Histoires extraordinaires à faire peur ou à faire rire... (1949) - full transcript

God Almighty, creator of nature,
Master of Heaven and Earth and of Kings,

see down here Man, your creature,
criminally destroying your laws.

A man, seeing your adorable image,
but disregarding your goodness,

had conceived, in his perfidious fury,
the project of slaughtering the Shepherdess of Ivry.

In the meadow by the river
Young Aimée was leading her flock,

when the child who was following her
saw her horrible executioner coming.

Seeing the object of his guilty passion
paying him with a well-deserved contempt,

the hideous monster decided in his soul
to murder the Maid of Ivry.

When she saw him, the heart of the Shepherdess
tightened and her eyes shed tears,

and her hand dropped on the fern
her holy book and her bunch of flowers.

"Come, fear not," he said,
"Grant my love its prize.”



As she refused, the monster with a knife
murdered the Shepherdess of Ivry.

When the victim fell,
struck with four inhuman stab wounds,

from Heaven the Magnanimous Master
frightened the murderer with his thunder.

Near her dog, the dying Maid,
getting the sweet price of her virtue,

let out of her mouth, in a last breath:
"God, protect the Shepherdess of Ivry."

Since the day of this hideous murder,
on the meadow where her flock grazed,

a whole nation, cursing the culprit,
raised a tomb for the Shepherdess.

Don't look for bronze or marble.
There's just a cross, all the more precious.

And you can read on the bark of a tree:
"Passer-by, pray for the Maid of Ivry."

He's going to scare our rookie
to death with all those crime stories.

On his first day here!

Well! He's bound to see much more!

Sing another one. You've got plenty of time.

I'm finished, Captain.



Stop kidding me, will you?
Don't tell me you're tired!

You keep singing your
laments from dawn to dusk.

- Yes, to sell them!
- Sell them?

And what's that, tell me?

Last year, you lost your license because
you were carrying political pamphlets against tyrants.

Six months ago, you were carrying
matches. Tomorrow it will be bombs!

I can explain, Captain.

You'll explain to the Peace Officer.

You didn't sing this one. Sing!

Close that window, young man,
or we'll get a chest infection!

They take just anybody now.

Excuse me.

It would be hard finding anybody more stupid than you.
I'll have a word with the prefect.

When you're breathless, maybe you'll let
your delinquent sing the last one!

So?

"A remarkable report on hideous acts
committed by bandits in disguise.”

Long live the Emperor!

How clever!

It's too much honor, gentlemen.

Doesn't he look like him?

Aren't you relatives?

You already said that last time you
visited us. You want to flatter me?

What the heck are you
here for this time?

This scoundrel now sells
engravings... of a special kind.

Dugelay, come on! You're calling
Fragonard a pornographer?

Ill have to teach you
a few things. You go away!

And don't hang around here or Mr. Dugelay
will end up booking a bed for you in jail.

Goodbye!

So, here's our new colleague. You look nervous.
How do you like your new condition?

It's so sad, sir.
What a job you have!

Starting today, it's your job too.

We've tried to tell him
what's in store for him.

It will be difficult for him to get started.
He's the sensitive type.

The story of the Shepherdess
of Ivry upset him!

What if he had heard the story of
Guillaume the Cutthroat?

Dear old Guillaume!

It's a pity you won't meet this
frightful murderer, a killer by taste,

for whom murder was one of the fine arts.

How can you speak like that about that scum?
A murderer is a murderer!

My dear Dugelay, no one is more
attached to morality than I am.

And a murderer can by
no means be an honest man.

The principles of a murderer
are always twisted.

People are beginning to understand that a
beautiful murder is more than two morons,

the murderer and the victim,
a knife, a purse, and a dark alley.

If the prefect should hear you, you seem to
say that we would be partners in crime!

Not you, Dugelay, not you.
Yours is definitely a victim's face.

He's like any newspaper reader;
as long as there's blood, he'll be pleased.

An intelligent man asks for more.

Yes, you once said the future victim
must be in good health!

It would be a useless and
barbaric act to kill a sick person!

Exactly! A true amateur must
behave humanely!

You kidding? To be killed, whether
humanely or not, is to be killed!

No, Dugelay. It all depends on how.
And Guillaume knew how.

He wasn't your usual Killer.
Newspapers called him “The Bloody Hound.'

Headlines like that!
'Ruthless criminal terrifies the city.'

His victims were always young women,
and they all had the same wounds.

Throat cut, belly ripped!

How to summarize the population's
feelings... Indignation here, horror there—

Yes, some women were literally
scared to death by tramps-

Who were but petty thieves.

Upset by the stories they had read in all those newspapers,
they believed any of those poor guys could be the Ladykiller.

There was a pause after the fifth murder.

Rumor had it that the murderer had left Paris.

He was in fact resting in the heart of the city,
preparing a sensational response to the newspapers

that had made him a countryside lover.

There it is. Miss Léontine's statement,
the day before Christmas Eve.

A very courageous young lady.

The other residents had left Mesdemoiselle
Fontenay's boarding house in the morning.

My sister and I could only leave
the day after to go back home,

as the connection between the coach
and the train only worked twice a week.

Miss Josephine Fontenay, too,
had gone to accompany young boarders.

