THE CHILDREN OF PARADISE
PART ONE "THE BOULEVARD OF CRIME"
Used clothes for sale!
Step right in! The Truth is here!
Step right in and see!
She will fill your thoughts, invade your dreams!
See Naked Truth with your own eyes!
You can pay as you leave!
Come in, gentlemen! The show is enticing!
Audacious! Inspiring!
For those with eyes to see!
For connoisseurs of beauty!
Step right in, gentlemen!
None of your"Stage door, please"!
I know the trick!
You bluff your way in to catch the show for free
from a box seat!
It's the manager I want to see.
The manager! Is that so?
And why the manager?
It's simple. I want him to hire me.
Hire you! And why not put your name on the marquee?
In great big letters!
Why not, indeed, Still Life!
- Hey! - Exactly. I can see it, foresee it!
My name up there in huge letters.
Frederick... Frederick Lemaitre.
Etch that on your feeble, doddering memory.
Frederick Lemaitre.
Look!
Not bad! You know her?
Not yet!
You smiled! Don't deny it! You smiled!
Marvelous! Life is beautiful!
And you're just as beautiful!
You've been running.
Yes... after you.
But you just came toward me.
Yes. I saw you a moment ago.
The shock! The emotion!
Then you were gone. So...
So?
So as I refuse to follow women,
I ran ahead to come to meet you.
Now I'll never leave you. Which way?
Simple.
- You go your way and I go mine. - They may be the same.
- And why not? - I have a rendezvous.
Rendezvous? O Cruel Fate!
Two minutes together and you leave me already!
Why? For another, of course!
And you love this other one?
- Oh, I love everyone. - I don't mind, I'm not jealous.
- But the other one is. - How do you know?
All men are... except me!
But let's talk of us. There's so much to tell.
- Is there? - Yes, there is.
First, my name. Frederick.
- Now tell me yours. - They call me Garance.
Garance. How lovely!
- It's a flower. - A red flower, like your lips.
Well?
Well, goodbye...Frederick.
You can't abandon me all alone on the Boulevard of Crime!
- When will I see you again? - Soon, perhaps.
Chance will tell.
Paris is so big.
Paris is small for those who share so great a passion as ours.
You smiled! Don't deny it! You smiled!
Marvelous! Life is beautiful!
PUBLIC SCRIBE
"My love, light of my life,
time weighs on my heart like a convict's chains.
Come back, I beseech you.
Never again, I swear...
Yes, I solemnly promise
never to raise my hand against you,
as I once did."
- Will that do? - Will it? It's grand, moving!
If that doesn't bring her back, nothing will!
Poor fool!
You have to admit, it's something.
- What is? - Having an education.
- My poor Avril! - I mean it, Mr Lacenaire.
- How d'you find the words? - Enough!
Down to business.
- Have you got the silverware? - Yes, Mr Lacenaire.
It's sterling.
Sterling, indeed.
Spoons today. Clocks yesterday.
Here's my guardian angel!
I'll see you tonight.
Out of your well, my angel, my sweet?
No more well. And no more Truth.
So soon?
Yes, the customers got too demanding.
Truth, but only from the neck up.
- It frustrated them. - Those good fellows want more.
"The whole truth, nothing but..." and a charming costume.
Maybe, but the same one every time.
How modest! How chaste!
It's not that.
They're just so ugly!
Ugly, indeed.
I'd like to stamp them out.
As cruel as ever?
I'm not cruel. I'm logical.
I declared war on humanity long ago.
Any victims lately, Pierre-Francois?
None, my angel. See? No trace of blood.
Just some ink stains.
But I'm planning something grandiose.
Don't smile, Garance. Truly, I'm not like other men.
My heart doesn't beat like theirs. Absolutely not!
Have you ever been humiliated?
No, never.
Nor I. But they tried.
That was enough for a man like me.
As a child, I was saner and more clever than the others.
They never forgave me.
I had to be like them,
talk like them.
"Head up, Pierre-Francois! Look at me!
Eyes down!"
They crammed my mind with books.
Old books.
So much dust in a child's head.
A fine youth!
Mother favored my stupid brother.
My confessor said,
"You are too proud. Withdraw into yourself."
So I withdrew into myself.
And there I remained.
Left alone with myself to avoid dubious company!
The fools!
But what a splendid destiny!
To love no one, to be alone.
To be loved by no one. To be free.
True, I love no one.
Not even you, Garance.
But you are the only woman for whom I have no contempt.
I don't love you either.
How fortunate!
Then why these daily visits?
Because I don't demand what other men do?
- You're no coquette. So why? - I'm bored.
Do I amuse you?
Yes, all this talk. It's like a play.
It's entertaining and soothing.
You don't take me seriously.
If I were vain, I'd be deeply offended.
But I have no vanity, only pride.
And I have total confidence in myself!
I'm a thief by need, a murderer by calling.
My road is charted out.
I'll walk with my head high
until it drops into the basket.
My father said, "You'll end up on the guillotine."
Always listen to your parents.
Still writing plays?
Yes, in my idle moments.
"Misconduct." A tragedy?
