All language subtitles for chevalier.[2022.480p.web.x264

For those of you
who are somehow unaware,

my name is

Wolfgang Amadeus...

Mozart.

Because you have been
a delightful audience,

I think I might open the floor
to some requests.

Symphony 25.

- No. 2.
- No. 4.

Violin Concerto No. 5.

Huh.

I am quite fond of that one.
No. 5 it is.

May I play with you, monsieur?

What?

May I play along with you?

All right. Fine.
Come up here.

Come now,
who put you up to this?

Myself, monsieur.

Pardon me.

Do you believe
you'll be needing...

one of these?

Oh.

It seems I've left mine
in the shop.

In the shop!

Now, ladies and gentlemen,
I give you music

featuring help...

from a dark stranger.

I assume you know this piece?

Yes, monsieur.

Well, I hope this won't be
embarrassing for you.

From the allegro.

To my cadenza!

Bravo!

Bravo!

Who the fuck is that?

Welcome to Paris, Joseph.

Your son?

Yes.

What of the mother?

What of your wife?

Hardly any of your concern.

Monsieur,
there are better places

suited for hiding
such indiscretions.

Guadeloupe to Paris
is not a short journey.

Surely you weren't
expecting to just

dump your negro bastard
from the plantation

in the first academy
you laid eyes on.

I can pay.

I'm sure of it.

But I fear
this will not be a kind place

to such a boy.

He's gifted.

Such gifts should not be allowed

to languish on a plantation.

I owe him at least that.

Gifts?

Talents.

The boy has many,

but one in particular
that is exceptional.

That is what you claim
to nurture here, is it not,

Monsieur La Boëssière?

Very well.

Joseph, this is your home now.

This place may not be

immediately welcoming
to you, boy.

But you must be excellent.

Always excellent.

Do not give anyone
any reason to tear you down.

Remember,

no one may tear down
an excellent Frenchman.

Clumsy monkey.

Hit him! Hit him!

You'll be facing
your toughest opponent,

so keep your wits about you.

Thrust, parry, thrust, parry.

Very good. Shoulder down.

We challenge
La Boëssière's prized pupil

to a duel.

So if you have come for a bout,

a bout you will get.

Mesdames et messieurs.

Your Majesties.

Good people of France,

our country, our home

is under siege.

A siege not made
of steel or cannons,

but a siege
against the purity of blood.

The purity of our nation.
And this enemy,

France's enemy,

is already here, I fear.

The negro.

No longer are they confined

to the faraway plantations
of the colonies.

They have found their way
into our homeland.

Do not fret, for there is hope
that can be found

in a man
that I am proud to present.

A true son of France.

Here to crush
the dark pestilence.

France's esteemed
champion of Rouen,

Alexandre Picard!

What? What was that?

Ladies and gentlemen,

hear me now.

France is changing, yes.

But so is the world.

Are we to be left behind?

Is our great nation
to resist transformation?

Are we to remain stagnant,

clinging to the backward ways
of our forbearers

until this country
turns to dust?

Behold...

France's future.

He is both angel and devil.

Warrior and poet.

A true son of France.

My best friend.

Master of the sword.

Maestro of the bow.

You know him well!

Joseph Bologne!

Joseph Bologne.

I'm pleased
to finally see firsthand

how sensational you are.

Adept at riding
and language and poetry.

And you play your instrument

as well as you wield your sword.

Your work as director
of Le Concert des Amateurs

is unmatched.

Gossec and Leclair
sing your praises.

And your concertos.

Dear me.

Delightful.

And after this
most impressive victory,

you have proven yourself
to be a true man of France.

I think it is finally time
we reward this excellence.

I, Marie Antoinette,
Queen of France,

hereby anoint you,
Joseph Bologne,

Chevalier de Saint-Georges.

Well, come on. Someone get him
a shiny sash or something.

Let's make this festive.

You. Mm-hmm.

Go on.

Your Majesty.

God, coming here has become
as dull as a beggar's knife.

La Guimard.
She's really showing her age.

And Francoeur looks like

he's been dragged
out of a crypt.

Shall I run out
and check his pulse?

Sprinkle him with holy water
and revoke his invitation?