So we spent the day with poor Miss Aglaé.

After dinner, to occupy us,
she had us practice our piano.

Well into the night, Miss Aglaé said:

Enough for tonight, young ladies.
We are past bedtime.

If my sister Joséphine were here—

She would scold you!

Yes, she would.

Shall we close the shutters, Miss?

My goodness, you're right! But I told
Augustine to close them before leaving!

She must have forgotten!
With this monster at large...

Didn't the police catch him?

Come on, little Eugénie,
close the shutters.

A young lady like you shouldn't be allowed
to know such abominable monsters exist.

Alas! Times have changed!

While closing the shutters, I noticed
a man standing under the lamppost.

But as soon as he saw me,
he slowly walked away.

I guess he didn't want to expose his face.

- Goodnight, Miss Aglaé.
- Goodnight, young ladies.

My young sister Eugénie is very sensitive.

I hadn't told her about the fears
I had experienced the day before.

I thought I had heard footsteps
on the staircase.

I had fallen asleep very late,
assailed by undefined fears.

But Eugenie seemed to be carefree
and she was about to go to bed.

While I was finishing braiding my hair,
a great shiver ran through me.

I could hear the same noise, but less
distinctly than the night before.

It's freezing cold tonight, Léontine.
We don't have enough blankets.

You're right. I'll get our coats
from the wardrobe.

No, I'll do it, Léontine.

No, I'll get them while you
get undressed.

Be careful.

Are you going downstairs in
your nightdress?

What if you bump into Miss Aglaé?

"Miss Léontine, you'll get a zero in
behavior at the end of the term."

You go then. But careful with your
candle and be quick!

I, too, was worried, thinking about that
criminal everybody was talking about.

But, as I didn't want my sister to share
my fears, I got out and listened.

The house was silent. To give myself
courage, I decided to sing.

But in order not to wake up Miss Aglaé,
I just hummed the Weber tune

that we had studied a few days before.

I felt it would be like a shield for me.

My sister Léontine was coming down.

What was I to do? Wave at her?
Shout in terror?

Let the man in the wardrobe know
he'd been discovered?

How could we escape?

Have you found my coat? I thought
I'd left it in the vestibule.

- No, it's in there.
- I'll take it.

No, here we are.

The younger one is always smarter,
as Miss Joséphine would say.

Funny being here in the middle of the night.

How quiet our dance room is!

We won't dance again with our
friends for many weeks.

Léontine, do you remember
the steps we studied?

You're
crazy!

Eugénie!

Eugénie!

Eugénie! Answer me!

He is going to kill us!
The lock won't hold.

Keep quiet! Don't shout!

There's no rush, sweethearts.
Guillaume will wait.

Guillaume is as patient as the Devil.
You don't know me yet.

Don't try to cry for help, sweethearts.

Such recklessness would be fatal.
You won't escape. I'll be back.

I've got plenty of time.
Rushing is detrimental to pleasure.

Let's shout, Léontine!
Let's run away!

By the time somebody comes
to help us, we'll be dead!

You crazy? We are going to kill ourselves!
We're more than twenty feet high.

The small trunk.

Against the door.

Eugénie!

If Guillaume had been capable of killing
without inflicting a slow moral agony on his victims,

the situation would have been hopeless.

But he wants to derive as much pleasure as
possible from every single step of his crimes,

starting with refined torment, and this ultra-diabolical
wickedness may give the girls a chance to escape.

By playing the piano, he indicates where he is in the house,
which offers the girls some kind of safety.

We can't see well enough.
The rope is too short. Get another sheet, Eugénie.

Our artist has a hunch there may be,
apart from the two girls,

somebody in the house
who could get in his way.

The piano will be like the song of the sirens.

He's sure that his music will attract the appealing throat
which must be upstairs, or maybe on the ground floor.

I can't believe it! Someone is playing
the piano at this time of night!

Girls, you must be out of your minds!
You're playing the piano now!

- You first, Eugénie!
- No, you're the better sister.

If you were in trouble while I ran off—

Eugénie, you're the smarter one, the lighter one.
While I get down, you'll seek help.

Think of Miss Aglaé.

My goodness me!
She's going to fall!

Gentlemen, please come and save my sister.
The killer is up there!

Just because you're on holiday doesn't
mean you can do anything you want.

Won't you go to bed?

You don't know how exhausting it is to spend a whole day
on a train and in a stagecoach, on soggy roads!

You're not serious!
You've turned on the gas!

No use hiding!

Léontine! Eugénie!

Oh! My Lord!

- He must still be inside.
- He'll pay for it! What a monster!

Léontine! Get down!

The sheet goes down to the
first floor window. Get down!

Guillaume has enough time left to run
away and save his abominable life.

Let his good angel guide him
and his prosperity is assured.

But there are still very appealing throats
on the second floor... No! Not possible.

Well, that's what he believes.
You must stick to your principles.

Never ignore a good throat.

How could he leave their throats to these
treacherous girls? Business is business.

And this is why Mr. Guillaume, the bloodthirsty wolf,
puts at stake all the profit of his night.

The vampire is still inside!

Wait! Wait, Miss!
Don't go upstairs alone!

Stop it, all of you! Wait, Miss!

Help! Help!

