Original subtitles

Stop the massacre.

What massacre? I'm clearly shooting to miss.

Precisely. What's the point?

Take a whiff of that. The smell of gunpowder

gives me an appetite.

Faster, lads!

So, Maquet? Tummy still upset?

I'm seasick, Alexandre.

A shot of this will do you good.

To Trouville, lads!

Yes, I feel much better. Lighter.

Marvelous. If you're better...

Imagine

scallops fricasseed in Nantes butter,

a pair of roast woodcocks

and lamb cutlets. We'll start with a Pouilly

and end with a Graves.

Maquet!

I'll be fine.

Look how beautiful it is!

Turn around!

Nothing beats an epicontinental sea.

Yes, it's sublime.

I can feel the inspiration coming back.

Fourteen hours in a coach to reach Rouen. Ten more to make Le Havre.

Plus two for the boat and that's 26 hours to find inspiration.

You'll forever be a clock, Maquet.

What's the pretty one's name?

Doucette. A purebred Normande.

20 francs, for you.

I meant you, pretty one, not the cow.

I'm worth much more!

Marion! Don't talk to strangers.

Get washed for lunch.

If I were a sculptor, I'd start with her ass.

Mr. Dumas, how long has it been?

- An age. - Sorry for the crowd.

- The cattle fair's tomorrow. - Madame Ozerais,

you know I'm a simple soul.

Great man and simple soul.

I have a surprise upstairs for you.

- Louisette? - No, it's Louisette's day off.

Firmine's filling in.

Firmine!

Uncork a bottle of my white.

On the lady of the house.

- And you, sir? That's enough water. - I'm not well.

Some wine will soon see you right.

What a busybody!

Won't you have a little whelk?

No, thanks.

They're a delight.

You're very well known here.

- I stayed here with Belle. - And Louisette?

A bit on the side.

Or a lot on the side.

My dear friend,

if you let yourself go, you'd bring the house down.

Trouville was a happy interlude. Two hundred lines a day by candlelight.

- Richard VII and his vassals... - We'll do better.

Exactly. We go all out on Bragelonne

to deliver the first three chapters within a month.

Or we're in the shit.

I'm on Chapter 2. You know, Gaston and...

The prize salmon heading up the Loire between Paimboeuf and St. Nazaire.

- Precisely. - Noses to the grindstone.

You can't finish your soup?

No.

Is my room ready?

You're at the far end, Mr. Paquet.

Maquet.

Mr. Dumas!

- If I'd known... - What would you have done?

I don't know. I read Monte Cristo. You're not how I imagined.

How did you imagine me?

More like this gentleman.

What did you like in Monte Cristo?

- All of it. - All of it!

Now that is a compliment!

And your charming fiancé...

- Did he enjoy Monte Cristo? - Victor?

He's my brother.

Your brother...

Well, then, I drink to Victor's good health.

Come on, Maquet, raise your glass!

To King Louis-Philippe!

I'm for the King, who's for the people.

Don't be foolish, my pretty child.

The King's a crook. We'll soon be rid of him.

Mr. Dumas is a republican.

Marion, your chicken's cold.

Are you staying long?

With such pretty encounters, who'd leave?

Know what, Maquet? The cowgirl hasn't read a line of Cristo,

because she can't read. I like that a lot.

Why?

Girls are greedier for it when they're illiterate. It's a golden rule.

Fine.

Already?

Yes, I have to start work early tomorrow.

Good night, my friend.

Good night, Alexandre.

How's it feel to be famous?

I never had this room.

Of course not, it's our best one.

As long as the wealthy want to sleep in your bed...

I charge 250 a night, but I'll give you a discount.

I feel like I'm entering my tomb.

That's a morbid thought. It gives onto the courtyard.

Nice and quiet for you to write.

Impossible.

I need the sea air to write. Here, I'll suffocate.

Mr. Dumas...

I'm going back to Paris.

We're packed. It's the livestock fair.

Does Maquet have a sea view?

Yes, but his room's tiny.

You can't go back to Paris in the middle of the night!

Maquet! Wake up!

We're on fire!

What's going on?

Terribly sorry, Auguste, I need to breathe the sea air.

- We're swapping rooms. - Now?

My poor sir, I'll help you move.

Come in.

- You've come to make the bed? - Pardon me?

I'm writing.

I'm really sorry.

You have your job to do, too.

Louisette said I could come up.

Louisette? Yes...

Did you sleep well, at least?

To be honest, I didn't sleep a wink.

What are you working on?

The Vicomte de Bragelonne.

It follows on from The Three Musketeers. And the stage-play of Cristo.

So that's a writer's lot.

Yes, a writer writes, as simple as that.

I can come back later...

You're here now. Don't bother changing the sheets.

Sorry but I think there's been a slight misunderstanding.

I am not the chambermaid

and I greatly admire you.

- I know you must be used to people... - Hold on...

Women with an ulterior motive, the lead in one of your plays,

but I'm no actress and I'm here for my father's sake.

You have the wrong room.

I can read and my father often talked about you.

You're a hero, the man who overthrew Charles X.

Who is your father?

Dr. Martin Desrives.

He's been in St. Pélagie jail for nine years,

since his arrest with Blanqui and Barbès.

The Law Courts bomb plot.

Unfortunately, it didn't go off. Can I come in?

Somebody could hear us.

It's a miracle. You're the talk of the town.

Alexandre Dumas in Trouville!

Can I sit down?

You didn't get Father's letters?

- Let me explain... - I know, the censor's pitiless.

Help him, Mr. Dumas, he's ill.

They've isolated him for his consumption.

They won't even let me see him. He may already be dead.

They're not savages.

You clearly don't know them.

I'll think it over.

Don't take too long, Mr. Dumas.

My house is the last out of town. You'll come?

Will you sign this for me?

What are you called?

Charlotte.

To Charlotte, who knows me so well

Thank you, Mr. Dumas.

How disgusting! Like rutting beasts!

No wonder. It's the livestock fair.

Let me see you out.

Marion!

Where's my daughter?

- You're looking for Marion? - Where the hell is she?

If she's at it, I'll kill her.

I saw her leave early. She said she was going shrimping.

- Shrimping? - Shrimping.

