Original subtitles

THE NICOLAS LE FLOCH AFFAIR

Have mercy, my Lord!

The wolves! Have mercy, my Lord!

Don't expect any mercy from me.

My Lord, the wolves!

Have mercy!

Mercy! The wolves!

Part One

So you've abandoned the flute for the pianoforte.

I've never had a taste for torture

and the clavier requires more finesse than puff,

which suits me admirably.

By Jove, my young friend!

Your new skill is impressive.

Your servant, sir.

It's often very hard to distinguish the counterpoint under the melody,

yet you suddenly seem to know what you're about.

Your attire, your self-satisfied smile...

Your occasional distance...

All these seem to show the civilising effects

of a loving presence.

- A loving presence? - Come now!

The Court and the city is a-buzz with rumours.

Everyone knows of your loving, stormy relationship

with the beautiful and capricious Mme de Lastérieux.

Leave rumour to the wind and the miasma it carries.

Easy, Nicolas. I didn't intend to offend.

You do not offend me.

But sometimes things are not quite what they seem.

This alleged liaison

I would gladly return to its owner.

But this is impossible for now, alas.

- I cannot tell you more. - No need.

I suppose she sent you a note charging you to come quickly.

How could that be? Are you a seer?

Not at all.

I just remember being your age and similarly passionate.

And I recognise one of these excellent bottles

of Hungarian Tokay that the lady is known to like.

Come, Nicolas. Do not keep the object of your hopes waiting.

Did you have a good journey?

Monotonous, and customarily so.

Luckily, it was improved by an amusing episode.

Darchis, do you have what I asked for?

In the portfolio, madam.

Well, Casimir, you seem rather sombre.

Madam promised to emancipate

my wife Rose and myself, yet still nothing.

Still! Don't be too impatient.

You will be enfranchised in good time.

But it is not on today's agenda.

You took your time, Darchis.

But I must admit it is a work of quality.

The writing, the words, the turns of phrase,

even the terseness:

all is finely wrought and striking truthful.

You are playing for high stakes.

Because the game is extremely important.

Ah! Balbastre!

My dear Balbastre,

I know your integrity, your unselfishness

and your propensity to remain as silent as the grave...

I sent for you

for today is a day of jubilation in my household.

I know I must wait to explain fully

but my happiness is such that I cannot but share it.

Here, Balbastre. Read this.

Read it.

The Marquis de Ranreuil...

has finally decided?

Yes, Balbastre. He finally decided.

That's why I intend that you play here tonight.

You are a great organist

but I know the pianoforte holds no secrets for you.

Darchis will give up his place.

I must go. The first guests are arriving

and I would like to look my best.

Rose, you are resplendent.

May I be permitted to envy the rascal you married.

Here. Leave it to chill

and take it to Madam's chamber when she rings.

But judging by the crowd, I doubt we shall be alone.

I expected less solemnity.

- Did you know? - Yes.

Here he comes now.

Be seated, sir. We were only waiting for you.

Only me?

You are aware of my loathing for crowds.

Your note, urgent though it was, betrayed no sign of this.

I do not understand.

Madam, it was agreed that our friendship remain discreet.

Our friendship?

What about this note you sent me?

This note. The object of my happiness.

Written in your hand.

My hand?

"My dear, I surrender to your reason, to your charms

"and the strength of our feelings

"and intend to make you my wife and Marquise de Ranreuil."

Would you abuse me after seducing me?

Do you have the impertinence to deny aloud what your hand has written?

Do you take me for a toy to be used and discarded?

Have you already changed your mind?

You are engaged. This note is proof.

Give it to me! This note is a fake.

I'll prove it and show you I've been framed.

What about the scandal?

I'll deal with it and be vindicated. Give it to me!

And have you burn it?

Do you take me for a silly goose, your usual fare?

Give it here!

- You may leave! - Stay, Casimir.

Your strength and attachment will suffice

to prevent any violence.

You, gossiper, out of my way.

You may go. I'll walk home.

Go on!

- Sir... - I wish to see La Satin.

- Let me in. - Your presence is unwelcome.

- Sir, please. - Please, it is I.

You come here, sir? Why?

Leave us, Sophie.

Have you been rejected?

Or have you come from some street

where you did not find sufficient satisfaction?

Yet they say Lastérieux is delectable.

I am expecting a visit.

I hope you will be brief, therefore.

Your dress, madam.

Your radiant charms.

Have you gone back to your former practices?

Perhaps so. Indeed.

I heard you keep other company, persistently, too.

Why should I refuse myself the pleasures

that you permit yourself?

Mine come with no tariff.