No, a slightly ribald farce.
I loathe tragedy.
Such an inferior genre.
Characters who kill one another, yet never get hurt.
How depressing.
Here comes Judgment Day.
It's Jupiter.
Alias Jericho, because of my horn.
Alias Medusa, because of my gaze.
Greetings, Lacenaire.
My respects to Beauty.
What do we have today?
How much?
I have no secrets from the lady.
- My compliments. - Not at all.
How much?
Twenty francs.
You're joking!
Remember, they call me the Tightwad,
the Niggard, the Rat,
'cause I scavenge like a rat.
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!
A franc for the boxes if you're well-to-do,
four centimes in the Gods if you're badly off.
Come in and see...
"Perils of the Virgin Forest" or "Crime and Virtue."
A pantomime that's magic,
exotic, pyrotechnic!
Come in and see a girl of 15
pursued by a mountain lion!
A forest fire!
An abduction by balloon!
And you shall see me, the one and only,
the inimitable Anselme Deburau,
who performed in the harem before the Grand Turk
and his 82 Turkesses!
But fear not! Inside you won't see
this one here.
Because he's a do-nothing!
A dolt!
A sleepwalker
even sitting down.
A nincompoop!
A blockhead!
A good-for-nothing!
And this, alas, is my son.
Here sits the shame of an artistic family,
a famous father's despair,
the root of his gray hair.
When I say my son, luckily I exaggerate.
One night, during a full moon,
he fell from above... into a bucket.
When I got home it was already too late.
But I won't wash dirty linen here.
The show's about to begin! A unique show!
For the penny-pinchers,
tightfisted, miserly, or parsimonious...
the management, sparing no expense,
leaves them Baptiste, free of charge!
Baptiste! If you've any pups, save me one!
He really looks stupid, doesn't he?
I think he has lovely eyes.
Lovely eyes!
That deserves a hand!
My watch!
My watch is gone! My gold watch!
She did it. It had to be you!
Thief!
Let go of me! You're crazy!
And she insults me! Thief! Police!
Officer! Someone!
What's going on?
This gent no longer has a watch and blames it on me.
Why? A mystery to me!
Naturally, you're innocent.
Like a lamb.
Are you sure of this?
Absolutely! Arrest her!
- It wasn't me! - So you say.
- Any witnesses? - Me!
- I'm a witness. - What did you see?
The whole thing.
What do you have to say now?
Why, nothing.
I'm sorry. Error is human.
Not judicial errors!
- May I go now? - You're free.
Fine, because I adore freedom.
You're on next! Look alive!
What are you in stitches about?
Artists don't laugh here, the audience does.
Here's Jericho, alias the Trumpet,
alias the Flask, for my drinking,
alias Woe-Is-Me, for my hard lot.
Greetings, stage manager. Here are the props:
a hunting horn, a royal blue tunic, three skulls,
gold epaulettes, two pairs of patent leather shoes
and a wedding gown.
Hear that, Nathalie?
It's contagious! Another pillar of salt.
Ah, love! It cheers the heart.
- Same old story? - Same old story!
- Her father against it? - He wants what she wants.
No, it's that dunce. He should count his blessings.
I'll have to do something.
It's no business of yours!
They also call me The Spark, The Stoker, The Dove-keeper,
because I like to keep turtledoves together.
How now, my lovely. Show us your palm.
An amazing fate line!
Oh, fate and me...
Don't be silly.
It says here it will all work out.
Take it from a wise old pappy.
You'll marry the one you love.
- Do you think so? - It's plain to see.
And when you set up house,
remember old Pappy has sterling
at a reasonable price.
I'm sorry to interrupt your daydream,
but I'm looking for the manager.
Is it important?
I'm warning you, the manager's in a foul mood.
Then maybe I'll try him another day.
But he's always in a foul mood.
Well, then, I'll try my luck.
Wait here.
What a charming playhouse!
What a fine profession!
It would be, if it fed us properly.
"Speak to me!" About nothing, probably!
This fop here?
- You're on! - Yes, young man?
Remember, post the fines. "Seraphin, two francs:
On-stage drunk and swearing."
There they go again!
- What's got into them? - They sense a storm brewing.
You can't imagine! My theater is torn by hatred and jealousy.
We perform on a volcano.
This isn't pantomime, it's a vendetta, a corrida.
They're worse than the Horatii and the Curiatti.
- Worse than... - The Montagues and the Capulets.
- Never heard of them! - It's Shakespeare. Romeo...
Don't know him!
Alas, few know and appreciate Shakespeare.
Who knows you? Who appreciates you?
What do you want? I keep asking you!
What I want...
I want to act.
Act! Act!
You have the wrong house. We're not allowed to act here.
We walk on our hands.
I can do that.
And you know why? They bully us.
Why? They fear us.
If we put on plays, they'd have to close
their great, noble theaters!
Their public is bored to death
by museum pieces, dusty tragedies and declaiming mummies
who never move!
But the Funambules is full of life, movement!
Extravaganzas! Appearances, disappearances,
like in real life!
And then... wham!... the kick,
wham!... the slapstick... like in real life!