Are you sure? All alone?

Terribly alone.

She's worked herself to idiocy.

Indeed.

Good day to you, sir.

Miss Marion!

Your father's downstairs.

- What's the time? - I said you were shrimping.

I was right. Illiterate and greedy!

Well, shall we get to work?

Excellent idea!

I feel on top form.

In Chapter 1 of Bragelonne,

the portrait of the young girl lacks vigor.

We've no time to rewrite!

- I've already rewritten. - When?

Last night. In my head.

While tumbling the cowgirl.

- You're joking? - No.

Listen...

"The one leaning on the chair,

"the vivacious, laughing one,

"was a beautiful girl of 19 to 20 years old,

"dark-skinned, dark-haired,

"resplendently beautiful, with eyes that lit up

"beneath vigorous eyebrows,

"and above all with teeth that shimmered

"like pearls behind her blood-red lips."

Yes, much better.

You mean, admirable!

And to conclude...

"Her every movement seemed to derive

"from a mime artist's repertory.

"She didn't live, she bounded."

"She didn't live, she bounded."

That's wonderful, Alexandre.

I'm so sorry.

Come now, Auguste.

- Don't you trust my memory? - Yes, but...

"The one leaning on her chair,

"the vivacious, laughing one..."

Shall we return to the inn?

120,000 plus interest, plus an allowance.

By my calculations, that's at least 150,000.

What do you mean?

I mean my ex-wife.

She's threatening to sue unless I pay up in a month.

To think I only married her to be rid of her.

Dad! This is Mr. Alexandre Dumas, the famous writer and...

Auguste Maquet, a writer also.

Look at that pair of balls!

Just imagine! How much?

How much what? You have a farm and herd in the region?

No, my chateau has land.

We don't deliver to Paris.

Don't worry. How much?

100 francs.

I'm in no mood to haggle. Sold!

- I'll call him Nebuchadrezzar. - Let's celebrate.

- A drop of calvados? - With pleasure!

- You have a delightful daughter. - A right strumpet.

She needs a strong hand.

Definitely.

Kept on a tight leash. Like all girls.

Sir's a connoisseur.

- A quick calvados? - Yes.

Why don't you take cover?

Hardly seems any point.

Thanks for this morning, Mr. Paquet.

Don't mention it.

The shutters are against the rain?

No, against prying eyes.

People stare at me like an animal.

After my father's arrest, I instantly became a pariah.

Despite the people he cured, the lives he saved.

Why do you stay?

I've no choice. Life in Paris is too expensive.

Take your clothes off and no fussing!

I was a nurse, I've seen it all before.

Milie! Do you know who this is?

Alexandre Dumas himself!

With a fever, his teeth will chatter like anyone else's.

Surely you have some friends?

Plenty of my father's friends.

You knew them well.

- Really? - Back in 1830.

On the barricades with them.

- Do you remember young Bard? - Bard?

The painter.

Yes, the painter.

Still painting?

Father told me.

At the Town Hall, you told him, "Follow me to be shot!"

He followed you blindly.

And Bixio? The man you broke into the armory with?

Good old Bixio! We were so low on ammunition.

And food.

Apparently, you kept demanding food.

I have a healthy appetite.

Life is to be devoured, isn't it?

You've thought it over?

I have. But I need to think a bit more.

Father is at death's door.

Trust me.

- Can I ask a favor, Mr. Dumas? - Alexandre.

If I send him a letter, they'll open it.

Could you give him it in person?

You can rely on me.

Dear Father,

I believe in destiny, not chance.

And destiny has placed Alexandre Dumas in our path.

You can't imagine how happy I am.

Mr. Dumas is a handsome fellow,

with a very gentle expression.

I never thought someone so famous could be so shy.

I liked him immediately,

as much as I like his writing.

At last! I looked all over for you.

Louisette, come out!

I nearly suffocated.

It's hot under there.

- Sir. - Miss.

Where'd you get to? The grindstone?

Where'd you get the silly sweater?

At the market. We should encourage local trade.

You came to Trouville to go shopping?

I took your advice, breathing the sea air and cowpats.

And? Inspired?

- Blocked. - Blocked?

That's right.

You know what it's like. You can't force it.

Shit! That's all we need.

But what's wrong?

A pick-me-up?

No, thanks. I...

I want to go back to Paris.

Come, come. We'll go through Chapter 2 together.

Where were you?

That's just it, I don't know.

Do you still hanker for revolution?

How's that relevant to Bragelonne?

Young Bard? Bixio? You broke into an armory with him.

Are you writing my memoirs?

No, tell me honestly.

Are you truly a republican? Now, I mean.

Popular and populist?

You're unwell. Can we do some work?

Answer me first.

Yes, I'm a republican. Happy now?

What do you think of revolutionaries?

Is the sea air troubling you?

Barbès, Blanqui... You'd try to release them?

I see. It's time we returned to Paris. Pack your bags.

"Dear Alexandre Dumas...

"With my heart

"pounding,

"I take up my pen to write to you.

"You have surely heard of Dr. Martin Desrives,

"incarcerated for the last nine years

"at St. Pélagie prison.

"He is my father."

Tell Mr. Dumas I finished The Three Musketeers.

Did you enjoy it?

Inspiring. We need more like that.

Keep being inspired, Mr. Potard.

No chance, miss.

On what I earn, with a sick wife and three kids?

We're with you with all our heart, Mr. Potard.

Mademoiselle Céleste.

Rascon gave me the list.

Two hundred guests for the housewarming.

That makes 400 feet trampling my flower-beds.

What's the point gardening? I give up.

I'm with you with all my heart, Mr. Michel.

A storm!

A ship off the coast of Tuscany!

In the middle of a starless night,

exhausted, starving sailors approach an inhospitable island,

the island of Monte Cristo.

One of them recounts a sort of fable,

an incredible story of love and death,

the story of Edmond Dantès, the Count of Monte Cristo.

How's that?

We can't work on Bragelonne

and the stage version of Cristo.

I knew it.

The petty bureaucrat is back. We have no choice, my friend.

The Théâtre Historique is waiting.

Le Siècle starts serializing Bragelonne next week.

We always work best together.