You've gone too far.

I give myself to whomever I choose.

"Sell" might be more apt.

Leave, sir, before I become enraged!

Never underestimate the power of love

in a woman determined to achieve her aims.

Love, you say.

You don't believe me, Darchis?

You seem quite sincere. However I doubt your resources...

My resources?

In myself I have

powerful leverage, Darchis.

Natural leverage,

very powerful and very likely to induce the Marquis de Ranreuil

to make me his wife.

I thought your motives were more practical.

As Marquise de Ranreuil, you escape Sartine

and hold an enviable situation at Court.

That too, Darchis.

That too.

But not only that.

I love Ranreuil and want him at any price.

Even that of treason?

It's a risky match that may bring torments

and a disheartening end.

I can protect myself against torments.

As for the end...

I am said to be capricious and frivolous.

Indeed I am.

But I intend my new life with my future husband

to be free from all lies

and the slightest compromise.

I even intend to conceal nothing of my former erring ways.

You love him that much?

Yes, Darchis,

that much.

Madam, since such is your will,

let us drink to your new life.

- To Ranreuil! - To Ranreuil!

And how is the king?

Both well and poorly.

He plays the young man, but feels the fatigue of age.

Oh! I'm ten years his senior, look at me!

The king is unreasonable.

The youth around him benefits.

Du Barry annoys him with ceaseless provocation

and fans his last flames.

Du Barry is not Mme de Pompadour.

This new favourite has no political ambitions.

She favours without discernment all who flatter her.

Without discernment but not without risk.

I fear so.

His Majesty would be very piqued to see Du Barry's name

linked to another scandal.

A lampoon threatens her, only the title is known:

Secret Memoirs of a Whore.

Heavens! The title alone is enough to make you quake.

Nicolas!

The effects of a night of excess

in which libations played a great part.

Don't worry, Noblecourt, he is robust.

A good night's sleep and tomorrow, mists, miasma and chimera gone,

he'll be as good as new.

Well... if that's the case...

let's have dessert.

By Jove, Nicolas, you don't do things by halves.

No doubt what's needed, after such a night.

Yes indeed.

Dress quickly, sir.

We must take you to Mr de Sartine,

- police Lieutenant General... - I know who Sartine is.

- What's behind such fuss? - I don't know.

But from the way he's torturing his wigs,

Mr de Sartine is very ill-tempered.

Amusing: that'll make two of us.

No need to enquire about my ankle.

- It hurts. Thank you. - Good.

Mr de Sartine, I intend to immediately resign

from the mission you gave me.

Resign?

Get out!

- Why? - Things have gone too far.

I fear they have.

- And whose fault is that? - Whose fault?

Don't adopt that outraged tone. Commissioner,

when I told you to approach Mme de Lastérieux,

whom I suspected,

it was to penetrate her circle, not her intimacy.

I ordered you to approach the flame,

not be consumed by it.

I can see the impetuosity

of the young, dashing stallion.

Not content with reconnaissance, you had to invade.

I demand to be relieved, sir.

You make no demands. And you are relieved.

By force of circumstance, let us say.

Mme de Lastérieux

was found dead this morning

in her bed,

stricken by some unknown disease.

Are you swaying?

This is not the time, though.

Take Bourdeau, Commissioner,

go to the scene immediately and proceed

with the usual observations.

And pray to the Great Architect

that the motives of her passing appear to be natural.

Otherwise you'll be in a real mess.

Doctor, allow us a few moments of restraint.

Mr le Floch was close to the deceased.

Look at that face,

twisted by the death throes.

It is indeed hideous,

but it is often seen in people whose heart has spasmed,

resulting in death by suffocation.

She was not of an age where heart problems

are enough to cause death.

No trace of violence or disorder.

Nothing points to her being attacked.

To me it's clear the cause was natural.

I shall withdraw and write my report.

Gentlemen.

What can you tell me about what happened after my departure?

Very little.

Madam dismissed her guests, who left the premises.

Then she went straight up to her chamber.

Madam ordered us to wash her

then wanted to be alone.

Casimir stoked the fire, and we both left.

Did Madam have company?

No, sir! How could you think that Madam...

Nicolas.

Look.

Smudged prints.

It seems someone came from this closet and returned there.

Don't feign naivety, Bourdeau.

This allowed me access,

dictated by discretion as much as convenience.

I also sometimes used the place as my cloakroom.

I left an overcoat and a spare pair of boots.

As you can see, all have disappeared.

Search the premises for every minute detail,

as well as any observations that are suitable.

Take care to seize

any object, jewel or document pertinent to the investigation.

Very well.

What about the servants?

