If Paris Were Told to Us (1956) - full transcript

IF PARIS WERE TOLD TO US!...

"I do not believe that it is permitted
in history to speak of the living.

The image of public men is usually
seen in a false light during their lives".

Now everyone thinks Paris began like this:

an island in the shape of a boat,

found in the middle of a large river

we would later call the Seine.

The squares were deserted,
but not hostile.

In sum, it held promise.

We presume that one day,
a man came,

he sat and started to fish.



In this case, he is there still.

This was 2000 years
before the birth of Christ.

We suppose that next,

savages discovered that island

and settled there.

Were they Iberians,
or Ligures?

Opinions are divided still.

Bless you.
- Thank you.

Theirs was only a
short-lived stay..

A few centuries later,
after innumerable invasions,

coming from all quarters,
starting to argue ...

this corner blessed by God,
that we will call Paris,

was first called Lutetia.
At first, there were the Gauls,

led by Vercingétorix.



Then there were the Romans,
led by Julius Caesar.

Soon, there were the Huns, with Attila,

terrible ravagers come from Asia.

Then came the Francs,
with their favourite weapon,

which they called the francisc.
[N.B. A type of spear]

It was a double-edged weapon.

Some time later,
a young girl was born..

in Nanterre, around 423,

it is supposed
she died in 514.

This miracle,
means without doubt...

"without doubt" signifies
that the thing is doubtful,

in front of everyone's eyes
saving Paris,

from the invasion of the Huns,
with an eloquent gesture,

she stopped the
exodus of the Parisians.

According to legend, we might even
add that, subsequently,

she was not stranger to the
conversion of Clovis.

This is good, it's even very good.

But after a while,
it gets boring.

We learn history this way.

That must annoy you,
I can see it just by reading these 3 pages.

There are these the precautions
taken by this teacher of history,

this graduate enemy of graduates.

All his phrases start with
"we suppose", "we claim",

"..we believe"... It is
difficult to be interested..

in events about which the narrator
himself is not certain.

It is exactly because we love Paris,

that we say:
"Ah, if Paris could speak to us...

with more freedom!"

By someone who would abandon,
if necessary,

that implacable chronology,
enemy of all meanderings!

When a little fantasy
would not be

to your displeasure.
- AH, NO!

Tell us your ideal of Paris.

You do me a great honour,
but you've caught me unawares.

And it's exactly that,

which gives me the
audacity to do it.

Ah!
- Yes.

And it will be Paris,
the Paris of yesterday,

but looked at
with the eyes of today.

And told from memory.

Ah!

But my memory is unpredictable.

She has her preferences
and flights of fancy.

ALL THE BETTER!
- Then, let's begin.

We start our recitation
at the time where,

without ceasing to be a market town,
Paris became..

a focal point.
- 1000AD?

Around then.

What was Paris, in the year 1240?

Notre-Dame.

And 700 years later,
today? It's always..

..Notre-Dame.
Around which everything else circles.

All the roads of France
leave from in front of Notre-Dame.

Ground zero.
- Yes. And everything ends there.

The point of departure can be
a point of reassembly.

And even, an ending point.

Well then, gentlemen,
let's think of our town,

honour the memory
of those who built her,

loved her, then who embellished
her to make this modern marvel.

Rend unto Caesar...

That which is Caesar's.

By establishing his headquarters

on the left bank of the Seine,
Caesar founded the Latin Quarter.

We owe to him this Latin language
that has engendered our own.

We also owe him this
sense of grandeur,

this sense of beauty
that he brought from Greece..

and this predilection
for military parades.

So, allow us to consider
the Battle of Bouvines..

..the date the day when Philippe Auguste
returned triumphantly to Paris.

And that was only the beginning.

1515, victor at Marignan,
François 1st rolled into Paris,

bathed in glory and
a smile on his lips.

1675, having conquered Alsace,
Turenne returned to Paris,

acclaimed by France.

Victor at Friedland,

the Emperor made a triumphal return
to Paris.

And then, at last, it was the day
of the victory parade.

Were you there?
- Yes.

Of all that I've seen,
it's the only thing

that's more beautiful than
a work of art.

But in all its long history,
our dear Paris..

has not only seen parades
by French soldiers.

We have been subject to occupations
when we have not

prevailed.
This one, for example, lasted 100 years.

I tell you they'll go.

Go? Who?
- The invaders.

I'm certain of it! - I've been
hearing that for the last 50 years.

I expect I'll be hearing it
for the next 50 years!

Butter, eggs, cheese?

Yes, but at what price?
- Ah, lady!

A man who plays the black market
is running a big risk, so...

I can make some false papers for you.

My friends! A terrible thing!

One of us French is engaged
with an English.

Yes, there is one who fraternises
with the invaders!

Don't panic.
I know the name of this fiance.

It is the son of the king, the dauphin,
fiancé to Margaret of Scotland,

the daughter of Jacques 1st.
- Ah, that's different!

Oh, pardon.

It's nothing.

I know them by heart.

Prince, to the women of Paris

speak well of the prize.

When we die by the Italians,

there is not a good boy in Paris.

And it's signed?

François Villon.

Ah, them!

We shouldn't complain too much,
it could be much worse.

And it was soon much worse.

You will never..

..oblige Paris..

..to bow..

..before the fripperies..

..of foreigners.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
- Why?

Ah, if you'll allow...

Well, yes!

Then, it's a dream!

This takes us back to 1430,
when everyone thought:

"..we need, to drive them out,
an ardent young man..

"..and brave." However, it was
an ardent and brave young girl,

..who delivered us.

Long live Joan!

When we are rid of them...
Listen to me, you who pass by.

When we are rid of them,
move quickly with greatest urgency.

The most urgent, is to think..

..of the people,
the poor people,

who have lost their lodgings.

We must build beautiful palaces,

for the kings of France,

..more just, apparently.

It must be.

And I shall bow down to them.

But now, it is..

to house those without lodgings,

with greatest urgency.

You hear me, kings of France?

So, 22nd April 1370,

..Hugues Aubriot, Provost of Merchants,

laid the first stone of a fortress,

that would become the Bastille.
They said..

it would defend Paris
against any invasion,

but the enemy armies
did not take the routes..

that they had been assigned.
Therefore, after construction,

that fortress became a prison.

The first governor,
Mr. de La Personne, was welcomed..

by Mr. Aubriot,
who showed him his work,

praising him for his virtues.

All this is magnificent,
Mr. Provost.

I give you my most sincere compliments.

Governor,
I am infinitely delighted.

I would like to see a cell.

Open the most beautiful. No. 5.

Enter.

Ah, yes, yes!

It appears to me that this one
brings together all the qualities:

Health, aeration,
thickness of the walls,

..solidity, the bars passed every test.

And I would even say, comfort.

Then, Mr. de la Personne,
a little sheepishly,

gave to his interlocutor
a sealed letter..

..which he had just received.
It was an order to incarcerate..

..Hugues Aubriot,
on suspicion of heresy..

..and sentenced to prison.
- Oh!

And I am the most sorry.
- No.

The second.

If I'd foreseen something like this,

I would have made the bars less solid.

For 12 years, without resting,

I've made myself hoarse

pleading for the poor folks,

with the large families
and no lodgings.

And I bet myself

that in the end,
I would be successful..

Well, gents,
I have been successful..

and just won my bet.

We should not be discouraged.

It is not in vain..

..that in Paris, we make ourselves hoarse.

They now have enough lodgings.

They have built the Bastille.

Then there took place an event
with unexpected consequences.

Charles VII, who had abandoned
Joan ofArc to her tragic destiny,

had, morally, very little credit.

His throne seemed to him
in an unstable equilibrium,

and knowing his unpopularity,

he was sinking into
a miasma of remorse.

But an ideal reached him,
who came from Touraine.

Who was that person?

It was Agnès Sorel,
the "Dame de Beaute".

Yes, of Beauté-sur-Marne.

She came from there,
to speak a couple of words to him,

but, in particuliar...

Sire...

Sire, you can not escape
that you are setting a bad example.

A good example would have been better,

but nobody's asking
the impossible.

Become a model of dissipation,

of immodesty and perversity,
if needs be.

Loved or not,
kings serve as an example.

She is lovely.

Get drunk tonight,
all your subjects, tomorrow,

will be blotto.
But that's a pernicious example.

I propose to you one which could
immediately be beneficial.

For Your Majesty,

and even more for the Parisians.

Paris is like a little province.

Be careful.

And here's my plan.

Fall in love.

Crazily in love,

..sensual, immoral.

And so that no-one can be ignorant,

openly,
give me rights.

Give me a
castle, jewels and rents.

All Parisians will be overcome
by your example.

In love with love,
they will become prodigies..

and finally free of all hypocrisy.

What is your name, please, madame.

Agnès Sorel.

Agnès... ?

Sorel.

Sorel?

And we are in... ?

1432.

What does the date matter,
when the prize is so pretty.

Your advice is
certainly unusual, but

I see certain advantages.

So, this advice, he followed.

