Molière (1978) - full transcript
Who was Moliere? He is known everywhere as one of the world's greatest playwrights. But who was he? Born Jean-Baptiste Poquelin in 1622, the son of a prosperous tapestry maker. His mother died when he was a boy. Growing up in the teeming streets of 17th century Paris, Jean Baptiste received a good Jesuit education and was fascinated by the street fairs and traveling carnivals that flourished in spite of the religious repression and hypocrisy of those cruel times. As a young man he joined the theatrical Bejart family to establish the Illustre-Theatre, which soon went bankrupt. The troupe reformed, found patronage, and went on the road for thirteen years, performing all over France. Poquelin developed his stagecraft adapting Commedia dell Arte plots to please brutalized peasants and cynical townspeople. He also married Madeline Bejart, the widowed daughter of the troupe's founder. Later he entered into a love affair with Mme Bejart's daughter, to the dismay of all. The troupe eventually returned to Paris and, on October 24, 1658, greatly impressed the 20-year old King Louis XIV, later to be called the Sun King. Moliere's life became bound up with the magnificent court at Versailles, and with its intrigues. He wrote, staged and acted in the plays now famous all over the world. He fought with his enemies and his friends, enjoyed success followed by failure, organized court festivities and defended himself against increasingly fanatic religious authorities. Above all, his theater was taken from life as his life was theatrical.
Synched by Fingersmaster.
Enjoy!
- How is he?
- Not well.
He coughs, he grumbles...
It's a bad day.
Where are the others?
At church.
Today is the 17th...
Madeleine died a year ago today.
He shouldn't go on stage today.
He's too sick.
I'm in perfect health!
I want to be left in peace!
But start on time
or you'll have to perform without me.
It's a bad day.
It is a known fact
that Molière died
on February 17, 1673
after the 4th performance
of "Le Malade Imaginaire".
Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (Molière)
was born in Paris in 1622.
Our story begins
when he was 10 years old,
some 346 years ago.
Ace!
Jean-Baptiste?
Are you playing?
Another sou.
I haven't any more.
No more money?
I'll have some tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes!
Let him die!
That's enough!
You will be judged.
What'll we do to him?
What'll we do? Burn his feet?
Yes! And throw him overboard!
Make him eat his snot!
Come down.
You shall remain here in pillory.
So say your judges.
No one knows I'm here,
they'll never find me!
Too bad!
If you call for help,
you're a coward.
If you call for help,
you're a coward.
Jean-Baptiste...
I'd have come back.
Want me to rescue you?
Ho, you Moors!
Heretics, damned Jews!
Show yourselves, I see you.
You're hiding behind the armchairs.
Steady, my noble stead.
Rash demons,
dare to come forth and face me.
Your eyes will pop out of your heads,
astonished at the sight
of my courage.
The stars shine only for me
and my just cause.
Courage!
Vile traitors!
Stabbed in the back...
Dare to touch
one strand of hair
on my mistress's head
and this trusty sword
will disembowel you!
I feel my strength declining.
Quick, I must set you free.
My friend, my friend,
do not leave me, do not die,
I beg of you.
Come now, courage!
It's my death scene!
It's more dramatic
when it's the woman who dies.
Mollier, I need to pee.
God...
God punishes all
whenever He chooses.
God punishes all
whenever He chooses.
The last ones in, close the door.
The last ones in, close the door.
Sing to an ass
and he'll fart in your face.
Sing to an ass
and he'll fart in your face.
Do you have lice?
Of course, don't you?
No, give me one.
How many?
One's enough.
The exterior form
of the human body
reveals an admirable regularity
in the proportions of all its parts.
But the interior mechanism
is even more admirable.
God's order is revealed therein
in all its glory.
Each organ inhabits this body
in order of rank.
The basest ones are near
our fundament, the subtler ones
in the chest,
and the highest in that sovereign
of the body,
the head, which reigns over
this dear city,
even as our beloved King
reigns over his humble subjects.
A foreign heretic,
an Englishman,
now claims
that a perpetual circular movement
agitates our blood.
How
could anyone believe
that a man's blood can circulate
inside him?