Sometimes, it's nice to hear.

I'm convinced of it.

He's caged you at last?

You look tired, Auguste.

I was working until 4 a.m.

The man's capacity for work is impressive.

Shall I start with a letter from Mrs. Dumas?

More threats. She talks of having you jailed.

Ida stopped being Mrs. Dumas four years ago.

Bin!

She's hired two new lawyers.

Let her hire 20! It'll cost her a lot and win her nothing.

Bin!

Whatever you say.

Bills, reminders...

Bin!

This is a letter from Trouville.

Didn't you pay for our stay at the inn?

A new female admirer, by the look of it.

"Dear Alexandre Dumas, With my heart pounding, I write to you.

"You have surely heard of Dr. Desrives,

"incarcerated for the last nine years at St. Pélagie. He is my father."

Bin!

Martin Desrives? That rings a bell.

He was one of the Blanqui and Barbès gang.

Two notorious conspirators.

Nearly burned down the Law Courts.

Can't you help him?

You defend anarchists now?

Even a royalist can feel for the poor.

I know poverty better than you.

Really? No poverty on the horizon.

My poor Auguste, you confuse the issue.

Is there a reply?

Poverty in the bin!

Sorry, Céleste.

It's strange. You were in Trouville ten days ago

and you never met this woman?

A quirk of fate.

It's easy to blame fate. Do you hear me, Alexandre?

It beggars belief.

The woman knows my work better than I do.

- How old is she? - No idea, my sweet.

The calligraphy is vigorous yet very feminine.

The letter is very beautiful.

But the writer not necessarily so.

- Bin? - I'll re-read it first.

It's lunch soon.

But beloved, the rest of the post?

A lunatic accusing you of plagiary,

a summons to appear in court...

I'll deal with them.

Wonderful woman!

Affectionate, efficient, discreet, attentive.

Who spoils you.

Right, let's get back to work.

- Bragelonne? - Monte Cristo. I'm still in charge.

In the middle of the starless night,

exhausted, starving sailors approach an inhospitable island,

the island of Monte Cristo...

On reflection, it can't be easy working with Dumas.

He has talent certainly, but...

- He also has opinions. - Opinions?

He was one of the republican dreamers who overthrew Charles X.

Long ago. He's settled down.

Even so...

What an odd couple you make!

A royalist and a republican!

A comic-opera republican.

Caroline, please.

My wife is harsh on Dumas.

She's right, though.

I was brought up to speak my mind, sir.

I'm a proud shopkeepers' daughter.

Shopkeepers?

My parents were confectioners on Rue St. Sulpice.

As Auguste has a very sweet tooth,

I snared him with jellied fruit.

Augustin, the fowl!

Seeing as we're trading confidences,

what do you think of our King?

Slipping away.

The poor man's doing his best.

With conspirators growing like weeds all over.

Certainly, but the police are ready.

- We'll show no pity to troublemakers. - No pity.

Don't just parrot what he says.

The people is dying of hunger.

Whose side are you on, ma'am?

The kitchen side.

And I must supervise the cooking of the chocolate soufflé.

Excellent idea.

- Can we come, Mommy? - Arnaud-Joseph!

It was delicious, but we're full.

Come on. Politics isn't for children anyway.

Your wife is a strong-minded woman.

Might she be a touch republican?

Caroline a republican?

What a funny idea! Breast or leg, Mr. Sub-Prefect?

The white. Always the white.

Now that we're discussing serious matters,

what are your thoughts on La Bochetière?

My wife won't sell.

But you're the owner!

For her, it's sentimental. The first house I bought with my royalties.

Think it over. I'll give you 50,000 more.

I'm sorry.

I find that nowadays

women hold their tongue less and less.

Don't you agree?

What a bore, the sub-prefect is!

He's a friend of Guizot, the minister.

So? Are you going into politics?

Can you turn off the lamp?

154,000 francs.

What?

I did the accounts today.

Loans, royalties, interest. It's how much Dumas owes us.

Alexandre's the equal of Balzac and Hugo. That's what counts.

Thanks to whom?

We're a team. No one can tell who wrote what.

I can. I know your style, Auguste.

The Three Musketeers was you.

- Us. - Admit it.

- It was us. - It was you!

Sleep now. Turn the lamp off.

You'll take me to Trouville one day?

Too rainy, too windy, too smelly.

I've never seen the sea.

Frankly, you're not missing much.

Have you seen the time?

Sorry, but I have a family.

It's lucky I didn't wait for you.

I'll do Bragelonne.

You take care of the court,

the courtiers, Fouquet,

Colbert...

That way, we'll go twice as fast.

Fine. I'll tell you where I left off so we don't repeat ourselves.

We never repeat ourselves.

"Raoul followed the road so dear to his memory..."

Just one question.

How can you be faithful to a single woman?

Sometimes, I envy you.

Caroline never let me down. She's exceptional.

In bed, too?

You overestimate those aspects.

Those aspects as you say cannot stand boredom.

So you're bored with Céleste?

- She adores me. - Don't complain.

When someone loves you, there's nothing to conquer.

Last night, I had a horrible nightmare. I dreamed

that all the women I've known tried to torch my chateau. All of them.

They were baying "Revenge!"

Laure, Mélanie, Belle...

Hyacinthe, Ida, Marie, and more besides.

As if they were out to get me.

Might I know what's in this?

My baby love, I've invited Charlotte Desrives

to the housewarming, so we can all meet her.

You share my curiosity, don't you?

And she'll stay overnight?

All the inns for miles around are full.

I'll put her with the servants.

You met the woman in Trouville. I know you too well.

Lying is second nature to you.

And you, Auguste? His accomplice, perhaps?

Accomplice?

Please, take a little walk.

- Stay here! - Now you're being ridiculous.

I don't know her, her age or her looks.

I replied because her letter moved me.

In my shoes, wouldn't you do the same?

Thank you!

Come now, baby love.

I can explain...

That's the end of that.

Believe me now?

He ripped it up?

- Before my very eyes. - Good.

I'm ashamed when I think of that poor man in prison.

An arsonist. He only got what he deserves.

I know you don't think that.

You turned monarchist to avoid sharing Alexandre's ideas,

but deep down?