So much so that his subjects
followed his example.

And in many a house, lived
enchanting girls,

who gave killer looks

at astonished passers-by.

But alas, they went so far
it was soon judged necessary

to put an end to
their scandalous behavior

that others
had so appreciated.

Remembering an ordinance
dating from the late King Louis IX,

and following
it to the letter,

all these girls were
conducted and maintained

in some houses
requisitioned for this purpose.

The shutters were closed

and these reputedly closed houses
were opened to all comers

A new industry was born.

And what of Charles VII..

and his beautiful lover?
- He was dying of exhaustion,

..6 years later.
Two great doctors,

a famous surgeon,
an apothicary and an astrologer..

..forgot their Latin.
- Althaea officinalis.

That is "marsh mallow".

Humulus lupulus.

That is "hops".

Agropyron repens.

That is "couch grass".

Sinapsis nigra.

That is "mustard".

And lastly..

..Taraxacum dens leonis.

That is "dandelion".

And as a result, he will be saved.

Two years later, he was dead.

He was wept over, sadly,
by all those around him,

except by one,

who had his own reasons
to be more than satisfied.

It was his son.

He wished the death of his father,

because he had

in him the makings of a great king,
adored France,

because he was Louis XI.

Oh, Comynes, my friend!

My dear friend, good evening.

How I am glad to see you,
my sweet faithful friend.

You bring me some good news?

I bring better than good news.

And the object over there,

has every appearance of something
that will please you.

Because I am going to place
before Your Majesty's eyes

the first example of a book.

The first that has been printed in France.

Oh, yes...

It's very attractive.

It's very moving!

Tell me, are these on sale?

Yes, Sire.
- Anyone can buy them?

Anyone who is a subject of Your Majesty.

Magnificent, certainly, but also serious!

Think about it,
anyone can buy them.

It's frightening.

How much does this book sell for?

They are asking 2 écus.
- It's not expensive.

Of all the things Louis XI
will be able to do for his country,

nothing will be more remembered,
Sire, for a long time,

..I can see nothing
that will be more important..

than to have introduced
printing in France.

Because the printers,

were fetched from Strasbourg
by Your Majesty.

Don't talk so much about how I'll be
remembered, I'm starting to regret it.

Two écus, my friend, think about it.
It's nothing.

As long as they only print
chronicles, poems...

but we will have to keep these
people under surveillance..

Think of the evil they could do.

You told them to renounce the idea
of ever publishing the Bible..

in French?
- They know.

On this point,
We are quite inflexible.

The king does not
want it printed?

Ah no!
- Even in Latin,

the king will not allow it.
- I don't understand why.

Haven't you read it?
- The Bible! Well, thank you.

Let printing start tomorrow,
when it's on sale, this book,

in 40 years,
you'll see what it is

to say to the French:
"Here are two religions, choose."

The people are so wicked
and so stupid

that when I gave them
the mail by horse, I thought

they would use it constructively.

Well?
- It's sad.

It's insane.

Why?

I have to open the
letters that they send,

I read them and
think I'm going to blow my top.

From Arras to Perpignan,
fom Langres to La Rochelle,

they spread
nothing but bad news.

To resume with
Champagne and Brie,

I have to stop that
traitor La Ballue.

In their letters,
they all speak of La Ballue,

of his tortures, of his pains.

while of the 8 provinces
I've added to the country,

there's not a single word.

I am hated...

bent over, pitiful and thin,

... I am at fault.

It shouldn't be that a king is ugly.

But Sire...
- But yes. Very much so.

Also, I'm not going to allow
anyone to make my portrait.

But let's have no more of these worries.

Continue our work, despite the hatred,

and return to Plessis.

Her Majesty the Queen.
- But she's coming.

Sire..

in the new appartments
that you have refurbished

at Plessis-lez-Tours,
will I at last have the joy

to occupy the same room
as Your Majesty?

Alas, madame, no.

Because you are a foreigner.

This precaution, I had already taken

in my first marriage, with the
daughter of the king of Scotland,

which was good when Scotland was,
in my eyes,

the counter-poison to England.

It would not be appropriate
that the king of France,

in his sleep, might utter
some indiscreet words

that might harm the
interests of his kingdom.

Is my personal
army down there?

Yes, Sire.

Are they all well-armed
with weapons in their hands?

Yes, Sire.
- Well, have them come in.

Paris, I greet you.

I greet you all.

Because I want that Paris
should be you too.

I love my soldiers,

I have affection for my workmen,

but you, my artisans,
I give you

my honour. To be an artisan
is to be your own boss.

On the condition
that he is the best worker.

Be French, of course,

but perhaps even more,
be Parisians.

Because it is a privilege.

Carpenters from Cahors
or from Pont-à-Mousson,

you came to Paris
to become cabinet-makers.

You who make cotillons,

put Paris in crinolines.

Ironmongers
of La Roche-sur-Yon,

become artists in iron and move here.

Jewellers of Nevers

or of Clermont-Ferrand,

come to Paris,

to become goldsmiths.

Goldsmiths, couturiers, antique dealers,

you will find what you need

from this singular king,
who values artisan so highly,

so that Paris
becomes the capital of the world

Another very great king
would complete

his work subsequently.

Superb!

Delightful, delicate.

Marvelous!

The movement of the arms,
the expression of the eyes,

all these things we can divine.

And that embroidery, adorable!

Divine.

Ah, Venice, Florence
and Rome that I adore,

you send us splendours.

I'm still waiting for
two large Botticellis,

of Padua
and from St-Jean of Gianatto.

You will soon know why these
marvels are so beloved.

We should know: they please us.

No.
Because they escape you.

You need them,
darling princesses.

When I speak to you,
I speak to Paris.

Paris, full of virtue,
lacking in qualitites,

have you the grace and
the lightness?

I am not certain.
Take this glass...

because I attach to this glass
great importance.

So, take this glass
and build around it

a wonderful palace,

which is in harmony
with its colour and shape.

And you will see before long
that the Gothic has had its day.

No, don't touch that one.

It's for me to open.

I'm going to take and introduce to
you the most beautiful portraits..

that exist on this earth.

Take this down.

The nail is fixed?

It is, Sire.
- Thank you. Come.

Everyone come, ladies.

Prepare yourelves to discover

the most wonderful of smiles.

I paid 12,000 livres to its author.

Few women have cost
as much as she.

She is called Mona Lisa.

But we will call her, please, La Joconde.

A queen
of France, at least four times a year,

must, if not enjoy herself,
at least pretend.

And without going as far as
asking you to laugh,

model yourself,
a little, on that divine smile.

My darling sister,
you say, please,

we should double the
the pension of Rabelais.

Tell them, it's good.

but most of all she must learn,
learn from you,

how we are a queen.

From now on,
La Joconde is in the Louvre.

We forbid that she leaves.

Post guards,
so that all the doors are watched.

My lady, as for you,
make me a curtsey.

And come make love
with the King of France.

He asked formally

because he did not want her to leave.

However she was to leave
four centuries later.

A fool took her
one day, and he carried her off.

We are closing! [repeated]

We are closing!

Good God!

What is it?

They've stolen La Joconde!

The following day,
there was a general panic.

For several days,

the newspapers talked of nothing else.

But, 12 months later,
she was rediscovered

and resumed her place.

An extraordinary phenomenon
had occurred

in her absence. She had
more visitors

than she had had in
400 years of effective presence.

It was above all
the nail that interested them.

Say, Gustave?

Come and see.

You know that
Catherine de Médici had

3 children, 3 sons?
- Yes.

François II, Charles IX..

..and Henri III.
- And you never told me!

The occasion
never presented itself.

Over the 9 years
that we've been married?!

That's you to a tee!
How secretive you are!

But...
- We are closing!

The gentleman just told you.
- We are closing.

Sire, I have bad news,
alas, to give you.

This why I wanted us reunited,
all five of us.

You, me and our five sons.

Sire, the Protestants are organising.

There's no doubt about it.

And there is urgent action
to be taken.

You are listening to what I said?

I hear you well enough.

Because, Sire, in this regard,
there is one of your subjects..

that alarms me greatly.

And it is Henri de Guise.

On that day,
and for the next 20 years,

until 1588,
I haven't heard much else

than Henri de Guise.

Imagine, Navarre,
what my eyes saw.

Nothing but an early, sudden death.

Or assassins.

My revered father,
the late king Henri II,

died accidentally.

From a lance in the eye
carried by Mr. de Montgomery.

My brother, François II,
died at 16 years old.

Suddenly.

After having reigned only a few weeks,

I was 12 years old,
when I saw slaughtered,

under my eyes,
François de Lorraine,

First Duke de Guise.

Some time after that,
I saw Mr. de Montesquiou..

deliver, alas, a mortal blow
to the Prince de Condé.

23rd August 1572,
it was the assassination of Coligny,

by 20 armed men with the
Duke de Guise at their head.

And I witnessed it without
any desire to have done so.

And the next day, 24th August,

that was Saint Bartholomew.