Such a movement
could only unbalance him.
Would it not so derange him
as to make him lose his mind?
Similarly,
can we believe
that the earth we live on is moving?
Could we endure such a movement?
Wouldn't the wind be whistling
in our ears?
What a din,
what insanity,
what confusion upon this earth
turning, turning every which way,
with our entrails agitated
by the same diabolical movement.
Where then the serenity needed
to contemplate God?
These marvels prove
beyond all doubt
that we are the work of God.
God holds us all accountable.
God holds us all accountable.
God punishes all.
God punishes all.
God sees all.
God sees all.
Madame, some bread!
Move, you tub of lard!
Make way and be quick!
This is heavy.
You flea-bag, out of the way!
Back up, you bearded goat!
Back up!
Let me pass!
Clear the way!
Move or I'll run you down!
Who do you belong to?
The Duke of Pernes.
The coach belongs
to the Duke of Pernes.
My master, the Duke of Villeboeuf,
takes precedence.
Make way!
The Duke of Pernes will not retreat.
Give way!
Are you going to stay there long,
you ass?
Until you melt, you tub of lard!
I get fed, I do!
I don't get buggered!
But you'd like to, eh?
Wait for me, pretty flower.
How you've grown, Jean-Baptiste.
Dirty again.
Get out!
Get out!
Good day my heart
Good day life's sweetest
Good day beloved
Good day my dearest
Good day my beautiful lady
Good day my precious
Good day my delicious
Good day my love
My sweet springtime
My cherished young bloom
Go help in the shop,
you're tiring your mother.
My sweet pleasure
My sweet pigeon
My dear little sparrow
My kind turtledove
Good day my sweet love
Crowns!
Crowns for sale!
Crowns for kings on Twelfth Night.
Two of your best.
The very best.
And almonds tomorrow.
Amen for the almonds.
Crowns!
Crowns
for the kings' delight,
chosen by fate on Twelfth Night.
Welcome the king's fool tonight
or you will be in a sorry plight!
Let's get on with it, children.
Nicolas, get under the table.
Who gets this beautiful piece
of cake?
It's for Mama!
For my daughter,
so beautiful in spirit and soul.
And this one.
La Forest.
For La Forest.
And who gets
this very, very large piece?
It's for Papa!
Did you hear me well, Nicolas?
Who did you say gets
this very, very large piece?
It's for Papa!
- No!
- Yes!
Did you hear me?
It's for Grandfather.
As you wish, my dear boy.
And this one?
For Papa!
Who gets the bigger piece?
It's for me.
And this miserable piece?
Jean-Baptiste.
For Jean-Baptiste.
And this
shall be for God.
Who has it?
Why it's me!
And now...
she must choose a king.
Here is my king.
The king drinks!
My little king drinks.
You can't stay there, you children.
Can't see very well.
You can't stay there.
You children can't stay there.
Get away from here. Go on.
Off you go.
Faster than that!
There's no more wine!
They promised plenty of wine!
You children can't stay there.
Go away.
La Forest.
Why aren't there any fish in there?
Why are you being so quiet?
Are there any fish?
Whose is it?
The next day, returning from school,
they found the courtyard empty.
The doctors were gone.
There's water...
Are you crying?
Come on, you three.
Let's not stay here.
Come with me, children.
Is Mama still not well?
Come in.
- Is he mean?
- Yes, he's mean.
I've seen that somewhere before.
What can it be?
Where could I have seen it?
No, it's not possible. Never!
Come, little boy,
give me your hand.
For pleasure,
not for money.
I see so many things there.
What a life!
People,
many faithful friends, women.
Glory.
Glory.
The light
shining on you.
The sun.
Jean, called Jean-Baptiste,
son of Jean Poquelin,
master upholsterer,
know you the rules of the trade
of upholsterer?
Work not at night,
for the light
is insufficient
to work at this trade.
Teach not the trade to a woman,
for it is too serious for a woman.
Work not with any yarn
but good and loyal wool.
Make nothing mediocre or false
which can be faulted.