My little Léontine!

Feeling better now, aren't you?

Léontine! My dear little sister!

- Come now, Dugelay!
- Yes, brigadier.

- He won't make it!
- Quiet, for God's sake!

Don't speak all at once!
The Killer is trapped.

He is going to try to escape,
but we'll hear him. Search each room.

How awful!

Hard luck! He had to cut a throat,
but the only one he could find today was his!

What a pain in the neck!

Have you ever heard such a
frightening story, dear rookie?

But not all criminals look frightening.

That would be too easy!

Any new Guillaume with a blatant criminal face
could be arrested by any policeman!

Dugelay!

- The new Rocambole episode.
- Thanks, little man!

You didn't pay for your paper, Dugelay.
Did you? Conduct unbecoming.

This gentleman can be bought!

- Oh! For a penny!
- A penny is a penny.

- I'm not Scottish!
- Let him read his serial, Lafarge!

You must admit Guillaume had a strange face.
But some murderers look like you or me.

- Yes.
- No, not you, Dugelay. You're an exception.

No one could suspect you.

You'd never have guessed a monster was
hidden in a very respectable young man.

Not the slightest hint.

And he certainly didn't have this ideal of
murder which our poets claim Guillaume had.

He wasn't of that league.

A defect ruled him out of the
legion of demons.

You could see nothing but this defect in his eyes.

True, I am nervous. I've always been. Dreadfully nervous.
But why will you say I am mad?

My disease has sharpened my senses-
not destroyed- not dulled them.

Observe how healthily and how
calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how
the idea entered my brain.

But once conceived, it haunted me day and night.

Thanks, dear.

Have you got the medal?

Object there was none.
Passion there was none.

I loved the old man.
He had never given me an insult.

For his gold, I had no desire.
I think it was his eye.

Look! This medal is unique.

Yes, a pale blue eye, with a film over it.

Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold.

And so by degrees, very gradually, I made
up my mind to take the life of the old man,

and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad.
Madmen know nothing.

You should have seen how wisely I proceeded, with what caution,
with what foresight, with what dissimulation I went to work!

I was never kinder to the old man than
during the whole week before I killed him.

Every morning, when the day broke,

when the old man was about to have some breakfast,
I went boldly into his room.

And every night, about midnight, very gently,
I turned the latch of his door and opened it.

You would have laughed to see how cunningly
I would cross the threshold, so slowly.

Then I would open the lantern, very cautiously,
so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep.

I did know where his bed was, but I had the ray follow
a familiar path so that it landed right on the vulture eye.

And I would wait till the dawn's glow
drowned the light of the lantern.

Ha! Would a madman have been as wise as this?

And this I did for seven long nights.
But I found the eye always closed.

And so it was impossible to do the work, for it was
not the old man who vexed me, but his evil eye.

Upon the eighth night... Never before that night had
I felt the extent of my powers, of my sagacity.

I scarcely contained my feelings of triumph.

To think there I was opening the door, little by little,
and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts.

I fairly chuckled at the idea.

Who's there?

I knew what the old man felt and
pitied him, although I chuckled at heart.

I knew that he had been lying awake since
the first slight noise and, for all his efforts,

he hadn't be able to convince himself
his fear was unfounded.

He'd been trying to comfort himself. "It's only a
mouse crossing the floor." To no avail.

Death, in approaching him, had stalked with
his black shadow upon him, and enveloped his victim.

When I had waited a long time,
I slightly opened the lantern.

The pale ray fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open. Wide open.

And I grew furious. I saw it with perfect distinctness.

All a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it
that chilled the very marrow in my bones.

A thumping noise reached my ears.
The beating of his heart.

Yet I refrained and kept still.

But now a new anxiety seized me,
the sound would be heard by a neighbor!

I thought his heart must burst.
His hour had come.

Help! Help! Help me!

I had completed the first part of my task.

I put my ear on his chest. No heartbeat.

The old man was dead. Stone dead.

I smiled, happy that his eye would
trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer
when I describe the wise precautions

I took for the concealment of the body.

The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.

I cut off the head, then the arms, then the legs.

There was nothing to wash out.
No stain of any kind or blood spot whatsoever.

A tub had caught all!

I took up three planks from the flooring,
and I concealed all underneath,

so cleverly, so cunningly no human eye, not even his,
could have detected any thing wrong.

Is this the house of Monsieur Pelletan?

Yes, but he won't be able to receive you,
as he is absent in the country.

Can I help you?

We are sorry to bother you,
but we must visit your house.

Why?

Your neighbors heard a shriek
during the night and suspect foul play.

- You sure it was in this house?
- That's what they told us.

How strange! I am alone here.

Maybe the shriek was my own in a dream.
Well, please come in.

Here are all the treasures of my old friend.

Undisturbed?

No wonder. No one has come
into this room since he left.

- So, Nicolas?
- Nothing.

Did you have a close look at everything?

I'll be hanged if a crime was committed
inside these walls. Don't you agree, Lafarge?

Gentlemen, I am pleased that
I have allayed your suspicions.

Thanks for your courtesy.

One moment, please. My old friend has
received a sherry I'd like you to taste.

Thank you.

Cheers!

- Velvety!
- Excellent!

