent ...

Sire, hear me ...

I hear you far too often, Mr de Beaumarchais.

How do you see your future?

Since last night I can't see it.

When I heard your sentence, I had an amazing idea.

I would have been amazed if you hadn't, Sire.

You cannot write or even use your name.

You will need an assumed name.

And what can one do under a false name?

Enlighten me, Sire.

Secret agent.

- Nothing to say? - I'm lost for words.

It has to be the first time!

Here are your orders.

You're sailing for London in two days.

Through a friend you will meet a man.

Or a woman.

The gender isn't important,

nor is it very clear.

- The Chevalier d'Eon? - So you know?

Very little, Sire,

other than that the gentleman ... or lady

was once your best spy.

- Daring, cunning. - Corrupt, hypocritical.

Spying isn't for saints.

So you feel you're the man for the job.

That person holds a vital document.

A document which is dangerous for France.

And which must be brought back at any price.

Serving the king is priceless, Sire.

We have decided on the price.

The return of your civic rights.

And to have my play performed?

But of course.

Your orders bear no name.

What will your name be, Mr Caron?

Ronac!

My name, jumbled up.

Caron, Ronac. The Baron de Ronac.

Well then ...

Good luck, Baron.

- Sire! Your Majesty ... - Is rather tired.

Please leave.

Sartines!

Give him all the details.

Goodbye, cousin.

- Are you cold? - A little. In my heart.

- This country doesn't like us. - It never has.

France and England have always hated each other.

Maybe in another two centuries ...

Still, the king spared you.

I'm not sure he spared me the worst.

- Mr de Ronac? - In person.

Pierre-Augustin!

William! It's been ten years. You haven't changed.

Meet the woman of my life.

As of two days ago! Pierre is so excessive.

I only hope it will last a while.

- She has courage. - You'll both need it.

Why?

You have enemies everywhere here.

Tomorrow night, I'm receiving all of high society here.

Including d'Eon. But beware.

As a member of the Privy Council

I am unable to protect you.

Chevalier, your plan is foiled.

Louis XV has just died.

- Who else knows? - King George will tomorrow.

Stay here. Speak to no one.

You'll be a rich man.

Mr dear Baron!

Welcome to London.

The whole anti-French faction is here.

To them, you have emigrated.

So don't forget. You are enemies of France.

- Is the Chevalier here? - Yes, dancing.

That young old man?

No, his partner.

Must I leave you with that stunning creature?

Occupational hazard.

Do you think he's a man?

We'll have to study the puzzle.

Don't study too closely, my love.

The Baron de Ronac.

Mr de Beaumarchais.

- So you know already? - My spies are efficient.

The Baroness de Ronac. The Chevalier d'Eon.

I'm charmed, Miss de Willer.

Since the gauntlet is thrown, I'd better protect you, madam.

- Come and dance. - With pleasure.

Since your spies are so efficient

you must know, Chevalier, what brings me to London.

Indeed I do.

But I'd never risk dealing with one of Louis XV's spies,

unless he were Beaumarchais in person.

I'm flattered. Let's negotiate.

- By God, yes. - God or Goddess?

One or the other.

Go ahead. Ask what you're dying to ask.

- Are you a woman? - What do you think, my friend?

- Man? - Oh no, I just said ...

- Still ... - Be careful.

Absolute certainty is never as good as proof.

Give me your arm.

I won't force you to do anything.

I'm told you like women.

As a playwright, I've studied them at length.

- Care to further your studies? - I don't wish to be wrong.

Let's get back to the point.

The king knows you wish to return to France.

Look around you. They hate us. But what price would I pay?

Negotiate with me the purchase of a royal document.

- The plan to invade England? - Which he carelessly gave you.

What could make me part with it?

A fair balance in coins of the realm.

- How much? - 500,000.

He's lost his balance!

My mandate won't let me go further.

Pity.

How much would a war with England cost France

if England suddenly stumbled against that plan?

- I'll have to think about it. - Let's do so outside.

Nights are inspiring, and this is a lovely night.

I approached the king with the idea myself!

I told Sartines my price.

I cannot believe he said nothing to you.

Were you hoping to keep a share for yourself?

That would be very low!

- 550,000? - Nowhere near enough.

They say you like money almost as much as women.

- 600,000? - We're getting there.

Go higher, you'll reach the desired object.

- Sartines said ... - 700,000.

Nearly there.

Let's say we're there.

I want the money here tomorrow late morning.

If I forget?

Do that and you'll be in prison that very night.

The plan will reach King George's desk immediately.

- Until then, Chevalier. - Mr de Beaumarchais!