Honour Saint Geneviève
as you do Saint Louis
or Saint Francis.
Neither blaspheme nor take
the name of the Lord in vain.
Do nothing to demean your position.
Know you these rules?
I know them.
Do you so pledge?
I do so pledge.
What's the matter?
What is it?
Will you answer me?
What am I going to do with you?
With all of you?
The more I observe you,
the more worry you cause me.
For the last time, Jean-Baptiste,
what do you want?
Answer me!
Why are you hiding there
and listening?
I'm not hiding!
You see I'm calm
and ready to listen.
I advise you to answer me,
Jean-Baptiste.
I'm losing my patience.
Can't lose what you haven't got.
Will you keep quiet?
What are you going to do?
What's to become of you?
Do you want to be a man
with no trade?
An idler,
of no use to anyone?
- Poor?
- Even worse.
A vagabond, haunting our cities?
A vagabond...
Enough! I want you to keep quiet!
You! Speak up.
- Will you obey me or not?
- I'm not talking.
What are you doing?
I'm thinking.
He may not want
to be an upholsterer.
What does he want?
He may want to study.
What a beautiful day.
- Heard the news?
- No.
Your grandson doesn't want
to be an upholsterer.
What good news!
Monsieur has an idea.
Monsieur wants to study.
What a good idea.
But I don't want it!
Do you know these admirable lines
by Corneille?
"Heaven's decisions
are not governed
"by our wishes."
I've talked myself hoarse
telling him that.
Jean-Baptiste, do you hear
what Corneille says?
But the quotation is meant for you,
monsieur.
Thus it was
that Jean-Baptiste Poquelin,
an upholsterer's son,
set off to study law in Orléans.
And there,
for the first time in his life,
he encountered pious men.
God, in his wisdom,
has inspired us to form,
here in our city of Orléans,
an Order of the Holy Sacrament,
so the Kingdom of Jesus Christ
may be established here
in our sinful city.
As you know, the Order in Paris
governs all the other orders
in the kingdom.
Therefore we asked them to send us
the statutes
and also a few sparks
of the sacred fire
that inflames the members.
We have received the statutes
and I propose
that we study them today.
Our task is to understand them
without changing any rule.
The Order's principal goal
will be to combat
the sins committed in our city,
as well as in the provinces
under our safeguard.
We cannot tolerate any confrere
who does not live like a Christian.
Anyone not living
like a good Christian
will be charitably warned
by the director of the Order.
And if he doesn't heed the warning?
Then I think the Superior
must help the director
to reason with his errant brother.
And if that is insufficient?
Then we gather all the officers,
to seek gentler
and more persuasive means,
to set the brother back
on the right path.
And if he's obstinate?
He is crossed off.
Two brothers will be named
to visit the galleys
to confess and instruct convicts
who curse, blaspheme
or otherwise misbehave.
Galleys in Orléans?
Lacking galleys, we'll visit
hospitals or the prison.
Neither misery nor our devotion
will be found lacking.
As for atheists,
deists, free-thinkers,
heretics, schismatics,
profaners and blasphemers,
we shall try to show them the way.
What if they're incorrigible?
We must threaten them
with the magistrates.
And if threats fail?
Then we denounce them.
We must observe,
be vigilant...
and have necessary information
reported to us.
Jews must not be allowed to settle
in our city.
We must work to suppress
the terrible immodesty
of the nudity of women.
We must see to it
that all bohemian women
are run out of our city.
We must open a house of refuge
to incarcerate prostitutes,
brothel-keepers
and other shameful women.
We shall make every effort to oppose
the debaucheries of Carnival-time.
Monsieur Nefle,
that is your concern
as Lieutenant of Police.
How will you prevent
such licentiousness?
Carnival starts tomorrow.
Tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning.
And what if the population learns,
as I have,
that the tax collectors have arrived?
Tonight? On the eve of the Carnival?
Weren't they mauled enough
in Tours?
And I am to protect them
during Carnival?
There will be no Carnival
if our new and holy Order so decrees.
Eradicate the blasphemy
at its very roots.
Let's put a stop to the Carnival!
Such an action will go down
in our annals.