Will you drive a hairpin
through my heart

so that I can bleed out
and we can leave sooner.

I shall have to revive
this place

or else those bastards
in the music committee

will come for my throat.

Who's that with him?

Christoph Gluck.

Yes, he's just
hopped over from Vienna.

He's putting on a concert
for someone.

Someone without ears
or taste, probably.

Joseph. So cruel.

Oh, good. It's over.

Lord be praised.

Joseph, do you hear?
They're playing your music.

Well, of course they are.

I must say hello.

La Guimard.

Oh. Majesty.

Wonderful.
Wonderful, wonderful.

There he is.

Chevalier.

Good to see you.

Handsome in person too.

I told you he'd come.

The Chevalier is here.

There he is.

Chevalier.

Good evening, Chevalier.

Same with everything.
It's all made up. Like me.

There he is. Philippe.

Oh, Joseph.

Are you going to introduce me?

Come, uh,
this is Claire... No.

This is Claire. And this is...
I'm sorry, what's your name?

- Philomène.
- Might I steal him?

Chevalier.

Great performance tonight,
Guimard.

Thank you.

There's no finer voice in opera.

You're right.

I was thinking,

you must come and visit me
sometime at Pantin.

Huh.

I've built a little theater
in my house.

I could give you a private show.

I would not want to make

any of your
many suitors jealous.

Oh, I think men ought to be
jealous from time to time.

It's good for them.
Don't you think?

Hmm.

For example,

they are all extremely jealous

of your very large

talent.

I think it's time
we collaborated.

Meet me in my carriage,
and we could have

a little rehearsal.

Hmm.

You are a beautiful performer,
Guimard.

I hope we do
one day collaborate.

As professionals.

Oh.

I think you'll find
I usually get my way.

Enjoy your evening.

Well, now.
This is embarrassing.

Pardon?

Usually I am
the most impressive person

at these parties but it seems
you have stolen focus.

Is that right?

I'm afraid so.

And who might you be?

Well, I am the Chevalier
de Saint-Georges.

Ah, well, congratulations to you

and all of your
many accomplishments,

whatever they are.

I'm Marie-Joséphine.

There you are, my dear.

Oh, I've been arguing
with that damned doorman

for over an hour.

Did I miss your song?
I missed it.

She's captivating, is she not?

My cousin.

We were just getting acquainted.

Uh-uh. Joseph,
I promised her husband

I would
bring her home unscathed.

Ah, you attack my character,
Madame Genlis.

- We were only talking.
- Yes, and your silver tongue

leads women
straight to a pallet.

- Come along, dear.
- Oh, okay.

Joseph, look!

- Sent to me from the Orient.
- Mm.

It's charming, no?

- Careful.
- Oh.

What will you do now that
the world is yours, Chevalier?

Travel the country?

Lock yourself in your quarters

and luxuriate
in your brilliance?

I want to lead the Paris Opera.

Enough.

You are serious?

Surely you are more content
playing private venues.

They bore me.

What about fencing?

You'll have no time for bouts

if you were to receive
such an appointment.

I have defeated
all worthy opponents.

Put your insatiable
ambition aside.

You're a Chevalier now!

Well, there are countless men
with titles in France,

but there is only one head
of the Paris Opera.

There is no greater post,
and I want it.

I can do it.

I can fill that theater
every night.

I will put it on the map.

All of Europe will be clamoring

to visit the Palais Royal

and the whole world

will have you to thank.

The whole world?

Appoint me.

I will return it
to its former glory.

You know that I can.

Of course I know it.
It's just,

these things can be tricky.

What's tricky?

You called me France's
own virtuoso only hours ago

and now I'm not fit

to head the Paris Opera?

You lead to bold conclusions.

I only mean leading the Opera
despite its current trouble

is still a highly competitive
position.

So that's really why he's here?

Gluck.

He's not even French.

The committee
makes these choices,

and the committee loves Gluck.

All of Europe does.

A composer of his repute
will fill seats.

If you want to lead
the Paris Opera, Joseph,

I'm afraid you'll have to prove

you are the better man
for the job.

Joseph.

Monsieur Gluck! An honor.

France is delighted
to welcome you.

Pardon me?

Ah, forgive me.

I have let my admiration
get the best of me.