Do you usually leave a woman once you've had your way?

- If I'm paying, yes. - Who's paying whom?

You've taken your commission.

Why not take the time to live a little as well?

It would seem our interview is making someone jealous.

Arthur?

No. It's not what you think.

Our relationship is a political one.

He's watching you, not me.

- Me? Why? - He knows you.

He's an American.

An American?

- Here in the open? - Under a false name, like you.

He's seeking support for his people.

Introduce us.

Arthur?

For years I've tried to interest the king in the Americans.

Beaumarchais, alias Baron de Ronac.

Arthur Lee, alias Sir Whitman.

Delighted.

Maybe not as much as I am.

Come along.

That one people could enslave another

has always puzzled me ...

To invade England, what a vain dream!

- Are you nervous? - I'm in a hurry.

Your reward for your betrayal.

- You may count it. - I'd rather trust you.

- I must leave. - So soon?

An unexpected journey to elude revenge.

Much obliged.

You know, Mr Lee,

I've kept watch on America's efforts to be rid of England.

No one in France has listened to me, though.

Yet both countries want a weaker England.

What do you want from France?

Guns, powder and cannons.

It would be easier to gain its esteem.

How do you intend to pay, Mr Lee?

Your ships would return laden with riches.

Let's get out of here!

- Not jumping, Baron? - I loathe cold water.

- Why arrest me? - Collusion with the enemy.

I'm under the protection of the King of France.

Your king is dead, Mr de Beaumarchais.

Mr de Beaumarchais!

Had I known, I would have got arrested sooner.

- My lord. - And who might you be?

Thévenot Morande, writer. Without your talent.

- What do you write? - Awful stuff.

Anonymous letters and pamphlets no one reads.

- How do you get by? - By not publishing.

I'm paid handsomely to keep my texts unpublished.

That's risky.

Indeed I'm more familiar with prison than with home.

- How is your Barber? - You know Figaro?

I know your trial has cut him short.

I'm trying to update him.

May I?

By all means.

- Whence your happy outlook? - It comes from hardship.

I strive to laugh at everything so that I may not weep.

I'd give my fortune to have written this.

Thank you. What is your latest work about?

Your king's inability to honour his wife.

Sorry?

- Have you met Louis XVI? - As heir apparent, yes.

He doesn't screw, sir. He does not screw.

I threatened the Court to tell all

unless I was granted a golden, happy retirement.

- How did they respond? - By locking me up here.

With worse to come

if I didn't reveal where my original pamphlet was.

With worse to come ...

If I didn't reveal where I had my pamphlet printed.

Mr Gudin ... were I my cousin the king,

rather than depress me, this would stimulate me!

It would lead to such a virile outburst

that I'd produce an heir to the throne.

I'd stand proud and erect.

- The king may not be amused. - He won't be.

May God be thanked.

The king fears this text dreadfully.

If he thinks Beaumarchais can stop it, he'll have him freed.

- Will you go to the king? - At once.

Do you know what Voltaire said?

Beaumarchais will never be a Molière

because his life captivates him more than his work.

How can I thank you?

- What did he want? - My hand in marriage.

Wonderful.

Long live the Barber of Seville!

Come. Pierre will need us for once.

- What can I write about it? - What has to be written.

That's it's a vile farce with no future.

- How would you describe it? - The debacle of the century.

One can survive rebuke, prison, but not ridicule!

What did you do to your play?

You burdened it with crude, redundant dialogue.

You added an entire act.

You debased it.

You're quite right.

I wanted to provoke laughter at any price.

I betrayed my purpose.

It could be that I'm not a genuine writer.

I'm going back to business.

I'm better at it.

Don't cap laziness with cowardice.

Just remove the cheapest lines

and go back to your earlier version.

Why don't you do it yourself, Mr Biographer?

You seem to know exactly what is required.

I won't touch the nasty piece again.

The king.

Mr de Beaumarchais,

I had to write to King George, who is hardly a friend.

Exactly what possessed you?

My duty to my king, Sire.

To return without suppressing that slander

was unbearable.

Here is the original, Sire.

I appreciate your concern for our honour.

But why consort with American rebels?

Our late king

took great interest in their war of independence.

Are you quite sure?

When he sent me to London,

King Louis XV hoped above all else

that I would meet with Benjamin Franklin.

Unfortunately, Dr Franklin had already left.

Your grandfather always mistrusted the English.

Hence this plan for an invasion.

A most dangerous project!

And ruinous at that.

Sire, should the English win,

we'll lose our overseas territories

and British power will increase.

That would be even more ruinous.

- We must prevent it. - It would be too expensive.