I don't know anymore.

The other day, you leaped to the man's defense.

Anyway, let's put all this behind us.

Alexandre has proved he loves you. That's all that counts.

Sometimes I think I'm a fool.

Not at all.

You're in love.

Precisely. Love can make a fool of you.

Don't you agree?

Can I ask a favor?

It's a little embarrassing, but...

I can't refuse you anything.

Would you lend me the key to your Paris flat?

Auguste? Not you.

I'm not proud of it.

A passing fancy?

Not exactly.

I always saw you as a model of fidelity.

I thought so too, but one day...

Lightning strikes.

What age?

Early twenties.

Of course.

Why of course?

We can't fight youth.

It will happen to me one day. It's a woman's destiny.

You're magnificent, Céleste.

Spare me, please.

- Does Alexandre know? - My private life is none of his business.

You're right. He might even envy you her.

I'll lend you the keys and it'll be our secret.

Thank you.

- You're a friend of the family? - You could say that.

But you never met Martin Desrives?

Never.

So what brings you here?

As I was saying, I'm...

A friend of his daughter's.

And a personal friend of Sub-Prefect Crémieux's,

who's close to the Minister, Guizot.

Simple, then.

Come back to see me with a laissez-passer from the Minister,

and it'll be fine.

There you are, my dear Mr...

Sorry, I forget your name.

Auguste Maquet.

Good day to you, Mr. Maquet.

And to you.

Writer...

Maquet Writer?

Suspicious

30 acres and I'll throw in the mill.

I don't understand.

Yesterday, it was no. Today, it's yes.

What can I say?

Women are fickle beings.

But why are you selling so cheap? Money trouble?

None, Mr. Sub-Prefect.

I have just a small request for you from Alexandre Dumas.

Go ahead.

The plight of Dr. Desrives moved him deeply.

I think the poor man deserves to die in dignity in Trouville.

You think so or Dumas does?

Dumas, of course.

You must really be under his thumb.

What does he give you in return? Glory?

It concerns no one but me.

If I understand correctly,

you're selling La Bochetière for Dumas.

You'll mention Dr. Desrives to your friend Guizot?

The King's brother marries...

Henrietta, Charles II's sister.

Yes, here she is. Which gives,

"The King noticed that he and his mother rarely knew

"the names of those introduced to them..."

"Whereas the Cardinal,

"who boasted an admirable memory and presence of mind..."

My dear Charlotte,

Join me as soon as you can...

"My dear Charlotte,

"Join me as soon as you can at 36, Rue des Capucines.

"I visited your father at St. Pélagie prison,

"where I found a man who is exhausted

"but deeply determined.

"He said victory is not won in books but at gunpoint.

"He's right. We must act and I shall be with you.

"Martin Desrives will soon be a free man.

"With best wishes, yours, Alexandre."

Milie!

Alexandre wrote to me. Papa will soon be released.

Milie, I love you!

Thank you!

Thank goodness, you left the lamps low.

Sorry I'm late, it's not my fault. I'll explain later.

Lock the door.

How good it is to be with you!

Turn the lamps up now.

- Do you smell burning? - It's the candles.

You're expecting company?

No, I dozed off and...

How is my father? You saw him?

Much better. You don't have any luggage?

My friends are bringing it up.

- Your friends? - Yes, our friends.

What did he say? Did he recognize you?

Of course. We talked about Bard, the painter.

And Bixio.

And a lot about the future.

It's my father's future that interests me.

A close friend of mine is sub-prefect

and he will intervene with Guizot...

- Do you have anything red? - Red?

A cloth, a rag, anything.

In the bedroom.

Sorry to take over your home.

A piece of the bedspread?

Bright red, visible in the dark.

The red flag of our comrades.

Of course. Silly me.

This will do.

My cousin's lingerie.

I wouldn't dare to pry.

What are you doing exactly?

Signaling that the coast is clear. Hide through there.

Why?

Do as I say. It's for your safety.

- It's been so long. - Too long.

- Is Dumas here? - I'll introduce you.

Another time. We can't stay.

- You'll manage? - I always do. I'm not alone.

Say hello to Dumas.

Tell him we're behind him.

Go! Hurry!

You're still there?

Your luggage?

And a little extra.

Can you help? In the other, there are pistols, cartridges and powder.

You seem upset?

Not at all.

Is this a good place to store weapons?

Don't tell me they're watching you.

Help me hide them in the bedroom.

The bedroom?

What's wrong?

Charlotte,

I'm not Alexandre Dumas.

You will be once more!

Dumas has been silent for 15 years.

Now he will rise from his ashes.

The people want their revenge.

And we need a captain.

Come on...

We've work to do.

Why do you look at me like that?

You're very beautiful.

Beauty is not a sign of intelligence.

You're very intelligent and beautiful. Your friend's lucky.

Jean-Baptiste? He's so young.

He's your age.

We'll see about that later. Once the Republic's proclaimed.

Sorry.

I do apologize.

We can't let your bed catch fire.

You'll be sleeping in it. I'll go home.

That's out of the question.

I need some fresh air.

Just for me, stay here until tomorrow morning.

If you insist.

Thank you.

What are you doing?

No better place to hide gunpowder.

Yes, I'll let you decide.

I'll be going.

Good night, Alexandre.

Up the revolution!

Up the revolution, Charlotte.

Around 11 p.m., Charlotte, daughter of Martin Desrives,

currently imprisoned at St. Pélagie,

arrived at 36, Rue des Capucines,

at the apartment of Miss Céleste Scriwaneck,

to meet Auguste Maquet, former history teacher

and loyal collaborator of Alexandre Dumas.

One hour later,

three shady types unloaded crates and a trunk.

At 5.30 a.m., the aforementioned Maquet

left the building in an intoxicated state.

He continued drinking at Café...

Enough, Bocquin. We know the rest.

Maquet misses the train and takes a cab home.

The same Maquet sent packing at the prison by Mr. Saint Omer.

And who asked you to intervene on behalf of Dumas.

Dumas... He's clearly the brains of the gang.

I can't believe it, Minister.

Maquet has never hidden his monarchist leanings.

He's a straw man, Crémieux. At Dumas' beck and call.