I'm Joseph Bologne,

Chevalier de Saint-Georges.

Also a composer.
Perhaps you've heard of me.

- Ah, yes.
- Yes.

The show-off
who spoiled Mozart's concert.

Spoiled?

Improved, I think.

Uh, he didn't seem to think so.

I hear he is writing you
into his new opera.

As the villain.

Dark-skinned and evil.

Tell us!

I hear you have come
to take over the Opera.

- There is, uh, talk of it.
- Mm.

Well, I would hate
to dash any hopes,

but I fear I am the better man
for the job.

You're very sure of yourself.

Quite.

Pay him no mind, dear Gluck.

He is really only fit
to tune your violin.

You are quite a changeable
woman, aren't you?

Mm.

Perhaps we should
settle this right now.

Get a couple of violins.

You're not seriously suggesting

some sort of competition?

Yes!

- A contest.
- Oh.

Who doesn't love
a little contest, hmm?

Forgive me, Your Majesty.

A contest?

Yes.

For the head of the Paris Opera.

And how would that work exactly?

Simply. Each of you

will compose an opera
for the music committee

and I shall have them
select a victor

based on the quality
of the production.

The winner shall be
rewarded the role.

And

his opera shall premiere

at the Palais Royal
for all of Paris.

I have never lost a bout.

Opera is not fencing.

Hmm.

Joseph.

Joseph.

Letter came for you.

Yes, read it to me.

"Dear Monsieur Bologne.

"I trust this message
finds you well,

"though I fear
my news is not happy.

"After 22 days
of fever and distress,

"your father died peacefully
in his sleep in Guadeloupe.

"You should know

"that he had
all of his affairs in order.

"Due to the fact
that you are illegitimate,

"the fruit of adultery,

"George Bologne has left you
none of his estate."

Let me see it.

There's something else.

"We further inform you
that your mother,

"Nanon,

"formerly the enslaved
property of your father,

"George Bologne,

"is hereby to be freed

"and reunited with you.

"Joseph Bologne.

"Her only son."

Yes, I like that one.

French is the preferred
language here.

Of course.

Make two. One in green
and one in yellow.

The dresses
will be ready in a few days.

Thank you. Adieu.

All that money you paid
for those dresses

could have bought food
for the whole city.

Well, you deserve
beautiful clothing.

Mm-hmm.

You live here all alone?

Hired help.

But as you can see,
they all resigned

upon learning
that my father passed.

He talked about you.
Your father.

I would overhear. Huh.

He always was so loud
when he was drunk. Remember?

Loud.

"The boy is the most
impressive pupil

"in his whole academy.

"The boy speaks many languages
and can fight with a sword."

At first, I did not believe
these tales.

Not my son.

Not the unruly child
who could not sit still

for even a moment.

And then I heard tales
of your music.

"He plays the violin.

"He composes.

"He plays songs for
the finest people in Paris."

I said, ah.

Well, that is my son.

My son was born with music
in his heart

just like his mother.

I missed you.

So much.

When he took you from me, I...

Let us not dwell
on that unpleasantness.

We are here now.

Let the past be.

Excuse me.
I have business to attend to.

You are very persistent.

It has been ages, years since
I have produced an opera.

And still no one
has better taste

or better contacts than you.

I find writing
to be much more rewarding.

To fund opera is difficult.

Rehearsals, the costumes,
the theater, the ego.

Christ.

It's not a cheap
or leisured venture.

Precisely why
I am here to see you.

I need the support
of a seasoned professional

if I am to win the approval
of the committee.

Seasoned.
I am not a boiled rabbit.

I think you will have
better luck elsewhere.

Adieu. Au revoir.

You know investors,

and you have a seemingly
intimate relationship

with the singer
I want to make my lead.

Produce my opera.

My production
will not disappoint

and everyone will know
you had a hand in its success.

I'm finishing a new novel,

The Anonymous Lover.

It is notably more mature

than the children's stories
I am known for.

Love triangles, widows,
that sort of thing.

Mm.

So...

I will produce your opera
on one condition.

That when we defeat Gluck

and rub his nose
in all that greasy smarm,

that you will adapt my novel

and put it on stage
at the Palais Royal.