Sire, what was it,
this Saint Bartholomew?

I didn't see it.

But I heard.

In my room,

where I had taken refuge.

And I cannot
block my ears

without hearing it again.

He had assisted it perfectly.

But he preferred not to recount it.

God preserve France
from another religious war.

There is nothing more horrible.

And Paris did not deserve
to see such a massacre.

The Duke of Guise will have his
soul damned by that slaughter,

which caused the
death of 6,000 Frenchmen.

I held a grudge against him.

And some time later,

I had him

assassinated
by the lords,

and when I saw him dead,

Henri de Guise seemed smaller
than he had

when he had lived.

Sire, a monk would like to present
a petition to Your Majesty.

I will receive him.

When I remember all
those assassinations,

the crimes, the murders,

how could I not ask myself:
"And now, whose turn is it?"

Will it be you, Navarre?

Will it be you?

Ah! It will be me, gentlemen.

Get out of here!

Oh, the evil monk.

He's killed me.

The late king was
assassinated by a monk.

Our king should not forget.

It should not be that Henri IV dies
the same way as Henri III.

Look, I was sure that he was here.

Speak to him.
- If I dare.

Sire, we were looking for you.

I was waiting for you.
I always expect

you to give 3 or 4 pieces of advice

and 5 or 6 reproaches.
- Sire, the news of Paris

is very bad.
If you procrastinate any more,

the Crown will escape you
and your soldiers abandon you.

There are only 2 ways
to fully

possess your kingdom:
raise battle, or convert.

Between these solutions,
will you make your choice?

I don't believe so.
- What are you doing at Saint-Denis?

I'm looking at Paris
that does not want to give up.

You look at it tenderly.
- Always when I'm in love.

In love, so far, the king
has been happier.

I have not so much loved as whored.

Sire, at the break of day
the battle commences,

so that tomorrow all doors
be open to you.

It is the solution
that pleases me more.

But alas, firing on Paris,

is not something I have
the courage for.

Then you must convert.

I will convert when Paris gives up.

Our last hope.

I received your letter
only this morning.

And you've come.
Thank you.

Are you alone?
- No, these two accompanied me.

What the woman wants...

we will see.
- In your hands, you have..

his Crown.
- And yours.

Perhaps.
- What are you saying?

How scared he is!

Leave us alone.

Right away.

Ah, my lover!

Yes, sir, your love,
who has come to surprise you,

for she's here to speak to you.
- She has the loveliest eyes.

Listen to me.

If you've been sent to me
by the bishops,

to talk about conversion,
or by my officers

to talk me into taking up arms,
you are going to infuriate me.

I'm not here to talk about
combat nor conversion.

Everyone must meddle in
that which concerns them.

I'm going to talk about you and me.

I cannot imagine a more
charming subject.

Speak of you, especially.

You speak of me,
it's you you're talking about.

I was 2 months short 17 years old,
when you met me.

To have me all yours, yours alone,

you made me marry
a husband of your choice.

Oh, the most perfect there is.

The ideal husband for a lover.

Distinguished, witty,
modest and compliant,

and to even more tranquillise
your jealousy

you chose someone completely impotent.

I thank you.

So here we are, all three of us
very happy, him, you and me.

You say you love me
and I believe you.

I, by jove, I adore you
and I am faithful to you.

If Your Majesty
can say as much...

Oh...
- Good, I am faithful to you.

And my husband is lacking nothing,
except the main thing.

That night, I slept badly,

and I thought of a thousand things.

What would happen to me
if in two months,

if in six months,
I told you "I am pregnant"?

Eh, I suppose...
- Before answering,

think of my husband.

The poor fellow well knows.
- Yes, he knows.

Me, I know it, you know it.

But everyone else knows nothing.

It's not a thing
to shout from the roofs.

And my parents and many people
would assume

the child is his.

Which, assuredly,
would make me die of vexation.

Let my love calm you down.
If that happiness follows,

should God will it,
I will quickly marry you.

And if you give me a son,
in turn the king will divorce

and marry you so
that you may become queen.

What name would you
give our son?

I would choose the city having the
most beautiful name in the kingdom,

and the name I would give him
would be the Duke of Vendôme.

I would divorce, you would divorce,

then you would marry me.

But I would like to know
how you will do this.

Because to divorce,
many people won't be pleased,

I think it will be necessary
to have the co-operation of the Church.

There must make peace with them.

You think so?
- I think so.

I don't think so.

You and me, we can wait, assuredly.

Yes, but it isn't just us two.

The third, will he have
so much patience?

"Third"?

If we are to believe the symptoms
and if the doctors

have a little knowledge.
Because the king, his mistress

and the Duke of Vendôme,

that makes three.
- What are you saying?

I think so.

Pregnant?

I swear to you!

Pregnant!

My love, I feel reborn.

My most ardent desire and my dearest wish.

Look me in the
eyes and tell me this is true.

I swear, looking in the eyes
of Your Majesty,

that it is the wonderful truth.
- I adore you and am happy.

I forgot! My God, pardon.

The Archbishop of Bourges
and the Bishop of Évreux are below.

They had begged
me to warn you,

and I forgot.
- The Archbishop of Bourges?

And the Bishop of Évreux.
- Don't make them wait.

So, I can?

And now to make this somersault!

Any regrets?
- No, my dear, I regret nothing.

Haven't I promised?
We don't regret

keeping our promise.
- And Paris well deserves a Mass.

It's lovely.
- What?

What you just said.
- Ah yes?

Yes.
- Well, I'll say

that it was you who said it.

And when, at last,
Paris opened its doors to the king,

with a speed
we've never seen before,

and will, no doubt, never see again:

the enemy garrison greeted the
King of France by doffing their hats.

And what is your name?

Armand du Plessis,
Duke of Richelieu.

What bishoprics are currently vacant?

That of Luçon, Sire.

You are Bishop of Luçon.

Gentlemen, I have just spoken
with a man,

one of the most intelligent
that I've ever seen.

Come!
- Sire, here's your double.

Sire.

I am at your disposal.

You have all my costumes..

in double?
- Sire, it will be so.

Even my favourites with their tears?

These are the ones Your Majesty wears
most often.

I want you to pass for me
again this morning.

All Paris knows that you are going
at 10am to Mr. de Sully.

If the gentleman replaces you,

you could choose another path,

and maybe also avoid a misfortune.

Sire,

in the last five years,
fourteen plots have been attempted

against Your Majesty.

Come. I don't want
to decide at the last second.

Abbot, abbot!

Oh, the beautiful child!

The dauphin. - Ah!

Henri V or Louis XIII?

You have to think of everything
and never forget,

there is no bad accident

that we cannot profit from.

Sweet almonds!

Make way for the king!

Make way for the king!

LONG LIVE THE KING!

Ah! My son!

My love!

My Firmin.

Now that he's dead,
this nightmare is over.

Come quickly so I can shave you.

Sire, you were nine when
I first had the happiness

and the honour to see you
for the first time.

At this very place.

It was the fatal day when your
illustrous father was assassinated,

in Rue de la Ferronnerie.

Since then, I flatter myself to
have served, at every moment,

the interests of
the kingdom and of Your Majesty.

He could flatter himself!

For, it was
the reign of King Louis XIII,

Richelieu governed France,
and by the grace of God, moreover.

Politically, I consider Richelieu

the greatest that France has known.

And intellectually, who?
- Voltaire.

Having learnt that these four writers,
mediocre as they are,

Gombaud, Serizy,
Malleville and Bois-Robert,

plotted against me,
I subsequently had an idea.

Rather than disperse them,
I propose

that these gentlemen constitute
a real body,

which should meet regularly,

and openly.

Understand that my proposition
could be quickly enacted,

that after an order, their acceptance
could be with us today.

He had just
founded the Académie Française.

And I desire
that there be forty of them.

Because I do not think
a secret can be kept

by forty people.

Some time later,
the cardinal had the audacity

to reconcile, against their will,
Louis XIII and Anne of Austria,

had retired to the Abbey
of Val-de-Grâce,

telling the king
that his subjects were saddened,

to lose the
hope of a prodigy

ardently desired.

The cardinal introduced
to the king and the queen

the papal nuncio,
Mr Mazarini,

so chosing a skillful successor.

The queen approved the choice.

So much so that a year later,
Anne of Austria bore into the world

a lovely child,
who the slanderers declared,

had the eyes of Mazarin.

Since the death of Richelieu,

Mazarin had taken over the
reigns of government.

The Church continued to rule.

Cardinal?

I must take you back to
a most serious event,

which occurred sometime
- The villainous cardinal!

Wicked cardinal!

The child
was king Louis XIV.

I'm listening to you.

The event
happened in Parliament,

the councillors were
discussing in moderate terms

the opportunity for taxes
proposed by Your Eminence,

one councillor, Mr. Broussel,
cried suddenly: "Enough taxes!"

And I think that this angry cry

will have unfortunate consequences.

Go find him for me!

That he surrenders to my call
this very day!

Long live councillor Pierre Broussel!