And the audience!
Sure, they're poor, but they're pure gold.
Look, up there
in the Gods!
Watch out, the old fogey!
The king of the desert!
Shut up! We can't hear the mime!
He hit him too hard!
Did he?
You animal!
You snake!
You'll pay for this!
Friends! They dare strike Anselme Deburau!
Help, Barrignis!
Curtain!
Fine everyone 3 francs!
Pull them apart!
The wretches! Curtain!
Stop this instant!
It's shameful!
What's shameful is a lowly Barrigni striking a Deburau,
treacherously, in public!
I demand an apology.
Yes, an apology.
Apologize, and on with it. The audience is waiting.
The Barrignis don't apologize.
We're leaving for a better offer across the Boulevard.
You're not serious! To work for Saqui?
Yes, right this minute!
Come, Barrignis!
This is a fatal blow! A plot! A disaster!
Stage manager, a chair!
O Deceit! Treachery! A stab in the back!
Curtain! Curtain!
What a disaster! Listen to them!
My dear audience!
Refund! Refund!
How's that? Refund?
Never! I'd rather... I don't know... anything!
Or anyone? Fine. I'm your man: I'm anyone!
I'll slip into my character's skin and show my stuff.
But I don't know you.
Have you played anywhere? What parts have you done?
Lion parts.
I've done the whole lion repertoire:
Gulf of Lions, Richard the Lion-Hearted, Pygma-lion.
Thieves! Thieves!
Hurry or they'll tear the place up.
The voice of the people! The Christians demand a lion.
Disaster upon disaster!
- How much... - Wages, already!
No. How much time on stage?
As little as possible.
I'm warning you: It won't be easy to call me off.
Relax, I know the plot.
- Enter Pierrot... - Pierrot!
We lost our Pierrot! Disaster!
- Disaster! - What about Baptiste?
Baptiste? Never!
Never will my unworthy son tread the boards with me.
They loved him out on the street.
- You saw it? - The cashier saw it.
The cashier? Vox populi!
And she's never a centime off! Get Baptiste!
- I protest! - And I command.
Go on.
The Funambules is sinking. The rats abandoned ship.
Storm winds blow, the audience howls.
I'm sole captain on board, under God.
I'll make an announcement.
Ladies and gentlemen!
Prepared for any sacrifice,
the Funambules Theater
is proud to present, for the first time,
at no extra charge...
What is it, Baptiste?
Nothing. Why?
Yes, there is something.
You're handsome.
You know you are, because I love you.
Today, you're even more handsome.
You're shining.
What's that flower?
A flower.
Are you happy to perform at last?
Perhaps.
I'm happy, too.
I have such faith in you.
Oh, Baptiste, if only you wanted to, we could be so happy together.
But you don't love me.
Oh, I know.
You like me.
I don't want to be liked.
I want your love!
Loving is so easy.
You resist on purpose.
Or you're in love with someone else.
And what's that flower for?
Someone gave it to you?
Who was it?
Answer me, Baptiste.
Remember,
you said I was your friend, that you had no secrets from me.
Answer me.
Was it a woman?
Where did you meet her?
Do I know her?
What's her name?
I don't know.
I was gazing into a well.
Others were looking, too.
But only I saw her.
Still dreaming and laughing at me.
It's true. What more can I say?
I saw her again, by chance. She gave me this flower. That's all.
That's all. Well, it's not much.
- And you love her. - Oh, yes, I love her!
How you said that!
Ah, my little lambs, you're on next.
You look fine, Baptiste.
A nice touch, the flower! It should get a laugh.
You know the plot: You love her, she laughs in your face.
Play the fool. Nothing to it!
Look alive, children!
This mulled wine is splendid!
It goes down like a seraph in red velvet tights.
To your health, Baptiste.
And to yours, friends.
Tonight you drank with Julius Caesar.
Julius Caesar or another.
Charles the Bold, Attila,
Henri IV, Ravaillac.
Yes, I know it!
It's my destiny to revive the giants of this earth.
They played their parts. It's my turn now.
Let me have my chance.
Rise,Julius Caesar! Frederick is before you.
I'll dust him off,
and cast his shadow across the boards.
He'll live again to astonish the world once more!
Thanks to me!
Go ahead and laugh.
I won't end my days at the Funambules in a lion's skin.
A lion who can't even roar.
What torment, when inside you
there's an entire orchestra, a whole universe!
Words and phrases leave you cold.
You tell your story without speaking.
And you do it so well.
You really astonished me.
Your legs speak, your hands answer.
A glance, a shrug, a step forward, back...
and they understand up in the Gods.
They understand, though they're poor.
I'm like them. I love them, I know them.
Their lives are small, but their dreams are vast.
I don't only want to amuse them.
I want to move them,
frighten them, make them weep.
- All that without saying a word? - Without saying a word.
- That's difficult. - You think it's impossible?
No, difficult. It's not the same.
Barkeep!
Consider yourself lucky I can pay for the drink.
- But not a bed. - Try the Post House.
- A hotel? - No, but they let rooms.
- On credit? - If not, I'd live elsewhere.