It would be my honor
to do so, madame.

Really?

Yes.

Right.

Well, then I shall schedule
some meetings with investors.

We need a venue, an orchestra,
designers, painters.

And a lead.

I would like to start
with the lead.

If you are serious
about Marie-Joséphine,

you will need to speak
with her husband.

He's often occupied

but I believe
my familial relationship

may be helpful there.

Right. Much to do. Off I go.

Someone ready my carriage.

Hmm.

Shit!

You'll have
to pay for that, I'm afraid.

The Chevalier
de Saint-Georges. Welcome.

Ah, so you remember who I am.

Yes. The man with
all the fancy accomplishments.

I'm here to sit down
with you and your husband.

Is he about?

He'll be along shortly.

My curiosity overflows.

What brings you here?
My cousin would not say.

I am in need of a singer.

The lead.

You see, I am to compete
for the position

of director of the Paris Opera.

Yes, I know. All of Paris
is speaking of it.

But surely there are talents

better suited
for your performance.

You've only heard me
sing once. I could be

terrible.

You aren't.

Fine. Let us assume
I'm an excellent singer

and a world-class actress.

Convince me.

- Of?
- Your opera.

Sell it to me.

You cannot expect
a performer of my talents

to just attach herself to
any silly old thing, can you?

Well...

Well, it is called Ernestine.

Ah. And that would be me?

Yes.

- Tell me about her.
- She's an orphan.

- Tragic.
- It is.

She is a brilliant artist

who earns a scant living

teaching art in her small town.

A handsome soldier romances her,

moves her to Paris,

but then must leave
to go off to war.

The soldier's penniless
when he returns.

He overlooks
Ernestine altogether

and proposes to a rich heiress.

He uproots her and deserts her.

- The bastard.
- Indeed he is.

Soon the soldier is despondent.

He misses Ernestine.

He realizes her art,

her talent,

her tender soul

will make him happier
than fortune ever could.

And Ernestine accepts
the soldier even though

he's stupid and penniless?

Yes.

Why?

Because he truly loves her.

And despite his wrongs,

she knows
she deserves to be loved.

Truly...

and fully loved.

And of course,
the music will be spectacular.

Bold!

Forgive my tardiness.

Chevalier, this is the Marquis
de Montalembert. My husband.

Famed mulatto
of La Boëssière's Academy.

A welcome guest to be sure.

I like your toys.

Replicas.

Come, Chevalier, please.

I would like to show you
some of my bigger toys.

I understand the Queen
keeps your calendar busy.

Indeed.

I fought for this country
in the Rhine,

in Italy, in Bohemia.

It is my God-given purpose

to defend this country
from all its enemies.

Even from enemies at home.

You mean spies?

Traitors.

Agitators from within
this country,

born of this nation,

who would like to see
our queen burn.

Their lot's more terrifying
than any Bohemian or Italian.

Surely they're not
a genuine threat.

If only that were so.

I have designed many a fortress.

It is a precise science,
keeping your enemies out.

But what does one do
when the enemy

is not found
outside the fortress?

What to do when the enemy

was within the fortress
all along?

Hmm?

France is the greatest nation
in the world.

In any other country,

a man of your color

would not be wearing
such fine clothes

or be so boldly

propositioning a man's wife
in his own drawing room.

Excuse me, Marquis,

but I only wish for your wife
to sing in my opera.

It is a charming libretto,
if I may...

I have no affection for art.

I have no interest in sitting
for hours at the opera

or staring at paintings
of ponds or flowers.

Let me be clear.

The very idea of Marie-Joséphine

parading around a stage

is more than unsavory.

A woman of the theater

invites the hungry and lustful
eyes of men night after night.

I do not wish my dove...

to become a whore.

Ah... Can I stop you?

Try to be more delicate.

Imagine you are a flower.

A soft, quiet flower.

Once more?

More passion.

Less, less passion. Please.

Thank you, miss. Thank you!

Thank you!

Marquise?

To what do I owe the pleasure?

Well,

it, uh...

it turns out I quite despise
being spoken for.

The truth is I would very much
like to perform in your opera.

Unless you have already found
your Ernestine, of course.

Have you persuaded your
husband to change his heart?