I am happy you like it.
Please take a seat.

Water! Who wants fresh water?

Lafarge, you'll summon the author
of this preposterous statement.

Never mind. That chap was
certainly acting in good faith.

True enough. Since the murders
in the Rue Morgue,

people are very nervous.

See, the other night, an old spinster shows up—

Mr. Lafarge would have paid much more
attention if it had been a nice young lady.

Suddenly, I realized I wasn't hearing
the officers anymore, though they were talking.

So, although I had a very sharp ear, I found
myself in the midst of a frightening silence.

I felt I was growing very pale.

And I wanted them to leave. My head was aching.
My ears were ringing.

But they remained seated and kept talking.

But I couldn't hear them.

And my ears were ringing more,
except it wasn't my ears.

It was a thud, repeated, like the noise a watch
wrapped in cotton wool would make.

Louder, louder. The officers were not hearing it yet.

Why wouldn't they leave?

I couldn't believe it when the fattest of them all
came back, sat down, and froze like an automaton.

What were they hoping for,
smiling stupidly like wax figures?

Nothing could be more intolerable
than those smiles.

I was exasperated.
Why would they not be gone?

And the noise was getting louder and louder.

Oh God! What could I do?

I paced the floor to and fro, with great strides,
annoyed by those people watching me, furious.

And the noise steadily increased.
I swung the chair.

I grated it on the boards.
But the noise grew louder, louder, louder...

Was it possible they heard not?

They heard, but they were
making a mockery of my horror.

And they kept smiling, with those
hypocritical smiles I could bear no longer.

I felt I must scream or die.

Villains! Dissemble no more!
I admit the deed! Tear up the planks!

Here, here! It is the
beating of his hideous heart!

That's how it all happened.
You see, I am not crazy.

You can hear it yourself, in fact.
Don't you hear it?

Louder, louder yet...

Can't you hear it now?
It won't ever stop. Never ever.

Even in the police station, this demon kept
hearing his victim's heart.

You can visit him at the Charenton madhouse
on Sunday, between one and three PM.

Pay him a visit.
He's still in the same state.

He won't shut up!

- Look at yourself. Aren't you ashamed?
- Blame it on Mexico.

I enrolled. I couldn't go to war,
so far away, with a dry throat!

It's so far, Mexico...

So, I drank a flagon, maybe
a couple of flagons. Your Majesty!

I'll go around the world.
And I'll come back with a savage in a cage.

I am leaving a wife and two kids behind me.

That's enough!

He's a soldier now.
He can sleep at the military prison!

Right now, come and sleep in our lounge!

Hey! How energetic, our little soldier!

A savage. In a cage.

Don't you feel tired? Come here.

I want to go to Mexico. I am going!

Leave me alone.
I won't bring you a savage.

I'll complain to the prefect.

Bastards!

Won't you shut up, for God's sake?

Where were we? Ah!

The story of our merry madman made me think of another
crazy story, with a guy in a jester's attire.

And he was the victim.

The unknown man in the catacombs?

We would never have found his
skeleton without the murderer's concern!

One morning, in his mail, the commissioner found
a few odd sheets with a bloody cross as a signature.

- Red ink.
- How meticulous you are!

It said: "Go to the catacombs."

"If you go into the underground cemetery
through the cellar of abandoned house #1086,

see enclosed map, you'll find
the remains of my friend Fortunato."

We had a good laugh
hearing this funny name!

He had written this letter before dying so that his
victim could have a proper Christian burial.

- A good man!
- Come on, Dugelay!

The rest of his confession indicated he wanted his
delicate work of art not to remain unknown.

Of course! He hadn't had the pleasure of hearing
newspaper readers shout, "Good! Excellent! Charming!"

Remember, the first words of his confession were:
"I had to take revenge."

"But my decision was so perfect
it had to rule out any danger.

I had to take revenge, but with impunity.”

What a good memory you have!

It depends how much you like your job!

Don't forget the wine!

True. He insisted that this guy Fortunato
claimed to be a wine connoisseur.

It's about dusk, one evening during the
supreme madness of the carnival season,

when square dances become frantic.

A domino seems to pay a very intense attention to the
circle of masques surrounding a man disguised as a jester.

Parti-striped dress, with small bells.
This man is Fortunato.

Faithful to his reputation, he is drunk
and he is lurching merrily.

But while masques are fooling around innocently,
the heart of the domino,

a former friend of Fortunato, is full of devilish feeling.

The time has come to execute his hellish plan.

He's about to accost the Jester
with excessive warmth.

My dear Fortunato!

Fortunato!

Gaston!

You are luckily met. How remarkably
well you are looking today.

I am fine.

But I have received a pipe of what
passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.

How? Amontillado, a pipe? In the
middle of the carnival!

I have my doubts. I was silly enough to pay the full
Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter.

You were not to be found, and I
was fearful of losing a bargain.

- Amontillado!
- I have my doubts.

- Amontillado!
- And I must satisfy them.

- Amontillado!
- I perceive you have an engagement. I'll find Lucas—

Lucas can't tell
Amontillado from Sherry.

And yet some fools will have it that
his taste is a match for your own.

- Come, let us go.
- Whither?

- To your vaults.
- My friend, no. I will not impose upon your good nature.