Three million in my estimation.

- Allow me ... - You allow yourself so much!

I can lend the first million, convince Spain to lend another

and the third would come from you.

Now I understand better

why people accuse you of being so forward.

Sire, should we step back when our country is at risk?

Who is "we"?

By "we" I mean France, of course.

And when France succeeds will you still say "we"?

In that case, I would say "the king", Sire.

Well said. Take a seat.

- Why are you doing all this? - For France and because ...

I'm translating a remarkable text.

What text?

The Declaration of Independence of the United States.

What is it about?

People's most sacred right.

And what is this right?

The pursuit of happiness, Sire.

Goodbye, Minister.

Louis XV and the Americans! What lies!

If that plump boy embraces their cause

he'll go down as a great king.

- It's in his interest. - Or yours?

Both maybe. What do you think of him?

The king? Too early to tell.

I like him. I sense a man with a strong will.

Yes, the will to submit to yours!

In fact, you and I love the same man.

But that man doesn't exist.

I imagined him faithful. You, methodical.

He's obviously neither.

So Gudin, have you written your Barber?

There isn't a word that isn't yours.

What's wrong with him? Is he upset?

Only disappointed.

But I've already sent my review!

Rewrite, as Beaumarchais did.

- Where's Pierre? - He didn't come.

Our favourite author.

My Lord.

Father.

Why weren't you at the theatre for your new Barber?

Sheer panic, my lord.

Groundless. It's a great play.

A joyful play, anyway.

Same thing. When's the next?

- I have no topic, my lord. - You must!

I read your letter to the critics. Figaro is dying to return.

My lord, if I put that scoundrel back on stage

he'd be older and say things censors wouldn't like.

We'd protect you from them.

You know my new theatre is being built.

I'd love to open it with Figaro's latest mischief.

When the king's brother asks,

you must accept the challenge.

Then I'll be delighted to, my lord.

Such luxury! You've come up in the world.

Precisely.

As of yesterday, I'm Minister for the Navy.

So show me more respect.

Overseeing old cockleshells makes you so important?

Enough to convey to you great news ...

from our king.

Great news from the king can only be one thing.

Since America's first victories over the English,

the king has realised we must help our rebel friends.

He took his time pondering.

Unfortunately, our help must remain unofficial.

You alone will see to it.

- And with what money? - Yours.

You offered, if I remember correctly.

Organise some trade with the Americans.

In other words, I'll take all the risks

while the government takes none!

The English mustn't suspect a thing.

If they did, our government would have to disavow you,

condemn you even.

That sounds familiar ...

Good morning, gentlemen ...

- Who is Rodrigue Hortales? - Company chairman.

- What are these men doing? - Setting up office.

What for?

Commercial links with America.

See to its defence, its future ...

Your signature please, sir.

There.

Pierre, are you Rodrigues Hortales?

Yes, it's you ...

There you are, my love. Do you like this floor?

I thought we might live here.

Sir, there's a mirror to see to downstairs.

I'm coming right away.

So there.

Forget "The Marriage of Figaro."

Forget the promise to Conti.

Rodrigues Hortales is in trade.

I've been so stupid.

He'll never write the play.

You're quite mistaken.

He always ends up being true to his word.

I'm happy for you.

You're kissing my wife now?

You don't deserve her.

- Are you off? - To write your biography ...

"Trials of a Cannon Merchant".

Gudin is right, Mr Lee. I'm selling death.

- Who's Gudin? - My conscience.

- You have one? - To each his own.

Make war, like us. It simplifies things.

You think so?

Hurry, gentlemen. We'll be late.

Good. We're all set for a Customs inspection.

What? Didn't you take care of it?

An inspection must take place and it will.

The king ...

The king wants no trouble with the English.

Here's proof!

Mr Hortales? I'm Burgat, Customs Officer.

Mr Smith has instructed me to inspect your ship.

By all means, go ahead.

You, to the fore. You, follow me.

Go ahead.

Go ahead, please.

After you, dear Arthur.

Go ahead.

Go.

- Well? - Nothing. The hold is empty.

Nothing, sir.

You must have been wrongly informed.

Under the boards?

Nothing but the hull. At least I hope so.

Gentlemen ...

You're pale. Come and get some air.

Your cargo. Now you can breathe easier.

Mr de Beaumarchais is here, Your Excellency.

Good. Show him in.

Dr Franklin is expecting you, sir.

- Your Excellency ... - Come closer.

Now, Mr de Beaumarchais,

I hear you're not pleased with your American friends?

Sir, I've sent to America over 30 shiploads of ammunition

and as yet, I haven't received a thing in return.