Are you sure you don't want the second-floor flat?
No, really, a small room is fine.
What a shame!
It's perfect for a bachelor.
But I'll show you the rooms upstairs.
- I'm sorry it's so late, Madame... - Madame Hermine.
Don't apologize. I usually turn in late.
I often read for hours... in bed.
Love stories, no doubt?
Oh, Mr Baptiste, this young man knows a woman's soft spot.
- After you, Monsieur... - Frederick. Frederick Lemaitre.
No, after you.
Oh, please.
Well, good night, Frederick.
Good night, Mme Hermine.
Going out at this hour?
Yes, he goes out every night.
A real alley cat, Mr Baptiste is.
"Silent, stealthy as a cat in the night,
he slinks through the shadows towards love's light,
to his beloved, his heart's pyre,
his naked companion, atremble with desire."
How beautiful, Mr Frederick!
And slightly...
- And slightly... - And slightly?
Mr Frederick, you'll make me say something silly.
- After you, please. - After you.
Here are the rooms.
This one's quite nice.
Yes, quite pleasant, cheerful.
Or if you prefer this one.
- It has a double bed. - Yes, a double bed! I'd prefer that.
A double bed.
Poor Frederick.
All alone at night in a big bed.
But beds are for sleeping, no matter the size. Not so?
Of course, Mr Frederick.
Well, I'll leave you.
Good night.
- The key's in the door. - I always leave my door open.
Really?
A pretty lady might wander in.
"A pretty lady." Young people are so demanding today.
Did I say you were homely, Madame Hermine?
Alms for a poor blind man!
Why tiptoe by?
To avoid me? So as not to give me anything?
Why won't you give alms to a poor blind man?
- Why? - I have no money.
No money?
Hear that, bird? That's a good one.
Folks strut around with their pockets full.
Easy to pick when you can see.
It's not my trade.
His trade! Hear that, bird?
Doesn't have a sou, but he's got a trade.
A fine trade that feeds a man.
A fine trade, even so. May I sit here a moment?
I've walked a lot and I'm a bit tired.
What are you doing out at this hour?
Looking.
Hear that, bird?
- Looking at what? - Everything.
Say, you're nosey. Too curious, you are.
Say, pilgrim, would your trade be...
Oh, no! Don't worry.
We're not worried.
We just don't like informers, the bird and me.
So, where do you work?
At the Funambules.
The Funambules! You sell oranges?
- No, I perform. - Perform?
Yes, pantomime.
Oh, I love pantomime!
- I often go. - You?
Sure, I can't see it,
but a friend describes it all.
So that's it.
You're an actor.
Why didn't you say so? Let's celebrate.
Sure, let's get a drink.
And when I say a drink...
Thank you, but...
Thank me when we're good and drunk.
Let's go, bird.
Your coach is leaving.
We're not going far. It's right nearby.
"The Red Breast."
You're curious, so you're in for a treat.
- Shall I lead? - No, thanks. I know the way.
Nice name, eh? "The Red Breast."
On account of the former owner.
He got bled one night behind his bar.
So the name "Red Breast" stuck.
Take a seat. This is the place. This is home.
- Hullo, Silk Thread. - Hullo, Little Louis.
Rotgut and your best grub. I've got a guest.
- Something for the bird, too? - Naturally!
Is this gold or imitation?
I'll check.
Gold. You didn't get taken.
Good. Thanks.
Can't believe your eyes, funambulist?
It's quite simple.
Out there, I'm blind. A hopeless case, blind as a bat.
In here, I'm healed. A miracle.
So I do some appraising.
Jewelry, stones, gold.
What d'you say, artist?
Nothing? You're smart.
Keep it to yourself.
Do you dream about cats? Do you dream about dogs?
Have you seen troubled waters?
Here's the key to your dreams, bound and illustrated.
Greetings, boss.
Lacenaire's on his way with his jolly crew.
- Mum's the word. - Sure, thanks.
Here's Jericho, alias the Trumpet, alias the Sandman,
alias Sweet Dreams, because he cures nightmares.
Do you dream about snakes, fires, new-born babes?
Believe it or not, Silk Thread, a real collector's item.
Well, I'll be! You here, Baptiste?
You in a place like this?
What would Deburau say? And Nathalie?
Don't mention Nathalie!
So gentle, fresh as a rose, pure as a lily.
I won't listen! I don't like you!
I told you so. Leave me alone.
Hear that, Silk Thread? Try and be helpful...
What I said's for your own good.
Here comes high society!
Greetings, Mr Lacenaire.
It's wonderful!
What's wonderful?
Everything. Life!
His lawyer says: "Keep quiet!"
The priest: "Confession is half remission."
He confesses.
The judge: "You killed and confessed. Fine.
Off with your head."
The man, disappointed, protests:
"But confession is half remission!"
The judge: "True, but Justice must be done.
So off with half your head!"
That's a good one!
Why so sad and silent, my angel?
Life is beautiful.
Then why do you always harp on death?
Never fear. I talk mostly of other people's deaths.
Mine is for later.
What can I say? Life is like that.