I perceive you have an engagement. Lucas-
- I have no engagement!

It is not the engagement, but the severe cold
with which I perceive you are afflicted.

The vaults are insufferably damp.
They are encrusted with nitre.

The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado!

You have been imposed upon. And as for Lucas,
he cannot distinguish Amontillado from Sherry.

Well, since you are kind enough to-
Let's take my coach.

I didn't know you had this.

It's a cab, my friend. I came out incognito.

Keep the change.

I had never entered your house via the
back door. It's funny. Incognito!

Your attendants?

I gave them leave so they can
make merry in honor of the time.

Be cautious. The staircase is slippery.

The cask of Amontillado?

It is farther on. But observe the white web-work
which gleams from these cavern walls. The nitre.

Nitre?

Nitre!

Saltpetre, if you prefer.

How long have you had that cough?

It is nothing.

Come, we will go back.
Your health is precious.

You are rich, respected, admired,
beloved. You are happy, as once I was.

You are a man to be missed.
For me it is no matter.

We will go back. You will be ill.
Besides, there is Lucas-

Enough! The cough's a mere nothing.
I shall not die of a cough.

True, true. I had no intention of alarming you
unnecessarily, but you should use all proper caution.

A draught of this Médoc will
defend us from the damps.

I drink to the buried that repose around us.

And I, to your long life.

These vaults are extensive.

The Montresors were a great
and numerous family.

I forget your arms.

A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure;
the foot crushes a serpent rampant

whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.

And the motto?

No one provokes me with impunity.

The nitre! See, it increases.

It hangs like moss upon the vaults.

The drops of moisture trickle among the bones.

Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough-

It is nothing, let us go on. But first,
another draught of the Médoc.

Bravo!

- You do not comprehend?
- Not I.

- Then you are not of the brotherhood.
- How?

- You are not of the masons.
- Yes, yes, yes, yes.

-You? A mason?
- A mason.

- A sign!
- It is this.

You jest! But let us proceed
to the Amontillado.

Be it so!

The Montresors were a very big family.

You mean a huge family, dear Fortunato.
Please, step forward.

Proceed. Herein is the Amontillado.
As for Lucas—

Lucas is an ignoramus!

It's here, isn't it?

Where is it?

Pass your hand over the wall.
You cannot help feeling the nitre.

Indeed, it is very damp.

Once more let me implore
you to return.

No? Then I must positively leave you.

But I must first render you all
the little attentions in my power.

Excuse me, I thought you were drunk.

I think we've just hit
the proverbial brick wall...

Ha! ha! ha! A very good joke,
indeed an excellent jest.

We will have many a rich laugh about it
at the palazzo- Ha! Ha! Ha! Over our wine!

The Amontillado!

Yes, the Amontillado. But is it not
getting late? Let us be gone.

Yes, let us be gone.

But first, I'd like you to meditate on my motto:

No one provokes me with impunity.

He that sews thistles shall reap prickles.

For the love of God, Montresor!

Yes, for the love of God!

Fortunato!

Fortunato!

"I then examined my work, satisfied. For such an amateur
and hastened work, the masonry was very suitable.

Fortunato could rest in peace.

My heart grew sick, but it was the dampness of the
catacombs that made it so." Thus ended the confession.

The only unpleasant incident of that evening!

A well-conceived plan!

To achieve this fine result, the artist
had left no stone unturned!

Well, dampness was particularly bad for his friend!

He knew how to use his foible!

The bottle can be the honest
man's worst enemy.

Honest? Fortunato may well
have been a scoundrel!

We'll never know.

Of course! A skeleton. A jester's outfit.

Fake names. No hint. No one was
ever able to identify the victim.

As for the murderer, dream on...

I wonder what that Fortunato guy
could have done to him.

Maybe he couldn't accept the idea
someone knew wines better than he did.

Foreign wines, like those our friend at
the Charenton madhouse was so fond of!

Speaking of drinks, do you like good wines?

Like any honest man.

Chateau-Margaux?

We will drink a good bottle of that one.
What's the time, Dugelay?

A quarter past seven.

So, before we go out on night rounds,
I can reveal the secret of the enginery

that effected the Précy miracle.

The one, the true miracle, which put a definite
end to infidelity among the inhabitants of Précy.

You mean the case of the
old Englishman?

The murderer was never judged, and yet
you were in Précy. For special parties, I guess.

I was there on holiday, at my aunt Héloise's.

You kept a very low profile. But I am sure
you must have helped the gendarmes.

Won't you let him tell us his story?

Thanks, Lafarge. Dugelay's sulking.
We're at ease.

Yes, it is the case of the old Englishman.

For quite a few years he'd
been living in a large house,

with a good fortune and a good reputation.

I seem to remember his name
was Barnabas Shuttleworthy.

He only had one servant, but stylish, distinguished
and quiet— the kind you only find in England.

Barnabas had a friend, an “old friend', he said, whom he'd got to
know a little while after settling in the village, Charles Truffaulit.

As he lived nearby, Charles would
very often visit Barnabas

and they would celebrate life
with good food.

Truffault's manners, those of a bon vivant
with no malice, justified his title of 'old friend.'

His ingenuous face was the very
'best letter of recommendation.'