Long live councillor Pierre Broussel!

Councillor Broussel,

in the name of all Parisians,
we thank you!

Your exclamation in Parliament,
"Enough taxes!",

has spread
across all Paris!

We are touched
that a man your age

and immensely rich

had the generosity to take
in his hands

the interests

of unhappy Parisians
overwhelmed, strangled by taxes!

Long live councillor Broussel!

It went well?

It was not possible
to get near him.

In the streets, the over-excited
people are carrying Mr. Broussel in triumph.

Down with the accursed cardinal!
- DOWN WITH TAXES, DOWN WITH TAXES!

He'll never have our hides, and
let him try to serve notice himself!

DOWN WITH THE ACCURSED CARDINAL!
- Never again, no more...

FOR THE CARDINAL OF TAXES!

DOWN WITH THE ACCURSED CARDINAL,
PIG'S HEAD THAT HE HAS!

DOWN WITH TAXES!

Down with the accursed cardinal!

He'll never have our hides!

Have him locked in the Bastille...

that councillor Broussel.

Her Majesty the queen!

What's happened?

It should not be that he who
I love be alarmed.

Order from the cardinal,
councillor Broussel,

will you follow us?

Ah! It's inconceivable,
it's simple-minded.

It's badly maladroit.

As are, moreover, these taxes,

which overwhelm us and sadden us.

If tomorrow the government
demands we declare

our revenue,
what will follow?

We will be forced to
falsify our accounts.

And it will turn us all into liars.

Did I say, liars... Thieves!

This is what will sadden us.

For honest people like the Parisians,

it's saddening to become a thief!

Is it,
that these people who govern us

don't know what is Paris?

You must not laugh with Paris.

She's an angry person.

And when she shrugs her shoulders,

the cobblestones of Paris
rise up by themselves.

So, take your precautions,

when Parisians take to the streets.

Ah, they've gone...

It's nothing,
I say it all the same.

How?

After 6 months,
he is still in the Bastille?

Yes, Signora.

I believe
that in your interest, cardinal...

Your Majesty should not commit the
recklessness of asking me

to set free councillor Broussel.

The idea sounds... soothing.

Setting him free will start well,

but it will end in flames.

The important thing is not
that he leaves the Bastille.

My...

An idea strikes me,

that could reconcile everything.

Come in.

Councillor Broussel...

I was waiting for you, gentlemen.

This way, the cardinal
is going to break my neck.

There's no question of that, councillor.

His Eminence,
the cardinal of Mazarin,

is animated by the desire
to repair the injustice

or the error
committed in your regard,

you are named governor of the Bastille.

Governor of the Bastille?
- I have to conduct you

to your apartment with all the
respect that is your due.

But... Ah, really...

Governor.
- Governor.

What...
I don't understand...

Gentlemen.

Why?

And the predecessor,
what's become of him?

He is there, in 12.
- Incarcerated, already?

Of course. A prison
that is not dishonoured

is necessary, in Paris.

Very well.

Very good, very good.

And this door, governor,

opens on to your private apartment.

Perfect.

Ah, please...

do not inform my wife of this
change of régime.

She may wish to rejoin me.

Cardinal, all is in order.

A thousand thanks.

Councillor Broussel has left his cell,

but, he will not
leave any time soon the Bastille.

A man,
an evening, alone in the night,

was climbing
the peristyle of the Académie.

And thinking
that nobody was looking,

he went to the door.

And there, perhaps he asked himself
how he was going to open it.

But, a carriage passed
which stopped.

Sir, madame de Sévigné
would have a couple of words with you.

She invited Molière
to sit with her.

When the carriage
went away into the night,

we hear Mme de Sévigné
say to Molière:

"..But Molière, your place is not there.

"Don't you know that
you are immortal?"

18 September 1698, on that day,
returning to the Bastille,

to be incarcerated,
a singular individual,

whose name nobody knew.

He wore a black velvet mask.

And so that adventure would be
even more mysterious,

we call him from now on,
"the man in the iron mask".

19 November 1703,

the man in the iron mask
had taken his last breathe.

And the mystery that surrounds
him exists still.

Well,

we are at the Bastille,
let's stay there.

OH!
- Let us here.

Pierre Broussel being dead,
Mr. Jourdan succeeded him.

Sent to the Bastille for a pamphlet,
of which I was not an author.

Aren't you surprised?
- Nothing surprises me anymore.

I am asked to
show you every respect.

It is perfectly open to you
to bring things in from the outside

everything that you need. And
your lackey can stay.

I think so.
- Thank you, Jasmin.

Write
Date and place of birth?

Born and died

in Paris.
- Why dead?

I have the intention

to die here.
- I don't have to record intentions.

So, born in Paris,
20 February 1694.

Your name,

first name and surname?
- Arouet, François-Marie.

By the way, can I be
registered under a false name?

Out of respect for my poor father.

I agree. What do you
take for a pseudonym?

Voltaire.

This is the name of a small estate
owned by my mother.

I wish to be called Voltaire.

The name Arouet could acquire
a bad notoriety, because of

this adventure.
From this day,

I will become unknown,
under the name of Voltaire.

So it is. Note this and show

M. de Voltaire...
-"De" Voltaire?

Yes, indeed, while we are here.

To cell number 20.

The best?

It belonged to the man in the iron mask.

I don't want another.
It is the best of the best

that cell, for the anonymous.

It's 10pm!

Parisians, sleep in peace!

Ladies?

Is there not a home for
foundling children?

It's us who look after them, sir.

A beautiful little one like that!

You aren't ashamed
to be separated?

I am not the father!
- What do you know?

This child found on the steps
of Saint-Jean-le-Rond

was named Jean Le Rond,
but he changed his name later,

and he became D'Alembert.
The encyclopedia was born.

Mr. de Voltaire,

I have the joy to impart on you
a magnanimous gesture of the king.

You are free.
I've learnt it just now.

Well, I'm not the man to
question the will of the king.

His Majesty desires to know
whether the régime of your detention..

was to your satisfaction.

They could not have done more.

But I like the fact that the king
no longer had me as a lodger.

The king, that day,

gave up the ghost.
- The king is dead.

Are you interested?
- No.

Good. Margot,
the king has just died!

Thus, he died at Versailles.
- You can imagine.

It is not a
good thing for Paris.

It is a considerable loss.

Louis XIV? Ah, that!

They will know right away.

You've been fishing here a long time?

Centuries!

He's buried in Versailles?
- No. In Saint-Denis.

With his ancestors.

But we do not say which day,
nor what time.

No.
Don't look at me.

The great grand-father
of my grand-father was found here.

Now, with the contempt for their morals,
usages and customs,

I kept his old costume
and its gray green felt,

with his little quill,
ripped, he claimed,

from the rump of a woodpecker.

In our family,
we discover it.

We found the father
of the son.

In our family,
we speak in verse, since 1436.

Always speaking in such a way.

If one of us
was not found,

he would become a troubadour.

On the corner of a street in Paris,
they need them, a troubadour.

Because they sing,
the troubadours,

they sing of wine and love.

And when they sing, they smile.

It should not be in Paris
that we could find a day free of songs.

Because it would give the impression..

Because it would give the impression..

that we want to deprive the dessert.

That's why it's needed,
it's needed, a troubadour.

A troubadour at the corner of a street,
of a street in Paris.

Everyone is coming,
everyone is going.

Everyone moves away.

Everything starts.

And the greatest of kings himself,

in the end, dies.

The best memories,
in the long run, fades.

The songs, alone, remain.

Believe me.

It's over, now.

What's over?

The kings. They're finished.

Why do you say that?

Because when you see the
greatest king in the world

hides thus, clandestinely,
to avoid popular acclaim,

it's all going very badly.

We're afraid of Paris.

And when Paris brings fear,

everything is to be feared.
- This monk spoke the truth,

and the revolution began at first,

by a series of small revolutions.

It was the end of
"spaniel ear" wigs.

The fashion, suddenly,
was for powdered wigs.

Hello, illustrious Léonard.

It's adorable.
Who had this idea?

Mme de Pompadour.
- Why?

She had two white hairs,
despite her young age.

This was the opening of
the literary salons, which were

going to play such a great rôle.

Madame, what impression is made on women

by the most intelligent of Paris?
- Ask Mme d'Epinay.

It was her who asked me
to speak to you!

Mr. Diderot asks if Mme Geoffrin
wants to receive him.

I cannot leave him at the door.
Diderot, I greet you

I prostrate myself at your feet.

Mr. de Montesquieu,
I am your servant.

Do you know
what happened at Versailles?

At king Louis XV? No.

Call yourself an idiot or
a madman...

It's different! Come on.

... came yesterday to
Versailles, carrying a letter,

alerting Mme de Pompadour
that she was about to receive a box

which would place her in danger
if she opened it.

How interesting!
- Now, the box arrived,

with an address
in the same writing

of a letter
received an hour earlier!

The plot became flagrant,
the criminal was arrested,

and, I think, sent to the Bastille.