Instate the order of God
in our provinces.
Such is our mission.
The entire city takes part
in this festival.
It might be sufficient
to forbid the university students
and your students here,
to participate.
That way, my task
might be simplified.
We'll simply restrict our students
to the college.
I'll have it announced right away.
Father Guillaume,
can you notify the students?
I think you can announce it
immediately.
To prevent the licentiousness,
disorders and sacrilege
which characterized
the past few Carnivals,
and so that you can search
your souls
and pray before Lent,
we have decided, gentlemen,
that you are confined to the college
for four days.
You are strictly forbidden to leave
the grounds
or to permit entry
by any unauthorized person.
That's settled.
That's settled.
They've understood.
They're staying at home.
Gentlemen, we must repel them!
The Carnival has been banned.
Courage, gentlemen, courage.
You can't stay there, it's forbidden!
Silence!
The students are confined,
they'll stay in their rooms.
Go home!
Repel them! Repel them!
Please go home!
Go home!
Listen!
The tax collectors are here,
free to squeeze us dry
like the grapes in autumn.
Meanwhile we are locked in
on this traditional day
of joy and liberty.
Keep still!
I order you to keep still!
Remember our song?
"These friends of bandits
"are the ones who trouble
the order of things.
"They abuse their pastoral powers."
The Church has become
a cavern of thieves.
Disperse these birds of prey.
Stop! Go back to your rooms
or you are damned.
My hat!
Give me back my hat!
The tax collectors!
- To the river!
- To the Loire!
Into the Loire!
Have we forgotten
the horrible spectacle
of brutal desires
being fulfilled without obstacle?
When any violence
and total abandonment
prevailed in plain day
by his commandment.
In every quarter
the people called out in fear
and the blood flowed,
mingled with tears.
Everywhere was heard
sounds too terrifying for words.
Heaven's vault was pierced
with pitiful cries,
rising from our misfortune
which had taken us by surprise.
The women, the children,
half-dead with fright,
rent the air
with their laments.
But it is time to act,
the time for talk is past.
Our knives are ready
to slay the tyrant at last.
You have vomited the word
that seals your fate.
You shall die a hundred deaths,
ordered by my hate.
Threaten rather to compel me
to live under your rule.
No other misfortune
could seem as cruel.
Only the fear of such a fate
could make me tremble.
Bravo!
Come in, monsieur.
And close the door, please.
And don't just stand there.
I don't want to be a lawyer.
I'm revolted by it.
I hate chicanery.
What do you want to do?
He wants to be an actor.
I must have misunderstood.
Jean-Baptiste...
explain yourself.
I want to be an actor.
Go up to your room, my boy.
Think it over.
Think it over carefully.
When you've changed your mind,
come down again.
I've thought it over.
I will be an actor.
Were present in their person...
And so he joined the Béjart family.
Were present in their person,
Germain Clairin,
Jean-Baptiste Poquelin,
Joseph Béjart,
Nicolas Bonenfant...
The soup's hot!
Georges Pinel,
Madeleine Béjart,
Catherine Desurlis...
Let's eat.
and Geneviève Béjart.
The agreement they have signed
voluntarily,
as cited below,
unites and binds them
as a theatrical company.
The name of their troupe is
The Illustrious Theater.
Drink.
Item:
New plays proposed to the troupe
shall be conceived by the authors,
so that none may complain
of the role he is assigned.
One prerogative agreed to by all,
is that Madeleine Béjart
may choose her roles.
Item:
That all things
concerning their theater,
all matters foreseen or unforeseen,
shall be decided
by a plurality of voices.
No one among them
may contradict such decisions.
Duly signed in Paris,
before Marie Hervé,
widow of the late Joseph Béjart,
residing in Paris,
mother of the named Béjarts,
in her home,
before this notary, in the year 1643,
on the 30th and last day of June.
Duly signed by all.
A toast!
Here.
The Illustrious Theater!
The Illustrious Theater!
To us.
And to Corneille!
Take me with you,
I'm coming with you.
Later.
To drama!
What fun we're going to have.