Dear old Charley, I never had a friend like you,
capable of laughing and drinking like you do.

Follow his example, Arnold. I'd like your ever so
gloomy face to turn into a friend's face too.

Look at him, Charley. He's got the mark of
all his dirty tricks, of all his sins upon his face.

Good old Charley, since you like Chateau-Margaux
so much, I'll offer you a big box of bottles.

As if your cellar wasn't enough
to get this hanger-on drunk?

You rogue, will you take back-

You'd have to cut my tongue off to stop me from saying
what I think of a parasite like you. Yes, parasite.

Everything here is yours- the table, the cellar, your garments,
your pants. He would take the walls away if he could.

Shut up, you rascal! This is my house.
And it'll never be yours, even when I am dead.

I am sorry, Truffault. I'll disinherit him.

I'll go and see my solicitor in Creil tomorrow
to cross him out of my will.

How could you?

Excuse me, Charley, but you don't choose your son.
And this scoundrel is just my nephew, so...

But this house will always be open to you, Charley.
See you tomorrow, my good friend.

See you tomorrow, dear Barnabas.

The morning after, Francois, the devoted servant,
had saddled his master's pony very early.

It was a shady pony, but Barnabas
liked it a lot because of its small size.

Mr. Shuttleworthy left the village after letting
Francois know he would come back in the evening.

But only five hours after he'd left,
the horse came back alone,

and without the saddlebags which contained
the money he was supposed to deposit in Crelil.

The pony moved like a sick or wounded animal.

Anxiety in Truffault's heart, as painful
as if he'd been torn by a cannonball.

Francois, Francois, come out! Quick!

What's the matter, Mr. Truffault?

Something must have happened to Barnabas!

Look at his pony, covered with mud.
Foul play!

The saddlebags are missing.

And look at this wound, Francois.

It's deep. I'll take him back to the stable.

What's happening?

Barnabas, poor Barnabas...

What happened to Mr. Shuttleworthy?

I don't know. His horse is wounded.

I saw Mr. Shuttleworthy leave on horseback,
and the animal has come back alone.

We must go in search of him.
Maybe he's sick.

He's bleeding!

Cut off the strap. It's the easiest way.

Gentlemen, let's go and look for my uncle.

Didn't he take the St. Nicolas shortcut?

No, I'm sure he took the main road.

No need to panic, my friends.
The animal is restive.

Let the seekers distribute themselves in parties
for a thorough examination of the region.

This animal is so capricious. Maybe Barnabas beat it,
after a fall, and is now just walking back home.

Let's go! Hurry!

Listen, my friends! Keep hope.
Listen to reason, like I do.

You don't have to join us!

You know that nobody would be
happier than me to find Barnabas!

Of course; no Barnabas, no bottle! Come on!
Every minute wasted reduces the chances of finding him alive.

What makes you think your
uncle is in mortal danger?

Stop it, you parasite!

A corpse! That's what this rogue
would like to find!

- Will you shut up?
- Look at this scoundrel who won't hear the truth.

Pull them apart!

Well done! I can't follow you now.
Murderer! Yes, you murderer!

I can't walk anymore.
Maybe my leg is broken.

The people of Précy would not have made a stir
in the business, but for the interference of Arnold.

Like Truffault, they would have followed this disposition to temporize
you find in people who are laboring under any very poignant sorrow.

Didn't you find him?

No, we lost his track at the St. Nicolas pool.

The seekers had found the horseshoe marks on a muddy by-path,
a short-cut Barnabas would always take,

but, where they stopped, it seemed something rather big and pretty heavy
had been dragged up to the pool, half-hidden by brambles.

He can't possibly have drowned in the pool.

No, it's less than three feet deep.

There is a hole, but only if you
do it on purpose can you fall into it.

So you didn't find him.

Poor Barnabas!

Tomorrow at daybreak we'll resume our search.
We'll go beyond St. Nicolas.

For all my sorrow, I must say you're right.
After all, you're the heir of Barnabas.

Stop it! You don't miss my uncle.

He was the master here.
You are going to replace him.

But you won't make us forget your
bad behavior just by looking for his corpse!

Shut up, old rascal!

Ah! If he were still among us...

The horse is dead. The wound was
caused by a pistol-shot.

Search the body. We can find the bullet.

Here come the gendarmes.

Come, Francois, give me a hand.

He was such a good man!

Yes, this was his house.

Beautiful house!

I'll show you around.

This is Monsieur Arnold.

So you're the nephew.
What can you tell us?

Not much, gentlemen. My uncle left around 8 AM.

He's an Englishman?

Yes, he settled in France after the Crimean War.

So he was a soldier!

Look, Francois! I can't believe it!
Look at the calibre.

Indeed, only Monsieur Arnold's rifle—

I don't want to make unfounded
accusations, but nearby...

Nobody but him has any weapon of this calibre.

Only Monsieur Arnold hunts big game.

So, it would...

No, I won't believe it!

The bullet.

We looked for him until nightfall.

Except for the horseshoe tracks
I mentioned, not a clue.

Gentlemen, we found this in the horse's corpse.

The animal was killed by this bullet.
A very unusual calibre.

Let me see.

You look surprised.

No. Well, I don't understand;
it's the calibre of my rifle.

