All language subtitles for The.Bakery.Girl.Of.Monceau.1963.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

SIX MORAL TALES

THE BAKERY GIRL OF MONCEAU

Paris,
the Villiers intersection.

To the east,
Boulevard des Batignolles.

To the north,
Rue de Lévis and its market.

The Dôme de Villiers café.

To the left,
Avenue de Villiers.

The Villiers metro station.

To the west,
Boulevard de Courcelles,

which leads
to the Park Monceau

and a demolition zone on the site
of the former City Club,

a student residence.

I ate there every night
while in law school.

Sylvie, who worked in a gallery
on the Rue de Monceau,

walked home across the park
at the same time.

I knew her only by sight.
We passed each other often

between the intersection
and the club.

We'd exchanged furtive looks

but nothing more.

- Don't look back.
- She's a bit tall for me.

Schmidt, my friend,
urged me to act.

But I was scared.

- Take a chance.
- What, pick her up?

- Why not? One never knows.
- Well, one should.

No, it wasn't her style
to get picked up on the street,

and it was even less
my style to try.

Yet I felt she was ready

to make an exception
to her rule, as I was to mine.

But it was risky,

and I didn't want to botch it
by not being myself.

Really?

Very long?
- Longer than usual.

Listen,
I feel like following her.

No, don't.
Go right up to her.

Go right up to her?

I could see
how strongly I felt about her.

It was May,
near the end of the school year.

She had to live nearby.

We'd seen her a few times

carrying a basket,
doing her shopping.

- See?
- Not so loud.

What'd I say?

She may live around here.

- Wait.
- Be careful.

Relax.

She went into a shop.

She's ignoring us too intently
to not be aware of us.

Hell, I'm following her.

Even if I'd managed to trail her unseen,
what good would that have done?

I'll catch up.

I'd decided to take matters in hand
when fortune at last smiled on me.

Over there!

- What?
- There!

What?

- No harm done.
- Really?

- We didn't really bump.
- Thank goodness.

What a day. I almost broke
my neck on those things earlier.

- I wish I'd seen that.
- I said almost.

I wasn't hurt.
These cars are so loud!

- I go this way.
- I go that way.

Let me make amends.
Meet me for coffee in an hour?

I'm busy tonight. Another time.
We cross paths often.

Throughout our short talk,
I'd had but one thought:

Keep her there.
Say anything.

Forget the assuredly
poor impression I was making.

But my victory was clear.

I must admit, bumping into her
wasn't entirely accidental.

She didn't seem offended.

On the contrary,
she seemed to respond.

Her refusal to meet
meant nothing,

since now I could speak to her when
we met again, which would be soon.

Then, what I least expected
happened.

My good luck
was followed by equally bad luck.

Three days passed,
then a week.

No sign of her.

With exams coming up,
Schmidt went back to his family.

In love though I was,

the idea of giving up study time
to look for Sylvie

never even occurred to me.

My only free time was meal time,

so I did without dinner.

Dinner took 30 minutes,
and my walk three,

so my chances of seeing her
were multiplied by 10.

But the boulevard seemed
a poor vantage point.

She might easily
take another route.

She might even take
the subway or bus.

However, she still had
to go shopping,

so I decided to extend the area
of my search to the Rue de Lévis.

Besides, I must say,

these late-afternoon patrols
were hot, dull and tiring.

The market offered
variety, coolness,

and the compelling
argument of food.

My stomach tempted me.

Weary of cafeterias,
and anticipating vacation,

it craved the gastronomic interlude
that cherry season offered.

The smells and sounds
of the market,

after so many hours
of books and lecture notes,

were more relaxing than the club
and its mess-hall odors.

But my search was still in vain.
Thousands lived in that neighborhood...

possibly one of
the most crowded in Paris.

Should I stay put?

Or walk around?

I was young
and perhaps foolishly hoping

to see her suddenly
appear in a window

or emerge from a shop

and once again find herself
face-to-face with me.

So I decided to stroll around.

That's how I found,
on the Rue Lebouteux,

a little bakery

where I got in the habit
of buying the cookies and pastries

that became
the mainstay of my meals.

Go on, Jackie.
Get going, understand?

Let me work.

Oh, that guy!

Girls are useless.

You should talk.
Go back where you came from.

I'll be back.

What an idiot!

A cookie.

He gets on my nerves.

Which one?
- That one.

To go?

That's right.

Forty centimes.

The cookies were the same
as at any bakery.

They're factory-made.
You find them everywhere.

But here I could eat
without being seen by Sylvie,

who, in the crowded market,
might appear unexpectedly.

Besides, buying my pastry
had become a ritual

between me
and the girl at the bakery.

At my age, you hate nothing
more than shopping.

I like to enter a shop

with the air of someone
going in for the first time.

Yet I'm pleased when the salesgirl
guesses my game and plays along.

Hello, miss.
A cookie.

Forty centimes?

And still no sign of Sylvie.

Was she avoiding me?
Why, for God's sake?

Was she in the country?

Sick? Dead? Married?

Anything was possible.

By the end of the week,
my vigil was a mere formality.

I would hurry to my bakery,

taking more care each day
with my entrances,

my lingering,
my bizarre conduct.

Two cookies?

Darn!

Don't worry.
Oh, and wrap them separately.

There.

Wait. I think
I've got the change.

It didn't take long to see
the pretty bakery girl liked me.

Call it vanity if you will,

but the fact that a girl liked me
seemed natural.