Unfortunately, it's true, as I saw myself.

Mr. Bocquin, why didn't you arrest Maquet

and Charlotte Desrives?

It's Dumas we're after, Mr. Sub-Prefect.

We're preparing to round up the revolutionaries.

So I shall order Desrives' release.

The people will cheer, Dumas won't suspect,

and we'll be sure to net them all.

Maintain your friendship with Maquet,

Mr. Prefect.

- Prefect? - You heard me.

Congratulations, Crémieux.

Well...

Mr. Minister...

Auguste, it's me. Dr. Bélincourt's here. Open up.

Can he come in?

He hasn't left his study for two days.

He arrived one morning stinking drunk

and since then, he rambles on about being an impostor, a renegade...

Auguste has simply been working too hard.

You can't make a diagnosis through a door.

I know him. A perfectionist eclipsed by his ideal.

- What ideal? - Dumas, of course.

The treatment?

Separation. It's hell for him.

I know.

Dumas must see once and for all

that Auguste isn't married to him, but you.

It's me. Armand.

Caroline would love you to attend the housewarming together.

I think it's an excellent idea.

Your wife needs a little relaxation

and you'll turn a few heads.

Can you hear me?

Is this a joke?

No, it's a prescription.

Well?

Nothing.

Three days and no news. He's never disappeared like this.

All for the bin?

No regrets?

There's not a single decent sentence.

I'm sure you're exaggerating.

No spark. Nothing.

You always claim you don't need him,

but as soon as he's not there, you can't sleep,

can't write, you're like a caged lion...

Just him being there inspires me. I can't help it.

I can never tell who writes what.

He has no literary talent,

but I don't pay him for that, I pay him to sit opposite me.

To listen to me,

to take notes.

My freedom to dream up stories

hinges on that.

It's freedom in chains.

He's my first reader.

Reader or mirror?

What's wrong?

I can't breathe.

I'll fetch Dr. Valeyrand.

No, fetch Auguste first.

Feel how fast it's beating.

It's not normal.

I think I know where Auguste is.

What do you mean, "You think"?

He isn't at home? Where is he?

At my flat with a young woman.

What?

He swore me to secrecy, but in your state...

Why'd he do that?

Do what? He's imitating his model.

The copycat!

I promise he'll be here for the party.

The cretin.

The bastard.

The little asshole.

It's Céleste.

I know you're here.

Don't knock, will you!

- Who are you? - A friend of Alexandre's.

And you?

Dumas? Are you sure?

I asked first. What are you doing here?

This is my flat.

Wrong! It belongs to Dumas.

Do you know Auguste Maquet?

Who's that?

- You're sure you don't? - I just said so.

Alexandre came here?

Three days ago. Since then, no news.

I am Céleste Scriwaneck, Mr. Dumas' secretary.

And you are Charlotte Desrives.

I confess I didn't expect such a pretty young woman.

Alexandre told me a lot about you.

Would you put that down?

I'm sorry.

Is he well?

Who? Alexandre?

He's fine, but for how long...

I mean, I don't know the details of his private life.

Just now, he's having difficulty writing.

Probably due to his state.

What state? I don't understand.

Neither do I.

- Where is he? - At his chateau.

- He has a chateau? - Monte Cristo.

I'm amazed he didn't mention it.

Perhaps he wanted it to be a surprise.

He's inviting you to the housewarming tomorrow.

A grand party with the who's who of Paris.

I don't care about them. Has he seen my father?

You spent the night with him.

When I woke up, he was gone.

Like most men when the cock crows.

He is no ordinary man.

It strikes you immediately.

What's wrong? Are you crying?

I've just lost someone...

Someone I cared for deeply.

- Forgive me. - Sorry...

- Really, I'm so sorry. - So am I.

A man I adored. A very great actor.

Never fall in love with actors.

How old are you?

I'll be 22 next month.

Your whole life ahead of you.

That's enough wallowing...

Alexandre wants you to be the queen of the party.

The queen? I've no desire to be the queen.

And my clothes are creased.

We have exactly what you need.

One of his cousin's dresses?

He told you about his cousin?

She withdrew from society long ago and moved to the country.

Gracious, you're beautiful!

I don't know what they're plotting, but we have them.

I've received the guest list for Dumas' party.

Two hundred of the great and the good.

To which we must add Prefect Crémieux.

Dumas invited Crémieux?

No, Crémieux invited himself. Dumas couldn't refuse.

His private secretary will attend.

You, in this instance. Try to be worthy of it.

You'll have to dress appropriately.

Does the Prefect know?

It's the Prefect's idea, numbskull.

Mr. Dumas will be delighted. Were you taken ill?

Where is he?

No one must know. Sir gave strict orders.

This will be fun.

Snap out of it. You're cured. Make an effort.

She's dressed like a widow.

Catherine de Médici suffered an unfaithful husband.

The delights of a history teacher husband!

I feel like drinking, eating, dancing!

Mazarin! Deceitful, cowardly and vain.

Perfect for you.

Looking for your accomplice? Don't worry, he's nearly ready.

Bewigged and powdered like a coquette. And justifiably nervous.

What's wrong?

I held you in high regard.

No longer?

All I feel is a deep disgust for men.

Well? She's Catherine de Medici?

She's not Céleste.

My friend Maquet!

There's a writer! A genuine writer!

Ten years already since I introduced you to Dumas.

- The error of a lifetime. - Yes, time flies.

Quite the philosopher!

Mr. de Nerval, will you give me this dance?

With pleasure, Madame Maquet.

Please, call me Caroline.

Didn't expect to see me!

I can't believe Dumas invited Crémieux!

I'm D'Artagnan.

Who cares, Caroline! What matters is the party.

Champagne?

In tribute to Dumas. You'll introduce me?

I've just been promoted Prefect of Seine-et-Oise.

I could be of use to him.

Tomorrow, I'll have sent to you the order to release

your friend Desrives, signed by the minister.

You see, with me, it's give and take.

Thank you, Mr. Prefect.

This is Mr. Flanchet, my temporary private secretary.

Very honored, Mr. Temporary Private Secretary.

- He looks rattled. - A good sign.

I absolutely must see Dumas.