No wonder you're surprised.

See, he told us a thousand times the calibre
of his rifle was unique in this region.

Which doesn't prove-

You live here, don't you?

Where's your room?

Upstairs. Francois, please show this
gentleman to my room.

You'll find my rifle there.

You didn't tell us, young man, what you
did while your uncle was away.

Take him to jail. He'll speak to the judge!

I went out. I had been told there was a
boar wallow by the St. Nicolas pool.

And it's near this pool that the tracks of
your uncle's horse disappear!

How strange!

What nerve! Confess!

I swear I am not guilty!

That's the first thing the
accused says to the judge!

Look at the mould. This little ridge
perfectly matches the bullet's fault.

Chain.

I repeat, I am innocent!

You'll explain to the judge what you did with the bullet
and the hunting knife you didn't clean properly.

Gentlemen, friends, please.
We may be making a terrible mistake.

Everything seems to accuse Arnold.

But I can't believe that, however disreputable
his way of life, he could commit such a crime.

Alas, I know things you don't know.

My heart is bleeding, but my conscience and my duties
to God and the deceased force me to tell you that

this morning my friend set out for Creil, not only
to deposit a large sum of money at the bank,

but also to meet his solicitor, in order
to disinherit this poor young man.

Yesterday, they had a terrible argument-

An argument you created!

What an ingrate you are!

But I'll make every exertion in my power to
soften down the worst features of this piece of business.

Won't you confess?

So be it.

It's none of our business, after all.
Let's go!

- What a despicable rogue!
- He looked so honest!

The village didn't forget this sinister event,
but soon regained its usual calm.

The culprit was in jail and was
bound to be sentenced to death.

The noble behavior of Charles Truffault had doubly
endeared him to the honest citizens of the village.

He had a small reunion at his house. Small and saddened
by the memory of the deceased, but cheerful altogether.

But, four or five days after Barnabas'
disappearance, he received a letter.

Francois! Francois! Come down!
It's incredible!

Look! Look ! A blessing! Ah! Barnabas!

"Dear Sir - In conformity with an order transmitted
to our firm by our esteemed correspondent,

Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy, we have the honor of
forwarding this morning, to your address,

a double box of Chateau-Margaux
of the antelope brand, violet seal.

We're happy, etc."

Would you believe it, Francois?
This wine is a dispensation of Providence.

I wish he were here!

We'll celebrate our missing friend
with a few bottles, all together.

Because, after all, Barnabas is just missing.

Imagine him showing up to drink
with us this famous Chéateau-Margaux,

back from a trip to England. How funny!

I doubt Monsieur Arnold would find it funny.

You'll be our MC, as it will be a ceremony.

There's no better way to pay
homage to his memory.

I want a great, beautiful ceremony.

I"d give everything to honor my friend,
my beloved brother.

But with all due respect, you own very little,
not to say nothing. How...

My beloved brother... Francois, don't disappoint me.

Who shall we invite? Friends, sharecroppers
(not those in debt, of course), Mr. Cloche, the solicitor-

Monsieur de Rocquigny?

Yes, Monsieur de Rocquigny, in memory of our
endless games of whist. Dear Barnabas...

The veterinarian of St. Nicolas?
And Mr. Stanislas, the painter?

Yes. Barnabas always thought this
painting was untrue to life.

He would call it 'Portrait of a Chimpanzee.'

Well, add him in.

Ah! The canon.

Don't you think the canon must spend all
his time praying for my master's rest?

You're right!

- The Baroness?
- That gloomy lady? She doesn't drink.

Chateau-Margaux doesn't mean anything to her.

Well, you decide. You have carte blanche.

Despite his reluctance, Francois
carried out his task perfectly.

At the appointed time, everything was ready.

Everything all right? It's late, Francois.

Well, "m happy. Can I say I am happy?

Barnabas, if he is dead, didn't have a proper burial.

We couldn't pay tribute to him
with a solemn funeral.

But tonight we'll honor him as he deserved.

Welcome. Welcome to this party
devoted to the memory of our friend.

Thank you for coming,
Monsieur de Rocquigny.

Congratulations for your
initiative, Truffault.

We'll drink this wine as if he
were drinking it with us.

You'd think he was going to talk.

To talk and drink with us.

Drink is better. Sometimes his damned accent
made it difficult to understand what he meant.

Are you forgetting where you are, Mr. Stanislas?

This is not a funeral wake, as the
body hasn't been found!

You heretic!

Death is like love. Both are unavoidable. And you're
closer to death than to love, Baroness.

You two-bit dauber!

If I were to paint your portrait,
the dead layer would be enough!

Here's to Barnabas!

To think that without that Crimean War,
we'd never have known Mr. Shuttleworthy!

Nor drunk to his health!

- Victor!
- All his life he has been such a fine host!

And afterwards too!

We're just waiting for Chateau-Margaux,
which he was so fond of!

How is it it hasn't arrived yet?

- Two days for twenty-five miles!
- Crazy!

The blessings of heaven always
take some time.

I never liked the English, but
Mr. Barnabas was a good Englishman.

Talk about speedy delivery!

I'm just on time, lady!

- Goodbye, sweetheart!
- Goodnight, Mr. Coachman!