He'll be away
the rest of the year.

He does not need to know
how I spend my days.

This opera is hardly a secret.
Surely someone would tell him.

I'll manage him.

I will. It'll be my burden
to bear, not yours.

Well, I'd hate
for my little opera

to stir a spat between lovers.

How naive of you to think
that love and marriage

have anything
to do with one another.

Seems like you're more
than adequately taken care of.

Seem.

It's a curious word, isn't it?

I'm sure I seem
a great many things.

Although I am a woman
of the stage.

That is part of the job,
isn't it?

To seem.

I can play
the dutiful housewife.

I can pretend
to enjoy all the parlors

and court
and mind-numbing chit-chat.

I can pretend

to not be at all troubled
by my lack of autonomy.

But only for so long.

Perhaps when you marry,

you will better understand
such things.

I fear marriage
is not in the cards for me.

Why?

Too much fun bedding admirers

from your concerts
night after night?

It is illegal for someone
of my complexion

to marry someone of my class.

Why not marry a negro woman?
That is perfectly legal.

Unless, of course,
you do not prefer them.

What a thing to say.

I... I do not mean to offend.

Why did you not marry a negro?

Perhaps a better question is
why would I be

legally forced
to give up my title

for marrying a negro woman?

I will be punished
no matter who I marry.

You have my apologies.
Please, forgive my ignorance.

Rehearsal begins
at 8:00 tomorrow.

Good night, Marquise.

Good night.

You've improved
since the last time I saw you.

Mm.

You remember the song

I used to sing to you
when you were a boy?

You remember it?

You can play something
like that in your opera.

No.

Why not?

There are standards
that must be honored.

She's brilliant, isn't she?

She understands the music.
She...

Joseph, Joseph.

Of all the singers in Paris.
Have you lost your mind?

You do know who she is?

You do know
who she's married to?

That lunatic.

Bash in skulls first,
ask questions later.

He arrested a man
for begging for bread.

He could have
bought 20 meals for the man,

but he arrested him.

They're bullies.
They're tyrants.

She's not her husband.

She's not...

Right. Come, we'll be late
if we don't walk quickly.

Told you. I don't want to go.

I think you might find
the arguments compelling.

Feels treasonous.

Well, treason is a loaded word.

You're a member
of the royal family

openly criticizing
the King and the Queen.

Smells like treason.

We are simply an assembly of men

sharing ideas
that some may find to be...

Radical!

Progressive.

What's radical?

Ah, Marquise de Montalembert,
Marie-Joséphine.

This is Philippe d'Orléans.

Of course.
Where are you going?

Oh, a meeting.

What sort of meeting?

A secret meeting.

- A secret meeting?
- Secret meeting.

Well, not really, but I doubt
it will be of interest to you.

Huh. You have no idea
what interests me.

Uh...

Of course, I revere the King,
the Queen. They are family.

But listen, I am talking
about social contracts.

- Yeah, yeah.
- Yes.

There's already talk
of rebellion in the streets

if the monarchy does not honor
the universal rights of man.

Their authority is improper if
the people do not empower it.

You!

The people. Égalité!

Égalité!
Égalité! Égalité!

I care for all men.

For if all classes of men
join together,

we could more clearly see
the injustices done to us all.

What about women?

Yeah. What about women?

Are we invited to join you
to fight injustice?

Are we to be freed in your
ideal view of the world?

As equals?

Yes. Yeah.

I personally believe the idea

that women are inferior to men
was created by a man.

But I was created by a woman,

so there my honor lies.

- Well done.
- Well said.

What are they saying?

Nothing.

What?

They say
you look like a white boy.

Very funny.

It is only jest.

A new composition?

No. Just something to help

quiet the mind.

And what is on your mind?

Victory.

Were you always so competitive,

even as a child?

No.

When I was very young...

my father took me
from the only home I knew.

He took me from my mother.

"Always be excellent.

"No one may tear down
an excellent Frenchman."

That's what my father said.

And when no one came for me,
I thought it was because

I wasn't good enough
to be reclaimed.

You know something?

My father was right.

The more I excelled,

the more people loved me.

The more I excelled,
the less I was alone.

Hmm.

My mother was my closest friend.

Hmm.