You're hurting me. Stop!

You are Jean Danry?

No, to tell the truth, it's Henri Masers.

And in the future, it will be
Jean Danry de Masers de Latude.

You know why you're here?
- I have a vague idea.

You tried to kill
Mme de Pompadour.

You made a small box
with a lid

that would detonate 4 small bottles.

You recovered powdered sugar!
- It was vitriol.

So little!

This criminal act has led you
to the Bastille.

And for how long?

The lettre de cachet
does not stipulate it.

Ah! You are not going to keep
me for a year, huh?

He was there for 35 years.

Mr. D'Alembert
asks if Mme d'Epinay..

will receive him.
- Gladly.

It's enchanting to
greet you.

I'm pleased to announce that Latude
has escaped.

Already? Is this good news?

For him, certainly.

Mr's Rousseau and de Montesquieu.

A few hours later,
Latude was recaptured

and returned to the Bastille.
- You escaped us,

so you will now have a
companion in jail.

I'm not going to be alone anymore?
- No, Mr. Latude.

Oh! And who is this companion?
- One named Antoine Allègre.

I don't know of him.
- An upper-class man, a scientist

and, moreover, a unique type.

If he becomes too fantastic,

or is harbouring some
dark project,

you will let me know.
- What? That I... ?

I could lessen the
rigours of your detention.

Ah!
- Enter, please.

Here's your cellmate.

Antoine Allègre,
boardinghouse master.

Jean Danry de Masers de Latude,
army surgeon,

heroic in the
taking of Bergen-op-Zoom.

Good, well, we'll leave you.
- Yes.

I know why you are incarcerated.

I know what I am.

For plotting against the Pompadour.

No?
- Yes, like you.

And for having the imprudence
to offer, in writing,

100 000 écus to her valet,
to poison her.

It's really funny!

This helps us understand!

To listen to us better,
they've brought us together.

For me to betray you.
- Or that I sell you out.

It's us who understand badly!
- Because, together

we shall have but one idea.
- Their false companionship!

In as little time as possible.

Ah... If we had a rope ladder!

Or more simply
the keys to the prison!

They opted quickly for a
rope ladder.

Ah, yes!
Yes, but then, in another sense.

And two years later,

the famous ladder
was already well-advanced.

And six years later, it was usable.

Well, this will work.

This will work.

Thunder of Brest!

I hope this time he will not let
himself be recaught.

Alas!

It's not good,
what you've done there.

Eh!
- You have betrayed the trust in you,

when we could have softened
the rigours of your detention,

which each of your escape attempts
increases in duration!

Well, inevitably!
- But, I beg you to believe

that now,
all precautions are taken.

And any attempt to escape
would be doomed to a certain failure.

Good!

How is it that in
our literary salons

we talk about the escapes of
the unfortunate Latude?

Because he personifies the people,

that was simmering, already.
- Already?

The French, until now,
had never truly had

political opinions.
- Political opinions?

You are a royalist, aren't you?

Of course.
But that is not an opinion.

It can become so!
- I don't understand very well.

Messers of Rivarol, D'Alembert..

..et Chamfort.
- We need to talk.

How do you feel?
- Oh, happily alone!

And frankly disgusted
by human injustice.

Have you given up on escaping?
- Oh yes.

And besides,

it is no longer my age.

Go, I'll accompany you.

Mr. de Martel is close to death,
have you seen the chaplain?

I've been looking for you.

Mr. de Martel is close to death,
have you seen the chaplain? No?

I think I saw him in the courtyard.
- Who?

The chaplain.

What are you doing?
- I'm running after the chaplain.

Mr. de Martel is close to death.
Open, quickly!

I'll be right back!

He shouldn't have said that,

because 36 hours later,

he was incarcerated again.

I told you I would be back.

If I found myself at
the birth of Voltaire,

there's that soon

80 years, I would have said:

"My little child,
the date of your birth

"will be considered, later,

"one of the most important
of our history."

"What was born, this morning,
it wasn't only you,

"it was the sprit of Paris.

"Rivarol, Chamfort,
Talleyrand and all the rest,

"will follow you,
and the kid who walks by whistling,

"hands in the pockets,
he is your heir."

Because, let us give lie to the proverb,

Paris is the only city in the world
where the siprit runs through the streets.

And I'm not far from believing
that one could recount

the history of France
citing only witticisms.

If I was 10 years younger,
I would.

By the way,
how old are you, Fontenay?

I am 102 years old, madame.

Oh... The Good Lord has forgotten you?

Shush...

102 years old!

And during this long time,

you have never
wanted to marry?

Yes. Sometimes.

In the morning!

I have always made a prayer,
which goes thus:

Lord, make my enemies
most ridiculous!

And God has always heard me.

You will have your wits until
until your last minute!

All are as they were, madame.

I would stop dying if
a witticism occurred to me.

But your phrase
is most interesting.

Because in short,
you've just informed me

that I am in my last minute.

Oh!

Mr. de Voltaire was then 80 years old.

It's no longer worth it!

It's no longer worth it?
- No, you are free.

Oh! And there I was just
trying to get myself a nice file!

Would you give it from me
to the cardinal of Rohan,

if he is still one of us.

-Jean Danry Masers de Latude,
on the order signed by Mr. de Breteuil,

after 35 years of captivity
and 3 escapes,

you are restored to liberty.

So, you are happy?

Oh, well, eh...

Yes, but liberty, it is something we take.

If you give it, we feel like
we're being kicked out.

Don't be unjust, Latude.
35 years of captivity!

Yes, it's true.
And in each of my escapes,

you proved how attached to me
you are!

Would it be indiscreet to ask
you what you're carrying?

Well, it's...

my rope ladder.

It's a pretty hue,
but I don't like the design.

Is it from Rose Bertin?
- No, my own country.

That shows.
- Rose Bertin, you said?

Yes, she's taste personified.

I might even say she's the
personification of Paris.

Baron de Grimm.
- Madame, great news!

Latude is free after
35 years of incarceration.

No?
- Pardon.

Do you know what he took?
- The keys?

Almost. His rope ladder!
- Why's that?

He thinks that it
characterises the Bastille,

she has become, thanks to him,
the symbol of arbitrariness.

He thinks big!

He sees his ladder
ending up in a museum!

Well, there, he exaggates!

Well no, he doesn't exaggerate.

Follow the guide!

And here is one of the most
curious pieces of the Museum Carnavalet.

No, madame,
it is not here that you'll find it.

And here is this most curious piece,
the famous ladder of Latude.

No, sir, it's not here.
It's in the Museum Cluny.

It was with this that
Latude attempted...

No, madame, the chastity belt
is not here!

She is in Museum Cluny!

What, "oh"?!
Do you think only of that?

And every day, it's the same!

This chastity belt
that Latude made...

How's that,
"that Latude made"?

They bother me
with their chastity belt!

No, come quickly.

Look.

Voltaire's armchair!

It's from the depths of this chair
that he said so many things!

Well, I've had enough of my armchair!

Huh?

And I'm going to lie down.

Lie down?
- Yes!

But why do you want to lie down?

It is much better
to die in bed.

Die?
- Don't answer him.

There is no more civilisation
than going back to the forests

to walk on all fours.
I don't want to see it.

And now,

my agony starts.

Fetching.
As successful as possible.

This dress is for the queen?
- No, for Mme de Lamballe.

You created it

for her?
- There's a good way of putting it.

One doesn't create a dress,
one imagines it, one shapes it,

one corrects it
and one tries to make a success.

Would you
make me one like it?

Oh no, madame! We never make the
same dress twice.

On the same model?

On the same model?

Why not 4 or 5 or 6 or 7?

Do you see,
at the Court or in a salon,

several ladies in the same dress?

There would be deaths.
A dress must be unique.

You are a Parisienne,

..Mme Rose Bertin?
- I hope so.

However,
you must know...

Ah, if I was born in Paris?
No, in Saint-Claude.

I answered Parisienne,
because for me,

to be Parisian,
it is to be reborn in Paris.

Being from Paris is not
inevitably being born there.

But that much is clear.

Many foreigners are Parisians
and Parisians a little province.

On that subject,
an old Parisian encountered

in the mountains or in the sea,
an adorable girl,

with whom he was completely in love,

totally blindly, who he brought back.

A month later, he sent her back
where he found her. She was

pretty!-
- What happened?

He wanted to show her Paris,
it was Paris that showed him up.

I made her
five lovely dresses

which did not do well
on the right bank, nor the left bank,

nor on her!
She did not go with Paris !

Here. "Death of Voltaire".
"Voltaire before dying".

"How Voltaire died".
"Life and Death of Voltaire".

Any joke needs to be short.

I agree.

But seriousness too,

should be kept short.

To separate... After such a long time!

I die..

..loving God..

..and hating..

..hypocrisy.

The penultimate window on the right,
it was that room.

That marble plaque tells you.

And that night, 500 people silently

waited for his death
to cry "Long live Voltaire!"

No, nobody, gentlemen.
- Albert!

Yes, I'm coming.