- Straight up, a few yards on the left after the houses!
- Thank you!

- Wine! Bring us some wine!
- Yes, red wine!

Savages! Unbelievers!

Mr. Charles Truffault?

I have a box for you, but it's
so heavy I need a helping hand.

That's our Chateau-Margaux!

Come on, friends, go and help this poor guy.
Here's your wine!

Order, order, my friends!

Before being torn from our friendship,
like our heart from our chest,

our dear Barnabas left us another
evidence of his friendship.

We had to honor him, and that's the reason why
I invited you to the ceremony of disinterring the treasure.

Because it's a treasure Barn—

Barna-

This wine... It's as if he were drinking it with us!

Thou art the man!

Francois, what's this?

Yes, thou art the man. Come, all of you.

Finish your speech, good old Charley!

Fear not, you all. Come on, Charles Truffault,
your ghastly face betrays you.

Confess! Tell us how you killed your old friend.

Barnabas! Barnabas... I caught up with him.

I followed him to the pool.
I wanted to go with him.

I shot the horse with a pistol.
Barnabas fought, shouted.

So I knocked him dead with the butt end.
I took his purse, the money in the bags.

I dragged the wounded horse to the brambles.

This horse was the Devil. He was dead and he came back!

The bullet in the body... it was me. The knife-

- He's dead.
- Dead?

Yes, he's dead.

That old scoundrel was very dead.

An incorrigible liar, he ended his life giving his betrayed
and murdered friend a last and fraternal embrace.

Embrace! That's a good'un!
You never told us this story before!

I needed a witnhess, gentlemen.

The man who exposed the murderer after
discovering the corpse in a dry well was none other than-

The faithful servant, we know!

Your murderer must have been most fragile,
if emotion made him... just like that.

Have you ever seen the condition of a corpse, springing out of a box of
good wine, after staying four days in the bottom of a well?

And he was already dead drunk.

The coup de grace came from his dear friend!

But how did the servant...

It must be very simple!

When he found the bullet in the pony's corpse,
he noticed there was a wound

where the bullet had entered, but another one-
- Where it had come out.

So it was obvious that the bullet had been put back inside the corpse
by the fellow who was to discover it soon afterwards.

And only Truffault could do so while the whole village,
including the nephew, had set out to look for Barnabas.

He could forge a culprit, place the bullet, and so on.

His plans were upset by the return of the wounded horse.

This was the evidence Barnabas had been murdered.

What better means did he have to divert suspicions?

Indeed, it's simple!

As for the resurrection of the little corpse on the dinner table,
it was just as simple, Dugelay. The servant-

Sent the letter to Truffault.

After sending the letter, he procured from a
Paris naturalist a stiff piece of whalebone.

He respectfully thrust it down his master's throat
and doubled up the corpse in an empty box

of Chateau-Margaux he'd found in the cellar.

As soon as the nails of the lid were removed, the whalebone
would act as a spring and the body would fly from its surrogate coffin.

I can imagine Truffault's face!

How to resuscitate the dead with whalebones!

What if I told you the cunning servant is among us?

You mean him?

Remember the sentence delivered by the
corpse during the macabre joke.

- Come on, discreet Cotin.
- Thou art the man.

Our man is also a ventriloquist.

Take off his mustache and sideburns,
and here he is: Mr. Cotin Francois.

And you are a gendarme now! What a nerve!

If you imagine you can keep on clowning here, you're wrong.
There's no fooling around here. The prefect—

We just found a corpse. A man in his forties. Near the wine market.
We need your help to lock up the area.

Gentlemen, duty-

No clue whatsoever, of course.

However, some people said they saw, near the crime scene,
a man looking like our Emperor Napoleon.

- A dead ringer. My goodness me—
- What?

You do look like our Emperor!

Feel free! Say I look like a murderer!

Well, like the prowler in the wine market area.

Don't worry, I didn't mean our Emperor.

With Dugelay, you have to dot
the I's and cross the U's.

Otherwise he could report what you said to the prefect,
and you could well end up in jail tonight.

Cotin, wait here till the patrol comes back.

Tell me one thing, chief. Are you sure
you're not the prowler?

How could I be?
I can't even dream of being such a man.

I am a crime expert, but I couldn't even
wring the neck of a poultry!

Stop, gentlemen, stop!

Stop? You stop it, joker, or you may well
end up singing in our local Sing Sing.

Let this gentleman speak, Dugelay.
Maybe he has something to tell us.

I just have to tell you you won't go to the wine market,
as what you see here is trompe-I'oeil.

With these fake streets, you wouldn't even
reach Boulevard du Crime.

This musician is right. You already served me five corpses.
That's enough for one day. No more frights, please.

Impostor!

You could have your throats cut. Keep in shape
to arrest crooks, punish drunkards-

Protect damsels in distress.

And watch over the sleep of honorable citizens.

That's our business.

And since we need a happy ending, music, Maestro!

Who needs a sad ending?
This guy is dead right.

Crime needs darkness.
it'll flee at daybreak.

If we die, what will be left of the police?
Who will watch over women and children?

In the interest of justice
let's go back, gentlemen.

We better be careful.

Go back, gentlemen, and be very careful.

Subtitles: Edgar Allan Poe & FAL