There was not a kinder woman.

She loved when I sang.
Adored it.

We would stay up late
and perform little plays.

She didn't care if I had
lessons in the morning,

there was always time
for one more song.

She died...

not long ago.

My father...

waited only a month before
he married my music tutor.

He shed not one tear
for my mother.

He recast her like it was the
easiest thing in the world.

Like there were
hundreds of women

who could replace her
in an instant.

Well, and then
he married me off.

Like a dog to be bred.

You're much cuter than a dog.

Do you think so?

Oh.

But a dancer you are not.

Down with Antoinette!

Feed your people!

Down with Antoinette!

Feed your people!

Down with Antoinette!

What?

Just trying to memorize you

before you become
too famous for even me.

That might be the most humble
thing you've ever said to me.

I'm here! I'm here.

I have
the most spectacular news.

Spectacular!

They loved it.

Joseph, they loved it.

We should hear very soon.

And I have a very good feeling.

A very good feeling indeed.

Oh, my.

Congratulations!

A drink.

To my dear, dear friend.

Soon to be awarded
the most prestigious post.

Oh, I've not won anything yet.

The committee
is still deliberating.

I can't wait.

Well, then cheers
to a brilliant performance.

You really should have seen it.

It was wonderful.

I was wonderful.

I can see his celebrated
modesty has rubbed off on you.

Huh.

We need more champagne.

Really?

What?

How long have you
been sleeping with her?

You are playing
a dangerous game, friend.

You have never
respected anyone's marriage.

Touché.

Listen,

I'm planning a visit
to England soon.

It'll be a great
meeting of the minds.

Brissot, Paine, Equiano.

Artists and abolitionists.
Philosophers.

Come with me.

We can learn more of their ways

and perhaps bring their
philosophies back to France.

Sounds like it is you

playing a dangerous game,
friend.

I believe our friends
in England would love

hearing from a man
as skilled as you.

You wish me to be
a political mascot?

I... That is not
what I mean at all.

I mean
you are marvelous, Joseph.

You could be more influential
than you know.

Leverage it.

The world needs changing.

Do you not agree?

Excuse me.

"The tenderest love
expressed with all warmth.

"The mind does not speak

"the same language
as the soul."

Do you hate yourself for this?

No.

Do you?

No.

What will we do?

We can leave.

Can we? To where?

Anywhere.

We'll find a deserted island.

Start a new country.

We can perform operas...

to fish...

and crab.

Yeah. So, you will read
Molière to the gulls.

Precisely. There is so much
I would like to do.

So much to see.

Perhaps we can see it.

Together.

It sounds like heaven,
does it not?

Whatever pleases you
sounds like heaven.

I see the girl
you sneak in and out of here.

You are too trusting of them.

Oh, forgive my bluntness,

but you know nothing
of my world.

Your world?

You are a tourist in theirs.

Is that all I am?

I have not heard
or seen you in years

and you show up here
with all the answers.

I only worry about you.

You worry about me?

There's no need.

I have managed just fine
without you or anyone else

since the day
I was abandoned here.

Spare me your worries
and your concerns.

They are too late.

Your Majesty!

What an unexpected surprise.

Beautiful day, isn't it?

What could this possibly be?

"The three divas of the opera,

"La Guimard, La Arnould,
and La Levasseur

"have penned this petition

"in order to prevent

"the appointment of
the Chevalier de Saint-Georges

"as music director
of the Paris Opera."

What is this?

"We implore our queen
to recognize

"that our honor
and our delicate conscience

"could never allow ourselves

"to submit to the orders
of a mulatto.

"He belongs to a sub-human race

"and such a man
should not be allowed

"the honor of holding

"the highest musical position
in France.

"We implore our queen

"to revoke
the upcoming nomination."

Is this some sort of prank?

La Guimard
submitted this petition

to the music committee.

I'm afraid
she has swayed their minds.

The appointment
will go to Gluck.

Well, you are the Queen.

You will dismiss
this petition, surely.

These are delicate matters,
Joseph, even for a queen.

So you will not defend me?

Your friend?

I cannot afford to make
any more enemies.

I have defended you
against salacious rumors.

Horrible attacks
on your character.

Always have.