Philosophers think of death, beautiful women think of love.
So, that makes you all philosophers!
Why not?
How cheerful, charming and tidy your philosophy is!
And love is cheerful, charming and tidy, perhaps?
A sight better!
I've seen 'em lovesick, but you take the cake!
I'm not one to moralize,
but if you want to wake up alive, you'd best leave now.
The former owner... they're the ones who did him in.
I shouldn't tell you.
She doesn't love him. It's obvious she doesn't.
- Must you go? - I'm tired and bored.
This is serious. Never have I felt for a woman...
Love, Pierre-Francois?
Spare me your nonsense.
I want you, that's all. But I have my pride.
So you want me to make the first move.
Your head's too hot, and your heart's too cold.
I'm careful of drafts. I watch my health.
A pity! We could have done astounding things together.
I'd spill torrents of blood to give you rivers of diamonds.
I'd settle for less.
What a lovely hand!
May l, Lacenaire?
Your future, my beauty?
If it amuses you.
- But I only believe in what I like. -Such as?
Oh, anything, anyone.
Still, if you foresee any journeys, I wouldn't mind.
That's just what I do see: a journey.
And a long one, too.
To India, maybe?
Why India?
Because it's far away.
The consultation's over,Jericho.
But explain this for me: I had a dream about you last night.
You were on the street, shouting:
"Ragman! Clothes for sale?"
But in my dream I heard something else:
"Rat-on-the-man! Friends for sale?"
Do you really deal with these "gentlemen" and sell friends,Jericho?
Lies! As sure as I'm called...
"Snitch," "Forked Tongue," "13th at Table"!
That's spiteful talk.
It's not spite, but I suggest you be more discreet.
You'll betray me, my angel. It's your right.
You're wrong.
Yes, you will, my angel, and, if need be, with my help.
Leave me alone. You tire me.
I came here to have fun, to dance...
Would you dance with me?
How 'bout that, Mr Lacenaire?
- Who is he? - Nobody.
An actor at the Funambules.
An actor! What a breed!
I can see why they're buried at night.
I didn't recognize you at first.
But be careful.
They're vicious. I'm warning you.
I don't care. What could happen to me?
I'm so happy.
Well, Mr Lacenaire?
If that's your pleasure.
Monsieur.
Let go of him!
- What about my window? - Come now!
Can't we have fun at "The Red Breast"?
Oh, Mr Lacenaire, I didn't mean to...
It's late.
I'll take you home if you like.
Poor Avril.
- What do we do? - Nothing.
Unless someone disagrees.
Lacenaire doesn't complicate his life over a woman.
No great deal, women.
Back to serious matters.
Once a month, bank messengers carry small fortunes.
Attacking them on the street is common and risky.
And one might catch cold.
Best to work at home, by appointment.
Oh, Mr Lacenaire.
So I rent an apartment, and when the bank messenger calls...
He gets the message.
You catch on so quickly, Avril.
You don't look that strong.
- I'm not strong. - But back there...
I had a rough childhood. I learned to defend myself.
- You were unhappy? - When I was, I slept.
I dreamed, but people don't like that.
So they beat me to wake me up a little.
Luckily, my sleep was heavier than their blows,
and I fled them in my sleep.
Yes, I dreamed,
hoped, waited.
For you, maybe.
- Even back then? - Why not?
I surely saw you in my dreams.
Stop smiling.
By throwing me that flower you may have awakened me for good.
You're a funny fellow.
You're so beautiful.
No, I'm just alive.
The most alive of all.
I'll never forget this night and the light in your eyes.
Just a glimmer, like everyone else.
Down there,
look at the lights of Menilmontant.
People sleep and wake.
Each has a glimmer that glows and fades.
It's nothing much.
I can't even find the room I lived in with my mother.
In Menilmontant?
I was born and grew up there,
very happily.
Yet Mother was poor and my father left.
She worked for others as a laundress.
She loved me, I loved her. She was lovely and gay.
She taught me how to laugh and sing.
Then she died, and everything changed.
You were left alone.
I was 15.
Around here, a girl who grows up too fast
doesn't stay alone very long.
Please don't be sad. It pains me.
Me, sad? I'm as happy as a lark.
- I love your laugh. - So do I. I'd be lost without it.
And me, without you. Tell me your name.
Garance.
You're shaking. Are you cold?
I'm shaking because I'm happy.
Happy because you're here, near me.
I love you.
Garance, do you love me?
You talk like a child.
People love that way in books, in dreams. Not in real life.
Dreams, life... they're the same.
Else life's not worth living.
But it's not life I love. It's you.
You're the nicest man I've ever met.
I won't forget tonight, either. I like you.
I love you.
Love is so simple.
- A storm! - You'll be soaked.
- So what? - You've no coat.
- I'll take you back. - Where?
- Home. - I don't have a home.
I quit my job. The lodging went with it.
I can get you a room where I live.
A room?
Yes, do come.
Madame Hermine!
Don't wake the house for a room.
Where is she?
Coming! Coming!
Oh, it's you, Mr Baptiste. What is it?
Mademoiselle.