And since she wasn't
really my type,

and Sylvie alone,

so superior,
held my thoughts --

Yes, it was because
I was thinking of Sylvie

that I accepted the advances,
which is what they were,

of the bakery girl.

in a much better spirit
than if I had not loved another.

Yes, a cookie.

And a roll.

And, let's see,
give me that one.

Wait.

What's that called?

A gâteau lorrain.

Anything else?

That's all.

Separately?

Yes. But not the cookie.

Wait.

Give me an apricot tart.

I got more involved
in this by the day,

sure that it couldn't go very far.

And it was as good a way as any
both to pass the time

and to get even with Sylvie
for her absence.

And yet this revenge
seemed unworthy of me,

and I ended up taking out
my irritation on the bakery girl.

What upset me
was not that she liked me,

but that she'd think
there was any way

I would like her.

As if to justify myself
in my own eyes,

I told myself it was her fault,

that she must be punished
for playing with fire.

My courtship became a daily routine
carried out with such a relaxed air

that her initial coyness
didn't put me off at all.

Delicious.
I could eat nothing but pastries.

Me too.

I'll buy you one.

No, thank you.

Come on.

Isn't the boss here?

She's making dinner.

So what are you afraid of?

I'd think you'd hate pastries
after staring at them all day.

I've only been here a month.

I won't be here long,
you know.

In September I start
at one of the big department stores.

You're here all day long?

Until 8:00.

What do you do evenings?

Would you like
to go out some evening?

I'm only 18.

So? Don't your parents
let you go out?

It was an apricot tart
and a baba,

and add an apple tart.

My exams were almost over.
I'd be going on vacation.

- Want any help?
- Heavens, no.

Am I bothering you?
Afraid we'll be seen?

No. Anyway,
I'm leaving in a month.

- Mind if I walk with you a bit?
- I guess not.

Come in here.
I want to tell you something.

Have I done something wrong?

No. I told you,
it's not that.

Let's go out.

Tomorrow.

Leave me alone.

Why?

I don't know you.

We'll get acquainted.

Do I seem so bad?

No strings attached.

We'll go to a movie
on the Champs-Elysées.

You must go to the movies.
- Yes, on Saturday.

Let's go this Saturday.

I'm going with friends.

Boys?

Boys... girls.
They're all silly.

All the more reason.
Saturday then?

No, not Saturday.

Another day.
Do your parents keep you in?

I should hope not!

So tomorrow?

We'll have a nice dinner,
then go to the Champs-Elysées.

I'll meet you at 8:00 at the café.

The Dôme, all right?

Should I dress?

No, you're fine as you are.
All right?

Mother may not like it.

But you said --

Yes, in principle.

Say it's a girlfriend.

I don't know.
Maybe.

Do you like a little intrigue?

Intrigue.

I'll come by tomorrow at 7:30.

In case we can't talk in the bakery,
here's what we'll do.

I'll ask for a pastry.

If you give me two,
it's a go.

In that case we'll meet
at the café at 8:00. Got it?

Repeat it back
so there's no mistake.

If I give you two pastries,
it means yes.

Good. I'll leave now.

I'll go first.

What's your name?

Good-bye, Jacqueline.

There.

I had what I wanted.

But things took a serious turn
I hadn't counted on.

This girl lacked
the easygoing quality

that would have eased
my conscience.

What had I gotten myself into?

Besides, I was leaving Paris.
Not much could happen before then.

I had other worries.

The next day, a Friday,
I took my oral exam and passed.

I almost didn't go to my date.

But none of my friends
were around,

and the thought of an evening
alone was unbearable.

A cookie.

How are you?

What's wrong?
Are you hurt?

A bad sprain
that's dragged on three weeks.

How annoying.

I wondered
why I hadn't seen you.

I saw you yesterday,
but you were lost in thought.

Really.

Let's move.

In an instant
I'd made my decision.

- Have you eaten?
- Not a bite.

- This heat makes me hungry.
- No need to explain.

Want to eat together?

Why not? I'll just be a minute.
I'm on the second floor.

I'll wait.

That minute turned into 15,

giving me ample opportunity
to reflect on my rashness.

I could have put Sylvie off a day
and kept my date with my bakery girl.

But my choice had been,
above all, a moral one.

Having found Sylvie again,

seeing the bakery girl would be
a vice, an aberration.

One represented truth
and the other a mistake,

or so I told myself at the time.

To complicate things,

it began to rain,

but that's what
in fact saved me.

...it will be exactly 8:00...

You can't walk.
I'll get a cab.

You won't find one in this rain.
I can walk.

Really?

The street was deserted.

The bakery girl could see us
if she came outside.

Like a coward, I thought

she'd be too far away
to make a scene.

I didn't dare turn around,
and the walk seemed endless.

Did she see us, or was she
pining away for me at the café?

I'll never know.

As for winning Sylvie,
I already had.

I learned how that very evening.

I managed
to keep myself entertained.

I can't stand people
who pace in front of my door.

Yes, you may not know it,

but my windows
open onto the street.

I saw everything.

I trembled a moment,
but she went on.

You're terrible.

You almost made me feel guilty.

But then, I couldn't exactly
call out to you.

After all, it's your right to destroy
your stomach with those awful cookies.

- They're good.
- I know. I've tried them.

In short,
I know all your vices.

What'll you have?

The chef's special pastry.

We were married
six months later,

and lived for a while
on the Rue Lebouteux.