My company is facing bankruptcy.

Why have you done all this, Mr de Beaumarchais?

In the name of liberty, Ambassador.

Then, you can rejoice.

I have just received a message

which is directly addressed to you.

Over there, on the table.

Read it, please.

Yes.

"Mr de Beaumarchais,

"the Congress of the United States of America

"in recognition for all your efforts ..."

The Congress, Mr Beaumarchais!

You are the New World's hero!

Do you realise?

Do you realise?

Unfortunately, I do.

How did it happen?

He was with the young ladies.

He prolonged the visit most unreasonably.

- My lord ... - It's you, Gudin!

- Is Beaumarchais coming? - He's on his way, my lord.

He'd better hurry.

Please remind him of his promise.

- He owes you a comedy. - Ah, yes ...

- Figaro. - Yes.

I'll try not to die too quickly.

My lord ...

you still don't believe in God?

He has never come to see me.

And now, it's too late.

Receive last rites, anyway.

A token gesture, if only to please those who love you.

I'll agree, on one condition.

Bring ... bring back Figaro.

He's asking for you.

A macaroon, Mr de Beaumarchais?

Wouldn't she make a nice Chérubin?

Yes.

I know you're awake.

And I know why.

But what I do elsewhere is of no consequence.

For as long as you can put up with me

I beg you to stay with me.

- Who's after me now? - Your landlord.

- He's richer than I am. - Let his daughter play Chérubin.

Let me finish Act V. Then there's censorship.

And the actors!

The actors! They're swindling you.

Have you seen the accounts?

They haven't given you a cent from the "Barber".

- "You abused her. - "She is a minor.

- "She's a free agent!" - So are you, it seems.

Mr de Beaumarchais?

Gentlemen ...

How are you entitled to this?

- The play belongs to us. - Fascinating. Tell me more.

The play closed after two days.

So it became the actors' property.

I rewrote it. It has been a success since.

You owe me one ninth of the takings. 3225 pounds.

- You've lost your mind. - You'll lose the trial.

Authors don't want your handouts.

We've set up an association to protect our rights.

Author's rights. Good day.

Author's rights!

What next?

Mummy!

Pierre?

He visited the actors at the Comédie

with a copy of his "Marriage".

He must have organised a reading.

Love him as he is.

That's very hard.

- What do you think of the play? - It's his best writing.

Most irreverent. A formidable weapon.

So he'll be sent to prison?

That will be up to the censors.

It's of no consequence, remember?

Of no consequence whatsoever.

Don't look so grim.

Don't worry. It's my play they're judging.

- I won't face the galleys. - Only the Bastille!

I'll get bed and board. You'll tend to my wife.

- I believe you know everyone? - I haven't had the pleasure ...

Madame Vigée-Lebrun is representing the queen.

I am honoured, madam.

Before I begin, I would like you to know,

ladies and gentlemen,

that I'll gladly accept

all the corrections you deem necessary.

"The Mad Day", or "The Marriage of Figaro".

Figaro: I was born to be a courtier.

Suzanne: They say it's a difficult occupation.

Figaro:

Accept, take and ask, that's all there is to it.

Don't you fear, Pierre

you may offend some of our friends?

If they feel targeted, Baron

then they're not worthy of our friendship.

Figaro: Now take without need ...

Antonio: Drink without thirst, make love at any time,

that sets us apart from animals.

Couldn't this be seen as an invitation to debauchery?

Mr Desfontaines,

you're a writer yourself, and a good one at that.

As you know, we create repellent characters

to set off the virtues of our exemplary characters.

God always needs the Devil, Mr Desfontaines.

Nobility, wealth, rank, position

make a man proud.

What did you do to earn that?

You went through the trouble of being born. No more.

- This is a bit much. - Wait till the end.

Bartholo: You'll win many hearts.

Figaro: My wife and wealth notwithstanding,

I'll be honoured and gratified to win so many hearts.

I'll spare you the sung verses that follow

because my voice would only incite you to more severity.

- You stepped on my foot! - Well, mine have gone numb.

No need to push and shove just for a ticket.

- A ticket for what? - Beaumarchais's "Marriage".

I'm not going to see a play. I loathe the theatre!

All I want is to go home.

- What time does it start? - At 6 o'clock, sir.

6 o'clock! That's so late. I won't last until then.

The carriage of His Highness the Count of Provence.

The carriage of the Duke of Chaulnes.

Come! Come, my pretty one!

Give us some air. You know I need a lot.

That's the new Duchess!

My lord, your theatre is very fine.

- I find it rather little. - Little ... for Beaumarchais!