I'm sorry, I was upstairs.
Someone's ill. Nothing serious.
- Can I help you? - A room. She was caught in the rain.
Of course. Caught in the rain.
She's charming. Take her to room 10.
Luckily, I left the key in the door.
Have a good night. And no bad dreams.
You're drenched, Garance.
It's nothing. The storm's passed.
I'll hang my dress out to dry.
Turn around if you're embarrassed.
It's not bad here, though it's a bit sad.
Why sad?
It's always sad when you sleep alone.
You can turn around now.
Lovely costume. It reminds me of India.
You're so beautiful.
But I must let you sleep.
I'm not very sleepy.
Remember: You could work at the Funambules.
But I can't do anything.
I'll help you. You need work.
Why not? I could show my legs.
The audience doesn't ask for much.
But I love you, Garance.
Please don't be so solemn. It chills me.
Don't be angry, but I'm not the way you dreamed.
You must understand me. I'm simple, so simple.
I am what I am. I want to please those I like.
And when I want to say yes, I can't say no.
I prefer moonlight, don't you?
The moon?
Of course, the moon.
My homeland, the moon!
"He's not one of us. He's not like us.
One night during a full moon, he fell to Earth.
He dreams of the impossible."
Why "impossible," if I can dream it?
Garance, you don't realize
I want you to love me the way I love you.
"Yet I'll not shed her blood
nor scar that whiter skin than snow
and smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then..."
Yes, let's put out the light.
Good night, Desdemona.
Good night, Othello.
I am as I am
I'm made as you see
When I feel like laughing
I laugh heartily
I love those who love me
Am I really to blame
If the man that I love
Is never the same?
Charming outfit. But I prefer the other.
- To each his own. - Exactly.
Do you live here?
Of all places to meet!
"Paris is small for those who share so great a passion as ours."
You're alone, I hope.
Alas, all alone. Left to do penance.
Poor Garance.
You're not afraid, all alone at night?
The sun will be up soon. It's an early riser.
- And you? - Oh, me!
What does it matter?
If it's up before us, we close the shutters.
Is your door locked, my love?
I'm not afraid of thieves. What's there to steal?
The incomparable Baptiste, my own son,
his father's pride,
is the sole author
of the show we present today:
"The Palace of Illusions" or"Lovers of the Moon."
Unique in the annals of the Funambules Theater,
the show, ladies and gentlemen, is in its fourth week,
for ever more select audiences,
at still reasonable prices.
Only 1 .50 francs for a box, 30 centimes in the Gods.
Have you ever seen such a splendid creature?
She's ravishing, incredibly ravishing.
Now I know where you spend your evenings.
And nights!
Wrong, as usual.
I've never even met the young lady.
Unbelievable!
Perhaps. But absolutely true.
I haven't dared.
Hey there, Baptiste!
The laurels adorning his father's brow
have sprouted overnight on my son's.
A family of prodigies!
And him? Isn't he prodigious?
He's clearly gifted.
But he's no mime.
- What is he, then? - An actor!
Bravo! It's marvelous!
Quite amusing.
How funny!
Those people are amazing, simply amazing!
Baptiste!
Someone shouted on stage!
A three-franc fine! No! Five francs!
- Who was it? - Nathalie!
My daughter? Then just three francs.
What got into you to scream?
You know it's forbidden. Do you want to shut us down?
Answer me, Nathalie. Why?
- I was frightened. - Frightened of what?
Baptiste frightened me.
He frightens me.
You don't understand.
You don't see, you don't feel.
You don't see how he's changed. He's not the same.
The way he looks right through you now,
as if he were lost.
Lost forever.
Nonsense!
Never has Baptiste been more cheerful and alert.
A father knows best.
You may know him,
but I love him,
and I see his torment.
And that rope!
That was his idea.
- A fine idea, no? - A splendid idea!
The son is worthy of his father!
Mine thrashed the craft into me, with the motto:
"A kick in the ass, if well delivered, is a sure laugh."
It's true.
There's an entire order, a science, a style of kicks in the ass.
Alas, traditions die out.
Audiences always want something new.
Something new. Novelty!
What does that mean?
Novelty is as old as the hills!
Torment... That's meaningless.
Are you tormented?
- It's not the same. - Why?
- Because I have faith. - Faith?
Yes. I hope...
I believe one day you'll love me.
You're sweet, Nathalie.
So are you, Baptiste.
We're not to blame for the situation.
But it's so stupid and unfair.
We run in circles, like circus horses.
I love you. You don't love me.
You love Garance. She loves Frederick.
How can you say she loves Frederick?
I don't know. Because they live together.
That proves nothing.
If all couples living together were in love,
the earth would glow like the sun.
They don't live together.
They only pretend to live.
Your pantomimes are killing me!
I'm dying of silence, like others die of hunger or thirst.
As a boy in church,
I wanted to speak from the pulpit in the priest's place.
Don't get angry. You gave me a fright.
I thought you wanted a raise.
I've such expenses! We'll work it out.
You could be the sideshow barker occasionally.
That might tide you over.
Sideshow? Why not?