-Now, Voltaire being dead, the fear

was not hostile voices from the crowd,

but that they would get carried away,

because the archbishopric
refused to accept

the remains of the great man.

And those around him had an idea
that was

incredible, unheard of,
macabre, diabolical.

They dressed
his corpse, then sat it in his chair,

they put rouge on his cheeks
and his wig on his head.

Give me his wig.

And a carriage stopped there,
at the corner of Rue de Beaune.

And as if he was dead tired, and not dead,

two servants went down with him,

like a poor puppet, all disarticulated.

They put him in this carriage
which took him 20 leagues from Paris,

to a little parish
where the priest agreed

to put in the ground the
icy body of the philosopher.

In 1791, the body of Voltaire
was finally exhumed,

and carried
to Church Sainte-Geneviève.

It being tricky to put
Voltaire in a church,

Sainte-Geneviève
was given the name Panthéon.

The same year, the corpse of Mirabeau
was also placed there,

because it would honour
his memory.

Two years later, his secret
correspondance was discovered,

and he was removed from the Panthéon,
the same day that Marat enterred

because it would also
honour his memory.

They crossed on the stairs.

After Thermidor, the remains of
Rousseau enterred the Panthéon,

when they were
bringing out the remains of Marat.

But don't be too quick.

What are you reading?
- Voltaire.

Who are you looking for?
-Rousseau.

You like that?
"That will be fine,

"..the aristocrats in the lamp-post."
- "That will be fine."

That will be fine.
- You'd like it to music?

AH, THAT WILL BE FINE,
THE ARISTOCRATS TO THE LAMP-POST.

That's fine too.

Thereafter, events
moved quickly.

Citizens, these are serious times!

I must consider every meeting civic!

One of us most commit himself,
get up on the table

and harangue the people.
- Do it. Your name?

Camille Desmoulins.
- This citizen would talk to you.

Citizens, there is not a
moment to loose.

I arrived at Versailles,
Mr. Necker had been sacked!

This is the tocsin
for a St-Barthélomew of patriots!

It's the little cannon that announces noon.

Tonight, all the Swiss and
German bataillons

will leave the Champ-de-Mars
to massacre us.

There's only one way left to us:
take up arms

and put on the cockade
so we can recognise each other!

What colour?
- Choose!

I propose green, colour of hope!

Latude, who was
there by chance,

suddenly stood up and
began to yell

To the Bastille!

Did he want to return?
We'll never know.

But all the others went there.

You hear?

YES, WE HEAR.

But such a massive event could
not proceed so quickly!

Oh, my friend!
For me, that started

the day
of the première of Tartuffe!

I claim it is the fault of Voltaire!

And still more of Rousseau!
- IF WE ARE ALL ON THE GROUND,

IT'S THE FAULT OF VOLTAIRE,

WALLOWING IN THE GUTTER,
IT'S THE FAULT OF ROUSSEAU!

Accuse rather
Mr. de Montesquieu

and his "Persian Letters"!

Accuse instead lettres de cachet!

Accuse Diderot, D'Alembert!
- And above all Mr. de Beaumarchais!

He mocked the nobility
and has built

opposite the Bastille, to see

who was enterring to be incarcerated!

No, gentlemen,
it was to see them leave.

And I'm going!

How many are there in the Bastille?
- Incarcerated? 300, 400...

It's a shame.

Nobody.

Nobody.

Here's one. Come.

What have you done to be here?

I killed a woman
and two children.

You arrived in time, sir.
Look at that.

Yes, yes, I see.

It appears that they have liberated
all these prisoners.

Yes. All, indeed.

I arrived at that moment
and there were only seven.

Here they are.

Acclaimed heroes of the day.

There were only seven?
- Yes, seven.

This is a most curious thing
and the most edifying.

Four forgers,
an ignoble assassin,

the Count of Solages,
who deserved to die,

and two madmen.
- If that's not unhappy!

Yes, very unhappy.

But it should not have incarcerated
Voltaire, nor your servant,

or at least your master.

Wanting to know
who expanded the revolution,

it's a most useless enterprise.

This popular
effervescence, which went too far,

Voltaire is no more guilty

than we are responsible.

This revolution is a fact.
We all can do is observe it.

And she has engendered us.
- Sir is good enough to explain.

I'll always think that
you are Figaro!

All the lowly people have gone out
of their taverns and their slums.

They were not going to return
any time soon to their dens.

Tell the king that we are here
by the will of the people,

and we are not leaving but
by the force of bayonets.

The king and queen have fled Versailles!

Run away? Gone away?

Was he carrying the country
in the soles of his shoes?

We caught up with them at Varennes,
they were led to the Temple.

AH, THAT WILL BE FINE...

They weep?

Not at all.

They are odd, all the same.

Audacity!

Always audacity!
And again audacity!

What?! You want audacity?!

DEATH! DEATH!

People of France, I am innocent
of the crimes of which I am accused!

I forgive
the authors of my death!

And I ask that my blood
does not stain the land of France!

DEATH! DEATH!

Sons of saint Louis,
ascend to heaven.

Have her enter.

He said: "have her enter",
she enterred profoundly.

Oh, wretch!

Here she is, here she is!

And then began this abominable
tragedy in three acts.

Death,

to the Austrian!
- Silence.

Widow Capet, answer me.
What is your name?

Marie-Antoinette de Lorraine of Austria.

Your profession?

Widow of the king of France.

You are accused
of having taught Louis Capet

this art of dissimulation
with which he has deceived

the good people of France,

with a villainy and
extreme perfidy.

It's neither my husband nor I
who have deceived the people.

You had but one goal:
to re-ascend to the throne,

by walking over the bodies

of patriots.
- Why "re-ascend to the throne",

when that was exactly where we were.

Do you believe kings necessary

for the happiness of the people?

An individual
cannot decide something like that.

Silence!

Do you not want to reunite
Lorraine with Austria?

Never.

But you bear the name.

One must bear the
name of one's country.

I was wife of a
king of France,

I am mother of the dauphin,
I am French.

I will never see my country again.

I cannot be happy nor
unhappy except in France.

I was happy
when you loved me.

Silence!

He would have well liked to break
that silence that surrounded her.

Finally, the last accusation,
more serious than the others.

Perverse and
familiar with every sort of crime,

you are accused of having
led Louis-Charles Capet,

your son, into indecencies,

the idea and name of which alone
bring shudders of horror.

We are finished with
the tigress of Austria.

Let her be put to death

and in 83 pieces:
one per department.

The accused did not reply to
the question of Hermann

in regard to her son.

I did not answer,
because nature refuses

to answer such an
accusation made to a mother.

I appeal to all who
are found here.

Silence!

They will surely take her away.

Return the accused.

HEY, STAND! STAND!

STAND! STAND!

When will people tire of my
fatigue and my suffering?

The jury having delivered its verdict
of 'guilty' on all counts,

I demand the death penalty
against Marie-Antoinette,

widow of Louis Capet.
She will be beheaded.

Do you have anything to
say or request?

The meeting is adjourned.

Well, you see,
when they guillotined the king,

even innocent,
I accept it well enough,

but her,

even guilty,

it is unacceptable.

Do you remember that in 1430,

everyone said:
"What we need,

"is an ardent and brave
young man."

Yes. And it was Joan of Arc
who arrived.

Exactly.
And today, we say:

"we need an ardent and brave
young girl."

Look!

And Bonaparte has come.

The habit was established,
and every month, every 6 months,

the flags streamed from the windows.

But time has passed,
and 20 years later,

the Emperor is in Paris,
loved by his people.

And His bourgeois Majesty,
Louis-Philippe,

asked if he had been right
to bring back

the ashes of the great man.

He loved to wander, alone,
in the streets of the capital.

He thought it would make him popular.

Serious error.

The people of Paris prefer that
their kings retain their prestige.

And the dear man, in this way,
prepared the revolution of '48.

Will you, Mr. Béranger?
- With pleasure, madame.

We shall speak of his glory,

under the thatch for a long time.

The humble roof, in 50 years,

wouldn't know another story.

There came the villagers,

to say to the old woman:

tell us of old times,

mother, shorten our vigil.

Well, they say,
that he harmed us,

the people still revere him,

yes, revere him.

Tell us about him, grand-mother.

1848 after 1830.

The same pavingstones
become barricades.

And this is how it has
manifested itself in these centuries,

popular discontent.

Periodically, Paris has offered up
a sad spectacle

of fratricidal
struggles, with all that they bring

of heroism, horrors and errors.

The literary salons? They are a
beautiful thing of long ago, long gone.

All we have now are dining rooms.

Do you have any money?
- Where can we meet

the men of letters?
- At café Procope!

Like in the 18th century. The
customers, alone, have changed. Come in.

Give me the floor!
I take it.

We arrive in time.
Flaubert is talking.

First, it should not be allowed
that the critics

should be able to sit in a
reserved place, as a matter of course,

for these men of letters.
- Mr. Flaubert!

I am not addressing myself to you,
Mr. Aubineau.