Don't worry. He writes so little.

May I introduce to you the Duchess de Chaulnes?

Madame.

Just a chicken wing.

It's very light.

I couldn't.

What about a little champagne?

- A toast to Figaro? - I couldn't swallow a drop.

Why don't you say a prayer for me?

You have never believed in God.

Like our poor departed Prince.

I no longer know.

Be brave.

After all, your life doesn't depend on the play.

You're right.

A lot more is at stake.

19 feet by 26.

Figaro, look at my little hat!

- Do you like it like this? - Indeed!

Sir? Excuse me ...

Oh sorry, sir.

Look, it's Beaumarchais. Beaumarchais!

Wit and fortitude could help you advance your career!

Advancement through wit?

My lord is jesting. Mediocrity and crawling advance a man.

Keep secrets that aren't secrets.

Sound profound and mysterious when you're shallow.

Put on acts, good or bad.

Dispatch spies and reward traitors.

Tamper with seals, intercept letters.

Disguise lowly methods beneath lofty goals.

If that's not politics then I'm a dead man.

The Count: You're defining intrigue!

Figaro:

Politics, intrigue, whatever.

Peas in a pod. You're welcome to them.

What? He wrote that?

- I certainly didn't write it. - Keep reading.

... against an anonymous Figaro.

- Rank? - Gentleman.

You're a gentleman?

If God had so desired I'd be the son of a prince.

I maintain it's the copulative conjunction "and"

which links the two clauses,

"I'll pay the young lady AND I'll marry her.

And I maintain the alternating conjunction "or" divides it.

"I'll pay the young lady OR I'll marry her."

The pedant! I'll counter his Latin with Greek.

I'll annihilate him!

Well ...

Your courage has come back.

More to the point, I no longer need any. Listen.

To think you resisted writing the play.

I feel Conti died solely to force me to keep my word.

Don't believe that. Conti had little to do with it.

What?

In his enfeebled state,

the Prince would never have thought of it.

He needed a little help.

And was he helped?

God placed by your side

the best of friends.

If I met one of the mighty, so quick to humiliate others,

his own pride deflated by some disgrace,

I would tell him

printed nonsense only matters if it's censored.

When criticism is forbidden, true praise cannot exist.

Only little men fear the scratch of little pens.

Read those lines again, madam.

When criticism is forbidden, true praise cannot exist.

Only little men fear the scratch of little pens.

Enough, I pray you.

- La Borde! - Sire?

Please give this to the officer on duty.

Forced to travel a road I unwittingly trod

and which I'll leave unwillingly,

I have strewn as many flowers as my good humour allowed.

When I say my good humour

is it mine any more than the rest of me?

What is this "me" I embody?

A shapeless array of unknown parts,

a playful animal, a young man eager for pleasure ...

So you tormented a dying man?

I helped him, rather.

He didn't want to die for nothing.

We all know the loving mother

who brought him into the world.

All the rest is a mystery,

it's the mystery of love.

It explains to us just how

the son of a bumpkin

can be worth his weight in gold ...

Through an accident of birth

one is king, another tends the sheep.

Chance alone decides their distance,

wit alone can turn things around.

Of the many kings whom we honour,

death destroys them one by one.

But Voltaire will never die!

If this funny little play

holds a lesson we should learn,

it would be to favour banter

over reason and good sense.

So Dame Nature in her wisdom

leads us where we want to go,

to the pleasures that she holds.

Gentlemen, this play you're seen here

which awaits your verdict now,

merely aims to show the customs

of good folk with ears to hear.

Oppress them and they'll get angry,

and stir up a hornet's nest.

No matter, we'll sing a song to end.

Clear the entrance. His Highness is coming out.

Stand back, please.

Stand back, the play is over.

- Mr de Beaumarchais? - Yes, what is it?

You're under arrest.

By order of the king.

I am back in my cell.

As always, the staff here are very kind.

But that kindness would count for nothing

if I didn't know that again I am wrongfully imprisoned.

Voltaire once regretted that I alone may be right.

How I wish he were still here to witness that at last,

against one single man,

I and everybody else may be proven right.

Mr de Sartines.

Pack your things.

The king thinks you've been punished enough.

Thus punishes the king.

Thus pardons the king when he sees fit.

- Hurry up. Let's go. - If I want to.

Pardon?

I'll leave here on one condition.

The king must allow the "Marriage" to resume.

And the entire Royal Council must see the play.

What if the king refuses?

The king didn't refuse.

The ruling classes applauded "Figaro"

without ever realising they were applauding

one of the first birth pangs of the French Revolution.