Take them to Châtelet. Hold them separately

for later questioning.

As for the Mme de Lastérieux's body,

take all precautions and make arrangements

for it to be taken to the lower gaol

where it will be opened.

If you intend following the cortege, it will be at walking pace.

Nicolas! My friend!

Nicolas!

As the state doctor guessed,

the face leads one to think

that the heart failed naturally.

The state of the organ itself does not contradict this theory.

On my voyages to the Americas, I have observed similar symptoms

provoked by a violent toxin used by some peoples

to capture their prey or enemies.

And death is certain?

Death is guaranteed.

It looks much like angina. The toxin is subtle.

We don't know the composition, but it's a poison.

Her stomach contained nothing solid,

just a liquid substance,

probably wine.

I brought a bottle of Tokay.

Casimir took it to her. We found it there.

- Do you suppose... - This isn't about suppositions.

It's about proof.

And I can prove it, by a simple experiment.

But such proof should be appropriate

and its effects not worse than its omission.

Everything points to a natural death.

Might it be judicious to leave it at that?

When the spectre of poisoning is raised?

On examination, the uterus of poor Mme de Lastérieux

was found to be gravid.

In other words, she was pregnant, Nicolas.

Not many months, but she was pregnant.

Did you not know, Commissioner?

I am grateful for your reticence and your concern.

But whatever the effects,

I order you to proceed at once.

I mixed the liquid in the phial with their food.

They were soon troubled,

began yawning, followed by spasms and squealing.

Painful death followed moments later.

There is no doubt she was criminally poisoned.

None.

Bourdeau, we have to report back.

Balbastre?

- So things are clear. - The experiment left no doubt.

The experiment...

The experiment!

Yet I'd have been content with the report,

highly convenient, of the state doctor.

But you had to be stubborn.

Is it not part of my job to be stubborn?

Indeed.

But your determination to harm yourself

is costing me my best detective.

Two things, sir.

First, you are not only relieved of the case,

which will be taken over by you, Bourdeau,

but you are also relieved of your post

until this case is over, and your involvement will cease.

Second, given your rank,

and with the agreement of your patron, de Noblecourt,

you will remain at my disposal in his home,

and leave under no pretext until further notice,

unless accompanied by two exempts.

You may go.

Mr de Beaumarchais!

Well?

Do you find me good enough that I may hope one day to act

in one of your plays?

My father taught me never to entrust this task

to anyone but myself.

The briskness of the operation

betrays, however, extreme wrath.

I had another pair that were stolen from the Lastérieux house.

This case stinks of a set-up.

One designed to frame me that I am not allowed to untangle.

Balbastre seems to play a leading role.

Balbastre?

A fearsome rascal.

He's a viper that strikes more than once.

More than once indeed.

I came through the rear gate, which is not watched.

I fear that I must go and question Balbastre.

I would like to also, but alas...

Well, sir, that seems simple enough.

Leave your boots and follow me to my wardrobe.

Follow me!

Water carrier!

I questioned the servants.

They say their mistress was infatuated with Ranreuil

and saw nobody but you.

Her sudden fidelity astonished them.

So the child she bore was in fact yours.

Hence the strategy to precipitate our union.

Have you found the note?

No. In that regard, as in others,

Balbastre might know more than he's saying.

Where do you plan to flush out the beast?

In the holy places where he practises daily, sir.

Sir?

So you do not believe me guilty.

Guilty, certainly not.

Compromised, however.

Yes. Slightly compromised.

You must now remain silent

so as not to be recognised.

The young marquis sought an inheritance, Inspector.

And that of my friend, the late Mme de Lastérieux,

leaves nothing to be desired.

De Ranreuil!

Nothing but minor Breton nobility,

but penniless.

Yet rumour spoke of a coming marriage.

Not very loudly, sir.

Mme de Lastérieux showed me, shortly before her passing,

a letter signed by the hand of Ranreuil himself,

announcing his engagement.

Then it seems there was a change of mind

on the part of the suitor.

A change of mind? And do you know why?

I'm telling you what I know.

But do not take offence if I do not know everything.

Perhaps it would be expedient

to ask the person concerned.

I'll do that.

What I do know, from a reliable source,

is that last night, after the scene

and when everyone had gone,

a witness saw the Marquis de Ranreuil

return by night to the Lastérieux house,

where he entered by a hidden door.

The name of this witness?

Darchis, Inspector.

Robert Darchis.

Quickly, sir!

I'd like to see you move in these tight old shoes

that cripple me!

Hurry. The bird may have flown!

Spare a coin for a poor man.

We are looking for Robert Darchis.