I am a critic,
and I take it for myself.

You will never forgive me for saying
of "Madame Bovary"..

that "art ceases at the moment
that it is invaded by the ordinary".

I have a lot of support, for my thesis,

that there's never been a good critic!

That it achieves nothing,

that it just angers
the auteurs and stupifies the public.

We criticise when
we cannot make art.

Like we act like an informer,
when we cannot be

a soldier!

- HE SPEAKS VERY WELL!

DRINK TO HIS HEALTH!

Well, I, Edouard Scherer,
critic by profession,

I consider that I have the right
to proclaim where and when I like

that Baudelaire delights in
nauseating images,

doesn't know grammar, is not a writer,

not an artist, not a poet!

Oh, pardon me.

It doesn't matter.
I know them by heart.

Here are fruits, flowers,
leaves and branches.

And then here is my heart
that beats only for you.

Do not tear with your
two white hands.

And that in your eyes so pure,
the humble present is sweet.

And who signed it?

Paul Verlaine.

The François Villon of our epoch.

But excuse me, do not compare us.

Villon is

the only poet who is a genius

without having read Villon.

What merit he has!

Triple coincidence:
it is a hundred years today

that those charming verses of
Verlaine were made,

hundred years that Gérard de Nerval
was hung

by a streetlight
that was in the exact place

where we find the blowhole of
the théâtre Sarah Bernhardt,

and a hundred years ago

was born Caroline Delanoy,
celebrated coquette..

from the end of the Second Empire.

Yes, a hundred candles to blow.

This is how she will go out,

recounting what she saw.
- It's here!

Quick, quick!
- As quick as that?

Hundred years!
There's not a second to lose.

And a hundred!

Come in.

Come in,

my children.
I enjoy seeing you.

And watching you...

Oh, how young you are!

You allow, madame?
- Yes, yes.

One more!

Thank you, madame.

If you allow us to... !

Are you hard of hearing?
- No, madame.

Neither am I.
- Sorry!

We came to yours
because we are visiting Paris.

And between the arenas of Lutetia
and the Gallo-roman ruins,

you came to see me.

NO, MADAME.
- You are right.

It's fun to see in a
second the entire century.

And in such a beautiful house.

Add "historic".
- Historic.

You are...
- Journalist.

Well, then, careful.

I like particularly the reception.

This one.
It was the salon of Mme d'Epinay.

On her death, in 1783,

it was brought by
Brillat-Savarin. The famous

gastronome.
- He was sick?

No, gastronome,
that's not to say...

Let us pass.

Brillat-Savarin, who from this salon
made a dining room.

On his death, Ms Duchesnoy,
of the Comédie Française,

bought the house.

This place was a
reception room,

she made it into a bedroom.

Keep it short.
- Right, our century starts

In 1855!

Imagine then what my eyes saw.

What I heard.

And how many lips have been placed

on my hands.

My children, I of whom
you talk, I saw Victor Hugo,

Queen Victoria.

I knew Meyerbeer.

In 1865, I played at the Tuileries
with the Imperial Prince.

Ah, you can't
imagine what it was,

a party at the Tuileries, then.

France is more
beautiful than in the past.

We hav powerful allies.
- No war on the horizon.

The Orléans and the Bourbons all blurred.

Our campaign in Mexican forgotten.
- We work.

We're having fun.
- We're getting rich.

We dance.
- Madame.

Before the end of the month,
for five days, or more,

you will have in Paris
three important visitors.

His Majesty the king of Prussia,
General Moltke et Mr. Bismarck.

My God, what happiness!
- It will calm the minds.

What a great diplomatic success!
- How important it is!

Guillaume and Bismarck are in Paris!
It is priceless.

It's peace for 30 years!

It's wonderful.
- I'll dance, this evening.

The emperor!

Two different sentiments
divide our soul,

when we bow before you.

The affectionate respect
that we owe you,

and the fear of tripping over
our crinoline.

I have come to talk to you about a petition
that, if Your Majesty allows,

I will deliver to the emperor
after having written it in verse.

Yes, madame, in verse
and against the crinoline.

We cannot tolerate anymore
this chicken cage,

which makes the crowd laugh
and makes us ridiculous.

We are looked at, we start shaking.

In apartments,
it's even more terrible.

It restrict us everywhere
when we try to move.

I just had, at this moment,

the experience at my expense.

It is equally impossible
to dance any other dance

than the lancers

Quadrille.

The waltz is forbidden.

And it is a loss.

If the cavalier grabs you closely,

the crinoline rides up
and reveals your calves.

And Mme d'Essling
will tell you it's ugly.

As for sitting down,
it would expose us to too many perils.

We overturn a chair,
we knock over a table.

What makes it disturbing, appalling,

is it's like the frog in the fable,

it does not stop swelling every year.

If you cannot limit
its growth,

one day, like the
Nadar balloon,

we'll see a moving spectacle,

the prettiest women in France
will disappear in a gust of wind.

Have a little patience.

In France, nothing lasts for very long.

Let's talk about music, countess.
- Ah! There, music, careful.

Because, madame, we have

two species henceforth

The first, without pretention,
who pleases and entertains,

who we applaud
and easily ask back.

The one who's playing at the moment.

And the other who displeases,
shocks you, annoys you

and on this matter
gets on the nerves,

so that you cannot sleep at night.

In other words, Mr. Wagner.

You were at the opera tonight?
- Not for any rewards.

Oh, madame! "Tannhauser"!

The scandal of "Tannhauser".

While we were whistling
the tunes,

the public was booing incessantly
and throwing missiles,

princess Metternich, simple detail,

broke her fan, dealing with
this species of whistling

idiots!

Well, there's nothing like it,
yesterday at the Variétés,

at the repeat of "La Grande Duchesse".

A mad, phenomenal success

and deserved, by the music and the play.

From one end to the other, she laughed.

As for the
Schneider, madame, she sang,

which is no small thing,
because she had never sung before.

In her great performance,
tell her we have noticed,

she has been

imitated.
- Me? Imitated?

Humming the tune.
- I would like to, but...

If the text comes back to me,
the music escapes me a little

in this waltz that they play.

No. They're finishing.

And his tune is what we're starting.

Hum it.

If it is an order.

It is one.

I lack his talent, madame.

And his health.

She moves forward,

begins to sing...

6 months later, it was war.

The German Army
camped on the Champs-Elysées.

While Paris suffered,

the whole world was sick in the head.

And it was
Mr.Thiers who governed France.

Gentlemen, our country
has just crossed

the most unhappy period,
the most tragic in its history.

First, there was a war.

Then there was the Commune.

More horrific perhaps than the war.

Having caused the dethronement
of the emperor Napoleon III

and his dynasty,
I had to conclude the peace.

The National Assembly, by declaring
that which I had deserved from my country,

gave me the greatest recompense.

To pay
the indemnity of 5 million,

imposed by Germany,
I had to make a new loan.

Now, gentlemen,
I have the joy to announce

that in 6 hours,
the loan has been covered 13 times!

The total subscriptions
raised reaches 42 billion.

And the liberation of territory
moved forward 2 years.

As of today,
the republic is proclaimed.

And governments that followed

at a vertiginous rate.
We have counted 103.

For the III Republic.
- They did not stay long.

Nevertheless, they did everything,
already in that epoch!

Ah, that one! He was not
content to construct

the Arc of Triumph
and 63 fountains in Paris.

He did better
by creating the Légion of Honour.

Ah, that little red ribbon!

With each new ministery,
I sell it by the metre,

it's that easy.

Calm down, gentlemen.
There will be some for everyone.

And thereafter, we have seen
that the idea, in principle,

was not so bad.

Tell me, what do
you think of the new government?

Well, composed in this way,
he is assured of a majority.

President of the Council
and his ministers.

General Boulanger,
was he someone?

No, he failed to become someone.

There was only one refrain.

Me, I can only admire
our brave General Boulanger.

Lively and content,
we were triumphant,

going to Longchamp,
hearts at ease.

Without hesitation,
because we went to fête,

see and cheer
the French Army!

A carriage trotted along,
yellow with a white horse.

It's delicious! It went very well
with the metro style.

It's lovely, this style?
- Delightful.

It was awful!
- Modern.

Louis XVI would have liked
a modern Petit Trianon?

It was good, the Belle Époque, then?

The Belle Époque..
They infuriate us with that!

The Belle Époque, my child,

this will always be when
we were 20 years old!

And when was that for you?

When I was 20 years old...

we did not realise

what we were without.
I know Paris without electricity,

without cinema, nor even the telephone!

And without a single automobile!

First, I saw her.
I even rose up within her.

But the day before the day I saw her,

imagine that in the Alley of Acacias,

in the bois de Boulogne, there were
carriages, landaus,

tilburys, victorias...

And in these victorias,
landaus, carriages,

there were nothing but pretty women!

And it was a sight to see.

Émilienne d'Alençon was making
a beautiful smile at Liane de Pougy.

Prince Trubetskoy
greeted the Marquis de Beauvoir.