Anything, anywhere, but not dumb shows for deaf-mutes!
I'd rather play a cripple, dancing in the streets, singing ballads.
Or play hospitals for the blind.
Joan of Arcwas lucky... she heard voices!
Voices! I don't ask for much.
I'd be glad just to hear my own from time to time.
Garance, sweet nightingale, where have you been?
At last, rose of my days, light of my nights.
My raven-haired blond Isolde. My sweet, gentle Iphigenia.
Let me know when you finish.
Ingrate, you'd still the voice of love itself.
The voice of love.
What are you thinking about, lovely sphinx?
Nothing.
A lot of things.
I was thinking that all over the world,
there are lovers who make love silently,
or else they use simple words, ordinary words.
How beautiful.
Are you not happy with me, Garance?
You're not happy with me either.
Me?
If you were, would you joke all the time?
If you thought me happy, would you strive so to amuse me?
Not happy, not unhappy. We're somewhere in between.
We're not in love. No one's to blame.
Still, Frederick, it's nothing to be proud of.
"A gentle moonbeam in her pitch-black hair."
Would you rather I badger you with questions,
delve into your memories,
spy on you, follow you in the street,
hugging the walls where I've written your name?
Or shake you awake at night to ask who you're dreaming of?
No. Besides, that's unnecessary.
- Why? - You dream out loud, my love.
- Out loud? - Yes, my love.
Take last night. You talked in your sleep.
- What did I say? - Oh, nothing much.
"Baptiste!"
I said "Baptiste"?
Yes, my love, that's what you said.
- Anything else? - Nothing.
Just "Baptiste."
- That's all? - That's all.
What do you mean, that's all?
But isn't it enough to fill my heart with despair?
O perfidious creature! Othello killed Desdemona for much less.
For nothing
Othello became a widower by his own hand.
For nothing.
For a trifle. A little handkerchief.
A batiste handkerchief, no doubt.
Mademoiselle Garance, someone insists on seeing you.
Why all the flowers?
Has someone died?
Yes, Mademoiselle, someone died.
An overconfident man who thought he'd seen everything.
And you killed him.
Please, you're frightening me.
Have no fear. Because of you, another man is born.
He entrusts his life to you.
To do what?
As you wish.
I am your prisoner. Do with me as you will.
All that I possess...
and I possess a great deal...
all that is mine, I lay at your feet.
Forgive me, Mademoiselle.
Never have I been so moved, so overcome.
I express myself poorly.
I realize I speak in platitudes, banalities.
What I say is of no importance.
What matters is your reply.
One word can change your life.
Tomorrow, if you wish,
the most feted beauties will bite their lips bloody
hearing your name.
Their rarest jewels will pale next to yours.
- The finest equipages... - I'm afraid of horses.
I beg of you, don't say no.
Why say yes if I don't want to?
Then say nothing. Let me hope.
While you do all the talking.
And being overcome, you'll spout more banalities.
Diamonds, horses, the strap, the oats, then the harness.
The easy life!
If it all fell from heaven, I might say yes.
But the way you talk:
"One word can change your life."
So my life is a trifle.
A bagatelle of a life.
What if I enjoy my little life?
But you just walk in and take over.
You take inventory.
I appeal to you. Fine and dandy.
What if someone loved me?
Impossible.
You're much too lovely to be truly loved.
Beauty is exceptional,
an affront to an ugly world.
Men rarely love beauty.
They pursue it to blot it out, forget it.
Are you a hunter?
Don't misunderstand me. I'm being serious.
I merely offer you shelter.
Shelter?
Yes, I've changed.
It's regrettable, but I can't help it.
Ever since I saw you,
I've been dreaming absurd, childish things.
I'm getting old, or else lightning struck.
I no longer exist, I'm shattered,
listless, made of air, cardboard, like this chicken.
Yes, lightning struck.
And that's thunder. A three-franc fine.
Again, my apologies.
I know how troublesome I've been.
Who sounded the thunder?
- I did. - You know the fine: three francs.
You owe me three francs.
But there's no rush.
I have work and enough to live on.
Enough to live on. I hope that's true.
I'll leave you now.
Forgive me if I've made a fool of myself.
Your beauty alone is the cause of my confusion.
I haven't introduced myself. Unforgivable!
Count Edouard de Montray.
Do keep the card, Mademoiselle.
One never knows. Misfortune strikes at random.
Someday you may need help or protection.
If you do, come what may,
I remain your servant, body and soul.
You can have total faith in me.
Flowers. A wreath.
Just as I said, a funeral.
Mine, perhaps.
You're mad! Why talk like that?
Why shouldn't Baptiste have his funeral?
Like everybody else.
It's true, Garance, I think of it sometimes.
A good idea: Baptiste takes his secret to the grave.
Stop it! It's stupid to speak that way.
His secret.
His little glimmer.
The memory of the night he thought he'd be happy forever.
Don't look like that!
A funeral's not so sad.
A few rays of sunshine and everyone's happy.
Look at it this way.
It's merrier than a wedding with just a groom
and no bride.
I don't like this wedding bouquet.
I hate these flowers!