He left this afternoon with little luggage.

Where?

Did he say for where?

Vienna, where he had a booking for several days

at the Austrian court.

Will he return?

- Might he return here? - Certainly, sir.

We must find Darchis at all costs.

Whatever his claims, we must question him.

When I get back, I'll spread the word at the frontiers.

We may yet intercept this famous Robert Darchis.

You're wrong, Bourdeau. The musician is not without worth.

I have heard him play at Mme de Lastérieux's.

Some of his variations, though inspired by Rameau,

are worthy of great interest.

- You're a musicologist now. - A thirsty musicologist.

This get-up is stifling and I'm starving.

What would you say, in honour of old times,

to a feast at your friend Mother Morel's?

Your taste for drink has returned. It's a sign you're better.

Inspector Bourdeau!

Le Floch has left Mr de Noblecourt's.

I have Mr de Sartine's written order for you to find him.

Very good.

Er... good.

Might I know where I'm being taken?

Gently now, sir.

You'll know soon enough.

Marquis!

I know about your temporary troubles.

Just one question:

did you play any part in Lastérieux's death?

My word as a gentleman, Sire, I am in no way to blame.

Good. Your word is good enough for me.

I leave you to my secret agents,

who will tell you of the mission you will carry out for me

and to which I attach great importance.

I must now go hunting the red-headed beast.

And good hunting to you, Marquis.

To show you how important this is, these are secret agents.

No doubt you already know Mr Caron de Beaumarchais.

You also know Comte de la Borde.

But what do you know of Charles Théveneau, or Morande?

Just what your police files show:

crook, thief, gambler,

occasional pimp, inveterate blackmailer.

A paltry rogue that only exile

has spared from punishment.

Mr de Beaumarchais?

An unflattering but fair portrait.

There is one piece missing:

emboldened by impunity, the rascal has set his heart on the favourite.

He threatens to publish a lampoon from his English retreat.

Secret Memoirs of a Whore?

Rumoured all over Paris. It is no secret.

A lampoon that not only damages the favourite

but impugns Mme de Pompadour.

Whose name His Majesty will not see sullied.

How does this concern me?

Under the seal of secrecy and with a false identity,

you will journey to London, contact Morande

and get to know him.

You must persuade him by all means

to abandon his plans.

And if you do not succeed...

You must eliminate him.

Eliminate him!

Eliminate him!

Secret agents do not have your scruples.

Their previous operation ended in fiasco.

Now time is pressing: the lampoon's publication is imminent.

And why me?

Why you?

Suspected, not unreasonably, of murdering your mistress,

stripped of your post, discredited, held in contempt,

arrested by me, bound for confinement and soon a fugitive:

excellent circumstances.

Fugitive?

Who would see in you a secret agent of the king?

You'll have no trouble getting rid of your escort.

Take the road to London at once.

Your things are in your holsters, with a large purse of gold.

Details of your mission are contained in these documents,

which you must destroy after reading.

Should things go badly,

seek out a certain John Wilkes.

John Wilkes. Remember.

Play that as your last card.

It's all I can do for you, Nicolas.

You, madam?

How can this be?

Obviously, sir,

you are familiar with all forms of clinches.

A lively engagement, but it may be unseemly

to carry on before innocent young eyes.

Sir.

You owe my presence to the child.

He warned me of your arrest.

To the child and to my interest in you.

Are those love letters you are burning?

In a way.

Nicolas,

did you love that woman and intend to marry her?

What if that were the case?

Indeed, what does it matter?

What does it matter not to be loved as you love?

What does it matter now you are here, and I too?

Now that I touch you

and your touch arouses me.

In other circumstances,

Mme de Lastérieux and myself might have been great friends.

In many respects, we had things in common,

- similar tastes... - I do not doubt it.

Believe what you wish.

Alas, fate had other ideas.

In getting to know her

I was acting on orders.

Orders? You, ordered?

- You mock me, sir. - No, madam.

I am not mocking you.

There is something about you that tells me

you are not mocking.

It's been a long time. Might we recognise each other?

Hush!

Let me go!

God's death, where is your master?

Let me go!

- Where is your master? - Let me go!

Let him be or I'll have you.

Will you, sir? But will you get a chance?

Run! There are too many of them!

By order of my master, Mr de Choiseul,

I shall burn your brain.

You are a dead man. Commend your soul to the devil.

A sword!

Nicolas!

To me, children of Saint-Roch!

The blue tunic of the king's guards.

He didn't lie about Choiseul.

What if the wind took his addressee a message?

Easy. Give it here!

To be continued...

Subtitles - Henry Moon for TELETOTA