Cléo de Mérode was pretending
not to see Baronness d'Ange.

Sem was drawing,
Forain was making words.

And the prettiest, the youngest
of us, laughed out loud,

because Henry Bernstein
and Baron de Vere

they fought a duel over her.

You can laugh at our hats
and our turns of phrase,

but they suited us very well!

I agree, that on your motorcycles,

it must seem very old-fashioned.

But how would you look in the carriage

of Marquise de Morny?

And don't mock the men's moustaches.

It was with them your grand-fathers

courted your grand-mothers.

It was Zola who saved him,
because he was guilty,

it is a fact!
- That was never proved!

It was because he was Jewish
that he was put in prison

and he was imprisoned!
- Withdraw it,

and you'll get my fist in your mouth!

Hey, over there!
There are ways of conducting yourself!

Gentlemen, the Dreyfus Affair
starts again more beautifully!

We do not yet know the truth.

We all know he was innocent.

I'm free to doubt it.

And it lasted 12 years.

One year more than the
than the reign of Napoléon.

It's appalling.
- Yes.

But there is not another
city in the world

where they would fight like this,
for the victory of truth.

In short,
these two women, they were

what we call coquettes.
- Or courtesans.

Or hétaïres.
Their sort has disappeared.

Why?
- Wives are cheaper!

Paris, at that epoch,
was the city

where was made the best love
and cuisine!

If I told you that in 1885,
I saw,

Considerable advantage to be able
to say: "I've seen it"!

And you, what did you see with
with your eyes, of 20 years?

Well, do you remember
a tavern,

where they made the black market,
in 1387,

under the English occupation?

Of course!
- Well, you know...

We know.
- You know that in 1663,

one morning, early...
- Well, tell us!

What are you doing here?
- I'm drawing, madame.

You're drawing?
- Yes.

I'm making a portrait of your tavern.

I was here very early,

so as not to put off
your potential customers.

Say, that's not bad at all,
what you've done there.

What's your name?
- Jacques Callot, madame.

Jacques Callot?
- Yes.

You can see that we can be unknown
and at the same time have talent!

The admirable drawing of Callot,
we have to see him again.

200 years later, it served as a model.

Ah, my friend, nothing more.
A silence of death.

I dare not look.

It's too strong!

Yes?

Our demon
is as gentle as an apostle.

When we are struck on one nostril,
we offer the other.

We can talk about his nose, now.

Eh! Lise! You'll see.
Oh, oh! It's surprising.

What a smell!

What sir must have sniffed it?

What does it feel like here?

Wallflower!

That evening, 28 December 1897,

we are attending
the first performance

of "Cyrano de Bergerac".

A blessed time

for the theatre.

14 March 1900,
Sarah Bernhardt created "L'Aiglon"

and proclaimed that the belief
of kissing France on the mouth

when we are loved by Paris.

A month later:
the première of "Louise".

Paris is celebrating.

Paris...

At the Comédie Française
for 3 centuries,

Mascarille claimed...
- Outside Paris,

there is no salvation
for honest people.

At the Odéon, we heard...
- We only live in Paris

and we vegetate elsewhere!
- From then, Paris became

the anvil of reknown.

Who hasn't sung,

danced

spoken in Paris,

hasn't

sung

talked

nor danced.

There, we lived 20 radiant years.

The Entente Cordiale
and the Franco-Russian Alliance

brought to France
a great appeasement.

The universal exposition of 1900

seemed to
be the consequence.

France seemed to
be the whole world:

you look at me
when I'm happy.

O noble citizens,

charming citizens!

O noble citizens,
charming citizens!

Approach, please.

And come to admire
the most surprising phenomenon

we have discovered on earth.

No, don't look at
the gap in the curtains.

This is not where he is.
You turn your back on him.

It doesn't matter
which one of you.

And I prove it,
because it was by chance

that my index finger found him.

Me?
- Yes, you, sir.

You, yes. I've appointed you.

Come, sir, come.

You must resign yourself,
come, let them look at you.

Climb slowly.

Be careful, take care.

Take the trouble.

Remove your hat.

Put it aside.

Here is the amazing phenomenon,
unheard of, of whom I spoke to you!

Average forehead.

Average nose.

Job...
- Bof...

Average.

Average mouth.

Not satisfied, by the way.

And then, he smiled.

Therefore, this phenomenon,
it's the average Frenchman,

when he is from Paris!

He thinks himself very clever,
but when you know how to,

we can prescibe everything for him,
we can defend everything for him.

Stuff him, like a turkey,

providing
he reads it in the newspapers.

Ah, the newspapers, gentlemen,
he believes them tenaciously!

He's a man who wants to believe
every leaflet.

To whom they say:
"Stuff that in your head!",

..and let it sink in!

He's not stupid.

He is respectful of institutions.

He even believes in honours,
in decorations.

He is in truth
candid and subaltern.

He believes that
governments govern,

that ministers administer,

and that presidents preside.

But what makes him truly
phenomenal, this phenomenon,

is that in spite of his faults,
he will always get away with it,

thanks to the acute sense he has,
that he inherited from Molière,

thanks to that taste for grandness,

which comes from a
prestigious, sublime past.

Thanks to that sense of the ridiculous,

that is the legacy of Voltaire,

and I've known you for
such a long time!

Huh?
-600 years, my friend!

600 years that I have been singing

and that I've wandered through
the streets of Paris.

Lady, the great-great-great
grand-father of my grand-father

has been found.
- OH!

In our family, we are found,

we are found from father to son.

In our family,
we've spoken in verse, since 1436.

The time of Chez Maxim's and of Mayol.

It is also the time of another Maillol.

It is the time of the
Moulin Rouge, don't forget!

Do you really remember?

They were enraged!

And Pasteur discovered
a serum that cured rabies.

Let us not forget.

I admit that for some people,
Paris is

a dozen nightclubs
with a negro orchestra

and epileptic,

but all the same, Renoir,

Toulouse-Lautrec,

Cézanne,

Rodin,

Rodin,

Rodin,

are also Paris!

Just like Fantin-Latour.

Or like Juillard.

And in the same way
that the quays of the Seine,

or the Hôtel of Cluny.

And we had our preferences, then.

And if we didn't like the
dance of the inverted,

we were going to applaud

the admirable Bruant of Montmartre.
The poster is by Lautrec.

Daddy was a rabbit,
who was called J.-B. Chopin,

and had his domicile at Belleville.

In the evening, with his family,
he was swanning, singing,

from the heights of Courtille
in Ménilmontant.

IN MENILMONTANT.

He drank so little one evening,
that he was found in the gutter,

he was buried tranquilly, in Belleville.

They put him in the clay soil,
for an exorbitant price,

at the top of Père-Lachaise,

..in Ménilmontant.
- IN MENILMONTANT.

You have sent me two floozies
to make sure I'll be a cuckold!

Since it's me who is

the natural procurer
of my little sister,

who is the friend of little Cécile,
in Belleville,

who is pimped
by her big brother,

who is called Eloi Constant,
who never knew his father,

in Ménilmontant.
- IN MENILMONTANT.

My sister is with Eloi,
whose sister is with me.

The evening, on the boulevard,
I offer her, in Belleville.

That way, I don't do too bad.

My brother-in-law gains so much,

because he offers
my sister Thérèse, in Ménilmontant.

IN MENILMONTANT!

But since we are in
Montmartre, let's stay there.

And let's see Place du Tertre,

a small village square,
that couldn't be anywhere but Montmartre,

which itself couldn't
be anywhere other in Paris.

I will say even
that they are necessary.

At dawn, a painter is there, working,

a poet who dreams,
two beings who adore themselves.

Some hours later,
the square is full.

The curious, Parisians, foreigners,
they come from all over.

And despite the noise of motors,
the conversations..

and the noise of laughter,
we still notice

the two
who adore each other,

a working painter,
and him there, it's Utrillo,

the painter of Paris.

A poet who dreams,

and it's Paul Fort.

While Utrillo,
alone in the world,

isolated in the noise,
makes a new masterpiece,

without doubt he makes his
final masterpiece,

the prince of poets,
like Villon and Verlaine,

rereads the verses that
he has written

and that immortalise him.

If all the girls in the world
would give their hand,

across the sea,
they could circle the world.

If all the guys in the world
would become sailors,

they would make, with their boats,
a pretty bridge over the water.

So, we could make

a circle around the world,

if all the people in the world
would lend their hand.

And when evening descends,
we still discovers

a painter who works,
a poet who dreams,

two beings who adore each other.

Let's follow them, those two.

Where are they going?

They are going to view Paris.

They will stay there
for hours if necessary.

To see how night
descends on a great city.

Well, to celebrate it,
this evening, let's illuminate it.

Let's illuminate the Emperor.

Let's illuminate Joan of Arc.

Let's illuminate the singular man.

Let's illuminate a great man.

You, Panthéon,
be as luminous as Voltaire.

Illuminate
for music and for dance.

Illuminate for Molière.

And so that the good God
preserves her for ever.