Sorry, that's impossible.

I'm Auguste Maquet, his closest collaborator.

I'm the King of France.

You didn't tell me it was a costume party.

Everyone's staring. I look silly.

You look like a queen!

Beauty like yours cannot bear to be disguised.

Who's that ridiculous fellow?

Don't play the fool, please.

A gift from the actress Marie Dorval.

Aren't you a sly fox? Who'd have thought it?

I seriously need to talk to you.

And I thought you were ill.

I am ill.

You don't look it. Love gives you a good flush.

Listen...

Quite frankly, not now. Today, I'm having a ball.

You remember we swapped rooms at Trouville?

One morning...

Who is that charming virgin?

Well, Alexandre?

He's Alexandre.

Stop spinning tales!

You both made a fool out of me.

She's yours. A 20-year-old girl

with a slobbering old pig

is pitiful. I wish you every happiness.

Céleste?

- She's lost her mind. - Can you explain?

When I first saw you, Charlotte, I couldn't resist, it was too easy.

I tried to tell you earlier...

You're Charlotte?

In Trouville, I pretended to be you.

You pretended to be me? You must be joking.

At first, yes, but not now.

Admirable! Worthy of a great novelist.

- I'm truly sorry. - "Sorry"? Is that all you can say?

Come on, Mazarin. Prostrate!

Please, forgive me.

Fire in her belly.

You have to admit, you asked for it.

A monarchist doesn't sell his soul so easily to the devil.

- I have no reason to stay. - Quite the contrary.

You are my guest.

But who is that man?

A worthy fellow who was right to fall in love with you.

I'd have done the same.

Berlioz!

If I were a musician, I'd be him. You know what he used to say?

"The gift of talent is nothing

"without the talent to take that gift."

Listen...

Listen, Charlotte...

Doesn't that stir your soul?

I've been looking for you.

Is it true what I heard?

You were slapped by a woman?

Who mistook me for Dumas.

That's so funny!

After all this time...

It was bound to happen.

Where did she go?

No idea. Leave me to die.

You've caused enough trouble as it is.

Now, she hates me.

Quite right, you're pathetic.

- It was infatuation. - Deception, you mean.

- Help me, please. - I'll see what I can do.

- She asked to be taken to the station. - Saddle a horse.

Sir! Your guests!

They can wait. Hurry.

Do as I say. Quickly!

Who are you, D'Artagnan?

He's Alexandre Dumas.

Really?

Yes, really.

Ride my horse back.

Tell my butler it's open house.

Thanks, Mr. Dumas.

- What was his name again? - The coachman?

No, the impostor.

Maquet.

If I meet him, I'll blow his brains out.

You don't do things by halves.

Why do you work with him?

Sometimes I wonder.

He even said he'd visited my father, and I believed him.

Because you sincerely believed he was me.

I'm a silly idiot.

No, Charlotte.

You're a gift from heaven.

From tomorrow, leave it all to me.

You, your father, your future.

I promise you, you won't regret it.

Come on...

The party's only just beginning.

Snap out of it and come and dance.

You're not a husband, you're a wet blanket.

Look at me. I want to feel like I'm 18 again.

Is she his new conquest?

She can't be.

How old is she?

She looks very young.

Sorry, my friend, I did my best.

Music, please!

It was love at first sight.

As if I'd been waiting forever.

Be reasonable. You have a daughter almost the same age.

Reason can't help me.

You'd give everything up for her?

Wife?

Children?

The King?

Don't mention the King. I'll have nightmares.

Come back to Earth.

She met Alexandre Dumas, not you.

In her shoes, I'd never forgive you.

That was exquisite.

With you, it's always exquisite.

Yes, but you put more into it than usual.

What do you mean?

When I wake up, even the pigeons have to watch out.

You pictured Charlotte?

Charlotte's a mere slip of a girl.

Don't exaggerate. What'll you do?

Help her as best I can.

Yes, you're a republican, body and soul.

Remember, baby love, you decided to bring her here.

If you bed her, I'll leave you at once.

Bed her?

What an awful expression.

And Auguste?

He gambled and lost.

Between you and me, he has more imagination than I thought.

He's madly in love with her.

He hasn't a chance.

And you?

What about me?

Come in!

You were listening at the door!

Is Miss Charlotte awake?

She left early this morning.

She'll be back on the evening train.

- She said where she was going? - Yes, sir.

She has business in sir's cousin's flat.

What cousin?

I'm the cousin.

The plot thickens.

You should serialize it.

Ask your friend, Auguste. He's the specialist.

- My friend! - Yes, your friend.

Thanks, my boy.

Michel, is Mr. Dumas awake?

Waiting for you in the kitchen.

Morning, Clémentine. Did Miss Charlotte stay at the chateau?

Saw nothing, heard nothing.

The secret is to combine

lean mincemeat and good fatty bacon.

Now...

Where did we leave Mazarin?

- Mazarin? - The real one.

His death throes bring us 200 readers a day

and you want to kill him off? A serious mistake.

Now, the sliced truffle.

Come on, my man, get to work. The party's over.

We need a talk man to man about Charlotte.

Yes, I'm most grateful.

Thanks to you, I had a wonderful night.

I went back four times for more.

She simply couldn't get enough.

I'm hard just thinking about it.

You didn't?

You serve me a charming creature on a plate,

and you expect me not to eat?

- Don't you know my appetite? - You promised me.

What did I promise you? Nothing. You're a bad loser.

Very well. Enough is enough.

That's it. You'll never hear of me again!

Stop acting like a schoolboy.

Didn't you see I love her?

Love is nothing but words.

"Don't leave me." "Come back to me." "Life without you..."

Stop.

You'd fall for a nymphet who sleeps with Dumas just like that?

I'm totally lost.

I know where you are.

You've fallen very low.

I saw you two dancing.

I know that look in your eye.

Charlotte's delightful.

I was delighted to dance with her.

And no more. But if you want to ruin your life...

Did she mention me?

You've no hope.

None?

None.

- Visitors. - When I'm cooking, no disturbances.

Morning, Auguste. Sleep well?

Look out of the window.

Ida? What's she doing here?

And who's the pretty adolescent?

Your daughter, Marie-Alexandrine.