Will you not do the same for me?

Half of Versailles
think me a spy.

The people are becoming
unsure of me.

I cannot publicly
support a negro

against the wishes of my court

and risk falling further
out of favor.

I am in your court.

I am a Chevalier.

Does that not mean anything?

Perhaps, when La Guimard
has retired

and France is more accepting
of the negro,

then you'll have
your chance again.

One moment
I was a man of France.

But now I am only a negro.

To my dearest Christoph Gluck.

You have blessed our ears and
our eyes with a masterpiece.

Although you are not
born of France,

you honor us with your effort.

We will not soon let you
out of our clutches.

May your name live on
forever and ever.

Hear, hear!

Come on.
Don't just soak it all in.

Play for us. You must.

My dearest Queen.

My dear friend.

Daughter of goddesses.

It is my honor to play for you.

Congratulations, Monsieur Gluck,

on a brilliant opera.

La Guimard.

Mwah!

There's nothing more stale
than a Greek tragedy, hmm?

But this... this...

you've outdone yourself.

I only nodded off once.

- Enough.
- Enough!

You will regret
discarding me, friend.

When all of France knows me,

when all of Europe
knows my music,

you will be known
for backing the wrong man.

I...

And you...

You are a snake.

A coward!

You know I am the best.

You're right. I do.

But I don't care.

I don't care,

because you don't belong here.

You are a party trick.

Is he not? You're a pet.

You're a little monkey playing
the violin. That is all.

So run back
to your cage, Chevalier.

- Go on, run home.
- Hmm.

Hmm?

Or better yet,
leave France and go back

to wherever it is you came from.

Oh, God.

All of this
because I wouldn't bed you?

Christ.

Well, you are
a vulgar ape, monsieur.

Is that what you think
this is about?

Would he sleep with you?

What a foul suggestion.

What a foul suggestion.
You are disgusting.

- You reek of mediocrity!
- And you are a barbarian.

- I'm a barbarian?
- Stop it!

You are a barbarian!

And you are clearly unwell.

- Is he not?
- This is absurd.

Must he be here?

I should be here!

Stop it! Stop it at once!

Oh, you stop it!
You stop it, you fraud!

How dare you ruin
such a wonderful evening!

A wonderful evening!

You're disgracing yourself.

- Remove this man. Now! Now!
- Remove me. Me?

- Don't you touch me!
- Now!

Don't you touch me!

No, get off of me!
You are sad!

You are sad!

You are not a queen of France!

Your people
are starving in the streets!

You are a fraud!

You are a traitor!

I'm afraid your outburst
this evening will cost you.

You dare humiliate our Queen?

You forget your place, boy.

Joseph.

Quiet!

I thought I made myself
very clear to you.

Both of you.

Find another singer.

Please, this was just
a misunderstanding.

There is no misunderstanding.

I said no opera,
and you defied me.

Flagrantly.

Did you think
I would not hear of you

parading around the stage
like a harlot?

I gave you the courtesy
of a warning.

But now I'm afraid my civility
has reached its end.

Break his hands.

Each finger.

No.

See that he's never able to play

his little fiddle again.

- No.
- Grab his hand!

- Get off me! No!
- No, please, please, please.

Please do not punish him
for my disobedience.

- Please.
- No!

Please.

Get your hands off me!

Please, I beg you.

- No!
- Stop it!

No!

Very well.

You stay away from her.

You will not win this bout.

Are you coming?

No.

Thank you.

My love.

Joseph.

I've written to you.

All these months.

Has Madame Genlis
delivered any of my letters?

You cannot involve her.

You are with child.

Is it his?

You do not know, do you?

You should not be here.

He does not know about us,
and that is a blessing.

Please go.

Hear me.

We can run.

We can leave this place.

You cannot be serious.

We can go anywhere.

Somewhere where
we can be together.

Our own little deserted island.

We cannot go anywhere.

We will not be a happy family.

We will not find freedom.

In England

or anywhere.

We are having a child.

My husband and I
are having a child.

You do not want this life.

You could not possibly know
what I want.

You barely know me.

You are a very
good actress, aren't you?

Do not write to me again.
Do not follow me again.

I am a married woman,
and that is what I want.

Adieu, Chevalier.