I hate everyone!
That man who was just here!
I hate Frederick!
I hate myself!
Baptiste? Who's this Baptiste?
Since the one he loves doesn't love him,
he's a zero, a will-o'-the-wisp,
an automaton, a bogeyman.
No more Baptiste!
Here lies Baptiste.
Life gave him a red flower,
a good beating,
a pinewood overcoat.
Who says I don't love you, Baptiste?
I say so.
How would you know?
When it comes to Baptiste,
I know, see, understand, feel.
- I forbid you! - It's true. You have nothing to say.
Of course, I don't mean you're lying.
But I know.
All the love in the world for Baptiste is mine, mine!
There's no room for others.
It's fate. It's written.
I have it all. That's how it is.
Go ahead and smile.
- I always do. - You're lucky.
I hardly ever smile anymore.
Nor do you, Baptiste.
You were so lively, devoted to your work.
Stop it, Nathalie, please!
Leave me, leave us alone.
Get out, do you hear? Go!
It's your fault he's like this.
Forgive me for saying that.
It's not just jealousy,
but I have so much faith.
I'm absolutely certain
Baptiste and I were made to be together.
Mr Forestier?
Second floor, rear.
Places! Our prey is here!
The hamper's in place. Fine.
You give me the creeps.
Remember: He knocks, I let him in, you hit him.
If necessary, I finish him off.
He's in luck. Mr Forestier's rarely in.
In the two weeks he's been here, I've seen him twice.
- What's he like? - A gentleman.
Recommended by Mlle Garance, oddly.
- You don't like her? - I ignore her.
She bamboozled poor Mr Frederick!
But I rented the flat.
A well-bred boarder is a nice change.
Murderers!
- What is it? -Just a drunken brawl.
I'll get the police.
Murderers!
Poor Avril. You were as white as a sheet.
Like the victim!
His face was so close, Mr Lacenaire! His eyes!
You should've hit him sooner.
- What will you have? - A stiff brandy!
A hot chocolate. With cream.
Like a lion, you hear!
Quiet, please.
You say this "Mr Forestier" knew Mademoiselle Garance?
An odd name, no?
I fought like a lion!
They thumped me, but I held my bag like a lion!
- My head's solid! - Please!
A solid head, all right. It took the shock!
- You were saying. - I don't know. I'm in such a state!
Mr Forestier. Such a gentleman!
But when I asked Mademoiselle Garance,
she said, "Don't know any Forestier!"
Thrown from the third floor!
Horrible! A father of six children!
The third floor!
Jumped from the third floor... because of a woman!
What happened?
A man threw his wife out the window. Horrible!
A mother of six!
- You can't go in. - I live here.
All right, then.
That's her.
- Mademoiselle! - I know her!
I arrested her over a watch.
She went free, but it was suspect.
Better and better!
Anything you say may be used against you.
I'm not talkative.
We'll see about that. Sit down.
- What do you call yourself? - I never call myself.
I'm always here. There's no need.
But others call me Garance.
- That's no name. - It's a flower.
My real name, my maiden name, is Claire.
- Claire what? - Claire as the day.
Your surname!
My mother was Reine.
Madame Reine. She didn't have family.
A foundling, as they say.
- Your trade? - I'm an artiste.
I'm surprised Madame didn't tell you.
Put down "artiste."
Artiste...
in the boudoir.
- Why so rude? - We're not rude.
We're just joking.
Where do you perform? And since when?
The Funambules. About three weeks.
Just passing through town.
- And before that? - I posed for painters.
- Sure. Who? - Mr Ingres, for one.
- Don't know him. - He's a bit like you.
- He fiddles around. - None of your jokes, my girl.
You joke, too.
I imagine I needn't ask the lady what outfit she poses in.
A beauty like that?
- Some question! - This is my inquiry!
You're inquiry's done, since I'm safe and sound.
He threw his wife out the window?
He doesn't look cruel.
That's enough!
What did I do wrong? I don't understand.
You'll understand soon enough.
But first tell us who this Mr Forestier is.
- I told the lady I didn't know him. - The nerve!
But you may know him by another name.
Young, dark clothing, manicured hands,
very mannered speech, and impeccable white shirts.
Ring a bell? White shirts?
You know, I used to be a laundress.
A respectable trade, at least.
Yes, and it could even be pleasant
if folks were cleaner.
Chief, I saw the fellow with her!
I did! The day you stole the watch!
- So you deal in watches, too? - It wasn't me. You let me go.
I was sorry I did.
If it wasn't her, it was him. And they were together!
Why the face? This watch business is nothing.
Just an appetizer before the main course:
attempted murder.
Accessory. That'll get you five or six years, at least.
It's for your own good. We're only trying to help you.
We set the table. Now fork out!
- Hands off! - Respect, is it?
- Why not? I'm innocent. - That'll do!
Pack her off!
Pack me off! Careful!
Fragile: Work of art!
Use a bit of tact, please.
You don't know who you're dealing with.
Kindly inform this person there's been a judicial error.
END OF PART ONE
COMING UP: PARTTWO
"THE MAN IN WHITE"