And that sinister-looking rascal.

Lacan, your ex-wife's lawyer.

- And the dwarf behind them? - A bailiff.

Tell them I've gone to Paris.

- Rasconi said you were in. - The idiot!

- Are you Papa? - I certainly am.

Goodness, how you've grown!

- What the hell do you want? - To admire your delusions of grandeur.

I'm impressed.

How much do you think this folly is worth, Mr. Lacan?

At least a million.

- I only want the balance of my dowry. - How much?

120,000.

Plus interest equal to your living expenses.

What if I offer you a part in my play?

- Which part? - Don't listen to him.

Made to measure. A scheming strumpet.

List his assets, Mr. Lacan.

Come on, I'll show you the menagerie.

If they misbehave, they go in the monkey cage.

Not Mama, surely.

Definitely not. She'd scare the monkeys.

She wasn't on the train.

You may serve.

- I hope nothing's happened. - What might have happened?

We hid 30 rifles and 10 pistols under Céleste's bed.

The pillow's full of gunpowder.

Are you mad?

Stendhal says love is madness.

Blow Stendhal! Did you think of Céleste?

If the police come knocking...

Does she know at least?

I don't recognize you.

- I'll go to the bitter end. - And climb the barricades, you dimwit?

I learned to be wary of the people.

Give them matches, they'll burn everything.

Cream of lentils with foie gras and diced bacon.

- Shall I take Miss Céleste's plate? - It's Miss Charlotte's. Leave it.

If it goes up again, Paris will be wearing red.

They'll pillage and destroy everything.

Tapestries, drapes and books will be burned.

They'll call it the Republic.

Sorry. The station in Paris was surrounded by soldiers.

I won't introduce Mr. Maquet.

Céleste isn't dining?

No, she has a migraine.

This time, we're ready.

I met Béraud.

Old Émile?

What's he up to?

After 15 years, his time has come.

He hopes you'll lead the national guard back into Paris.

You just throw that at me?

You'll march on the Foreign Ministry.

No less!

The other Dumas wouldn't hesitate.

What other Dumas?

Him.

His name is Auguste Maquet and he's a royalist.

Is that so?

You hid that from me.

Only fools never change their minds. You opened my eyes.

Sometimes, many lies reveal the truth.

Good, Maquet. Very good!

You surpass yourself.

I wrote to the Duke de Montpensier.

No one better placed?

Unlike me, the royalist, Mr. Dumas knows many princes.

I trust him.

He'll do all he can.

But it'll take time.

My father's dying. Time's running out.

That's why I took care of it.

This is a letter from Guizot,

signed and sealed.

Your father will be free tomorrow.

How can I thank you?

Perhaps by forgiving my imposture.

The girl's a public menace.

You're part of the public?

Answer me honestly...

Do you ever think I'm getting old?

It's time to wake the beast.

You see?

I'm all limp.

A floppy beast.

What's so funny?

All of it.

Me knocking on the door of the illustrious Alexandre Dumas...

You taking me for the chambermaid.

You taking me for Alexandre Dumas.

I'm so ashamed.

Stop being mortified all the time.

Just tell me what came into your mind.

I saw you.

I saw you, too.

Time goes so fast with you.

You know...

Give me the letter. It's an order.

Have you lost your mind? What for?

Charlotte's father won't rot in jail a minute more.

Come on, let's go!

- Now? - Right now.

I'll come with you.

Your place is here. Mine is with the people.

It's not you they want, it's Alexandre Dumas.

Don't oblige me to use force.

You wouldn't.

She kindly forgave your imposture,

don't ask too much.

Bastard!

If you do this...

Do what? Revolution?

I've waited years for this!

The bitch!

She got what she wanted.

Why didn't you go with them?

Clémentine, Sophie! Go and pack up my wardrobes.

Rasconi, prepare me a carriage.

You know, you're devilishly beautiful.

- So Auguste said. - Let's forget Auguste a moment.

Being unaware of it makes you even more beautiful.

After all the narcissistic women I've known...

Have there been many?

Very many, yes.

Why's he doing this? For workers toiling 15 hours a day?

No, to impress her. He wants her in his bed.

That's all he's interested in, rutting on her like a pig!

Calm down. Alexandre has convictions, too.

What convictions?

The right to work? Jailing those who exploit poverty?

You're a revolutionary now, too?

Absolutely!

I won't let that little bitch represent women.

It gets on my nerves.

I've had enough of men's cowardice.

That includes you, Auguste.

A lifetime looking, now I've found it.

I understand.

Céleste is extraordinary.

You're so obviously made for each other.

No woman her age can compete with your youth.

Youth...

Smoke and mirrors.

I'd like to be Céleste's age.

Everyone treats me like a child.

- When I think of Auguste... - Let's forget him.

I never told you,

but I find you spineless.

Terribly spineless!

I've changed since I met Charlotte.

At your age, you should know who you are.

The little tart! She's ransacked my flat out of spite.

It's impossible...

Inspector Trinquier, Royal Police.

Come on. You want my spectacles?

It's a release order duly signed by the minister.

So I see.

- Where's my father? - Your father?

- Martin Desrives? - Don't play games, St. Omer!

Mr. Dumas, I'm not in an easy position.

With new arrivals, departures,

and those who won't get out now,

my head's spinning.

Sir! A crowd outside!

Be specific, captain.

Hundreds of them, shouting for Dumas and Desrives.

What do we do?

Release my father immediately.

You're too late, miss.

He died this morning.

You know what faces you both?

The guillotine.

I can explain everything.

Be quiet. They'll be the ones on the gallows.

I'm a close friend of Crémieux's.

We're aware of that. Sit down.

Bring in Inspector Flanchet.

Miss Scriwaneck...

Jean-Baptiste Béraud was arrested in your flat.

He'd come for the guns.

Do you know him?

I've never seen him before.

Béraud is the son of a revolutionary

we've been hunting for years. You never heard of him, I suppose?

Your close friend, Prefect Crémieux,

alerted us to your subversive activities.

I imagine Dumas has gone to have Desrives released

with a letter duly signed by the minister.

That's right, you fell into a trap.

Flanchet, take a unit of gendarmes

to arrest Dumas for conspiracy against the King.