They ask about you out there,
you know.

The people.

They miss your music.

Mm.

Enough! Enough wallowing.
It is pathetic.

Seems fitting of me.

Hmm.

You've let these rich
white people soften you.

Uh-uh.

Get up.

Come with me.

Go and play.
Go, go!

Yeah.

Yah!

I'll be right back.

Madame Genlis.

A surprise to be sure.

What brings you here?

The baby arrived.

What?

The baby.

Marie-Joséphine. Her baby.

The baby's skin
was dark in color.

Yes.

The Marquis, he...

he took the baby away.

Where?

Where?

He killed it.

No.

No!

Joseph.

Who decides which men
get to keep their children?

I was taken from you
without choice.

My child was taken
without choice.

Why do we not get to choose?

Why do they have choice
and we have none?

Choice.

This world is painful for us.

Painful.

It is full of wickedness.

It is full of lies.

It is how
they designed it for us.

They take us from our homes.

They sell us like goods.

They harm our bodies.

Evil.

But the greatest evil

is not what they have done
to our bodies.

It is what they have done
to our minds.

We got a runner!

After he took you from me...

I ran to find you
nearly every day.

Don't let her get away!

I fought anyone
who tried to stop me.

No!

I did not care if I died.

I chose to fight for you,
my son.

And now, I am here.

The greatest evil

is convincing us
that we have no choice.

But choice cannot be taken away.

Choice comes from within.

And there is always the choice

to fight.

I've missed you...

every day, maman.

No more taxes!

No more taxes! No more taxes!

Murderer!

You are not my queen!

Égalité!

Stand down! By order
of the Queen, stand down!

- Fraternité!
- Stay back!

Liberté!

Thank you. God bless.

You're welcome.

Philippe, can I talk to you?

There's not gonna be
any more food to go around.

I'm putting on a concert.

Invite anyone. Everyone.

Charge them a fair price.

The funds will go
to those who need it.

Food, resources.

The rest we'll use
to help fund the revolution.

Of course.

Of course, Joseph.

Of course.

Égalité.

Égalité.

Égalité! Égalité! Égalité!

Égalité! Égalité! Égalité!

You're the last person
I expected to walk in here.

Especially after
that wonderful performance

in the church.

Here's your stage, Marquise.

It's all yours.

I said those things so
he wouldn't kill you, Joseph.

No.

Instead, he killed my child.

My child.

The one I carried.

The one I loved.

I am sorry.

For it all.

I hope we meet
on that desert isle one day.

We won't.

He was beautiful.

Our son.

He was beautiful.

Liberté! Égalité! Fraternité!

Liberté! Égalité! Fraternité!

Liberté! Égalité! Fraternité!

Liberté! Égalité! Fraternité!

Down with the Queen!

You're not our queen!

Égalité!

Down with the royals!

You disgraceful scum!

Burn the Bastille!

Throw her in prison!

Joseph. The Queen is here.

- Where?
- Here.

Please leave us.

"Uprising,

"in concert with Joseph Bologne.

"Proceeds to support
the rights of man.

"Liberté, égalité,
fraternité."

That is what they chant
in the streets, no?

While burning effigies of me.

I suppose you're trying to
make some sort of point, then.

That you could do this

after all the kindness
I have offered you.

Not everything
is about you people.

That is the point.

I have been a friend to you,

and as a consequence,

you have forgotten
one crucial fact.

I am the Queen of France.

I will not be mocked by you.

I will not be
condescended to by you.

I will no longer tolerate your
arrogance and your disrespect.

You and those who chant
in the street are fools!

There will be no new France.

You cannot topple
what has been ordained by God.

There will be order!

If you take to the stage,

my guards
will arrest you at once.

I will take everything from you.

I will strip you of your title.

You will no longer
be a Chevalier.

You will be nothing.

You will be erased.

They can't do this.

- Liberté!
- Liberté!

Liberté! Liberté! Liberté!

Murderer!

Murderer!

We won't let you take him!

Let him go!

- Liberté!
- Liberté!

Let him go!

- Liberté!
- Liberté!

- Liberté!
- Liberté!

Liberté!

Liberté!

Liberté!

Liberté! Liberté! Liberté!