I hold you responsible.

Come the Republic, you'll stand trial.

For now, the King's firmly on his throne.

The people! When it marches, nothing can stop it.

It charges on like a raging bull, an impetuous torrent.

Save your rhetoric for your next play.

More new arrivals. I've no more room for them all.

What's he doing here?

I thought he didn't look like a writer.

Alexandre Dumas, by order, I hereby arrest you

for conspiracy.

- That changes everything. - Shut up!

Have some respect for the dead!

Jean-Baptiste!

What a small world it is!

They've broken down the gates! They're overrunning us!

Gendarmes, lock them up to keep the dead man company.

On my order! Fire!

Hear that, Papa?

The revolution's underway!

Nothing can stop it.

We're going to the Assembly. We'll bring down parliament.

Who are you?

Prove it, citizen.

It's you.

So, are you a hero?

You're the hero.

You brought down parliament.

It was already rotten to the core.

I sense that all this leaves you cold.

Eighteen years ago, you manned the barricades.

Times have changed.

I'm working on Bragelonne.

Listen to my first description of the Vicomte.

"He was a young man, 24 to 25 years of age, tall and lean,

"elegant in the charming military costume..."

I don't give a damn! You remember the revolution?

"His high black boots contained a foot that Mademoiselle de Montalais

"might not have disowned had she dressed as a man."

Stop cleaning up!

Two hundred killed last night, Paris in flames. And you stand by?

Stand by what?

Come back to Earth. May I remind you, you work for me.

The revolution won't pay my bills.

Actually, I pay your bills.

Don't be so petty, my friend.

Our readers await.

My reputation's at stake.

Your reputation?

The Académie Française rejected you.

They think you're an entertainer, a clown.

Follow Lamartine's example.

A great poet, admirable historian, member of parliament,

minister in the provisional government.

Hurry over there to lick his boots.

Let's settle our accounts. You owe me

450,000 francs, not including royalties.

You need some rest.

Give me my money.

"My treasure chest." "My debts." Who's it to be?

Sganarelle? Harpagon?

I'll sue you and ruin you!

You don't want to go to war with me.

I'll tell journalists

I'm the source of all our work.

In fact, I have in my safe

a memorandum recounting my work on The Three Musketeers.

From the original idea to the final stage.

All signed and certified before a notary.

What does that say? What does it say?

It's spelled out for you.

Queen Margot by Alexandre Dumas.

And that? What's that?

D'Artagnan, Porthos, Aramis, whose name's on the cover?

The real Dumas is me and I'll prove it in court.

Poor fool,

I knew you were a clerk claiming to be a great writer.

I'll prove the opposite.

With your scribblings?

Off with you!

I dispense of your meager services.

Why are you looking at me like a ghost?

I didn't expect to see you here.

You thought I'd let her rot in jail?

I'm ready. Just let me fetch my coat.

Where are you going?

Home. Where you'll join us tomorrow.

- I'm not dismissed? - Let's forget that.

He's right. Your place is at his side. As is mine.

The rest's just farce.

The revolution?

Honestly, unless you've regressed to childhood,

don't you feel a bit stupid with a pistol in your belt?

Céleste is right.

It's time to get back to writing, my friend.

You'll see,

I broke off when Bragelonne dismounts.

What follows will come naturally.

She's a woman of quality.

I see what attracted you.

She's waiting for you.

The funeral's tomorrow.

I'll be there.

No, Auguste.

You must go home.

Caroline must be proud of her husband.

If I were her,

I couldn't bear

that my husband's talent merely spruced up Dumas' writing.

You're worth much more.

Write a novel.

In your name.

I shall be your first reader.

What kind of novel?

A love story, perhaps.

Let me kiss you.

Once...

Just once.

So I know it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't a dream.

Eat your soup before it goes cold.

Well?

Eat up first, please.

You read it?

I read all you gave me. The first three chapters.

Precisely.

Enough to form an opinion.

Let's say it's promising.

I know you, Caroline.

When I gave you Monte Cristo, you said it was wonderful.

You couldn't praise it enough.

The story was completely different.

I've launched into a story of unrequited love.

Is it badly written?

Answer me.

Tell me, for God's sake!

I trust your judgment.

Should I go on or stop?

My poor friend.

Alexandre's impatient to see you.

The chateau's up for sale. Madame Dumas won her case.

The wolf's at the door?

The Théatre Historique might close.

Alexandre really needs you.

You mean financially?

He needs you, Auguste.

It's you.

Yes, it's me.

I'm a little lost.

I would be, too.

Caroline is well?

The revolution's taken 10 years off her.

I can't say the same.

Excuse me, Mr. Dumas, we have a job to do.

Do your job, Mr. Lacan.

A terracotta ewer, 17th century. Estimated value, 1,000 francs.

Could you make a little less noise?

Please.

We'll try.

In the novel, Beauchamp reports the verdict to Albert.

On stage, it won't work.

It would bore people.

Rigid.

I see you've recovered your sense of humor.

Humor is despair with good manners.

Very good.

Careful, I might steal that line from you.

What would you say if you read it in one of my novels?

All's fair in love and war.

I would say that we write well.

We?

Yes, Auguste.

I said "we."

Now imagine the dramatic impact

when Haydée accuses Morcerf of killing her father

and selling her into slavery.

It could be magnificent.

I can picture the audience.

Tears in the eyes, foaming at the mouth, ready to lynch Morcerf.

Wonderful theater.

You'll start?

You'll have it in two hours.

A first draft. I'll take care of the rest.

With an extra hour, I can perfect the dialogue.

As you wish.

Take my seat.

My outline's on the desk here.

Not that one, I forbid it!

Oil on canvas, portrait by Huchon of Céleste Scriwaneck.

It's in the inventory.

- Estimated value? - Not much.

Let go of it!

I'll let you keep it, Mr. Dumas.

See you later, my friend.

See you later, Alexandre.

I wrote a considerable number of works with Dumas.

I leave it to those I loved and those who bear my name

to ensure I receive the share of the honor that is mine.

I leave it to them

to inform the public of the huge role I played

in the creation of so many famous works.

From the will of Auguste Maquet

DUMAS