My little bird, my little urchin,
my lovely baby, my sweet Menou!
I say it's a mistake
to put on a tragedy.
A good comedy is what we need,
not a bad tragedy.
Mama, go to bed.
- I'm not sleepy.
- Quiet!
Why?
Because you tire me out.
You two aren't too tired?
Nicolas, it won't be seen.
This is a theater,
not a goldsmith's shop.
What about the pleasure?
It's ready.
Jean-Baptiste!
- Where is he?
- At his father's house.
He's looking for an armchair
for Act II. Why?
Descartes is in Paris.
Where are you going with that?
- With what?
- My armchair.
I'm borrowing it.
Leave it here.
I need it.
So do I.
- You never use it.
- I was going to.
It's just for the theater.
Precisely!
I'll pay for it one day.
Liar! You'll never have any money.
Thief!
My armchair!
Out of my sight!
Fine, I'm leaving.
Without my armchair.
Jean-Baptiste, Descartes is in Paris.
He'll be speaking at Dupuy's place.
Father!
Hurry, he'll have started.
...that there is a God
who is omnipotent
and who created me as I am.
Perhaps some of you here
would like to deny the existence
of such a powerful God.
Let us not dispute them
for the moment.
Let us suppose, in their favor,
that what has been said
about a god is a fable.
I would therefore suppose
that there is no true god
who is the sovereign truth
but rather some evil genius.
What do you think of Molière?
Listen to Descartes.
Molière.
I would then think
that the sky, the air,
the earth,
the colors,
all these external things
that we see,
are only illusions.
And I would consider that I was
falsely assuming
that I saw all those things.
But such a project is tortuous
and laborious.
And I fear that this project,
instead of illuminating my search
for truth,
is not even adequate
to cast light upon the shadows
that have been stirred up.
There you are, gentleman.
Tomorrow I shall read you more
of these Meditations
before I leave for the kingdom
of Sweden.
Monsieur, why not stay
here in France?
Because, madame,
I thought I noticed
during my last sojourns
that France was a heavily policed
country.
That does not suit the free spirit
I am trying to be.
To serve you, madame.
Meanwhile, in the Palace
at the Louvre
there was much concern
about a new young king.
The death of the late king, my lords,
came as no surprise.
However, his long illness
filled me with such grief,
that until now,
I have been unable
to find consolation
or to place my trust.
The Queen's beauty
and dignity
are so radiant
that no prince of the realm
does not think as I do.
The regency should not be shared.
The Queen is most worthy
of assuming it alone.
How heavy is the blow
that now lays me low.
The temples of the false gods
and their false idols of gold
shall see in their debris
the effects of my words so bold.
And I shall know,
wherever my power holds sway,
how to make my subjects
adore the true God's way.
This glorious God,
who is my salvation,
and who, in my privation,
by His holy favor
reinforces my dedication.
Shall console my heart
by his secret voice's declaration
and make me
conquer all
in the shadow of the cross's thrall.
Here now is Probe,
returned eftsoon.
Probe, returned so soon?
Does the haughty beauty
still contrive?
Or is she now resolved?
She is no longer alive.
What so soon?
Was iron,
fire or rope her doom?
No, Sire,
she died
in a tub full of water,
as from one bathing room
to another she did go.
She herself started
the hot water flow.
The water, through four ducts at once
poured in like a torrent,
filling the vessel
to the brim in one moment.
The boiling water's steam
stifled her final scream.
And
while the superb
and sad empress...
And while
the proud empresses mourn her,
laced in her sash was found
a coffer filled with gold.
That evening
the resident troupe of the
Hotel de Bourgogne celebrated.
They were still the best.
Well?
A fiasco! The worst I've ever seen!
How could they be so bad?
My God, I pity them.
They're so young.
The night is ours.
Farewell!
Pommier, we owe him 1100 pounds.
Giraud, I don't know how much.
Lenormand, 3000 pounds, I think.
Antoinette Simon,
that bulldog won't let go!
You'd have to kill her first.
Never again will I act
with your company!
What can we do?
I'll go talk to them.
Stop worrying,
he's going to talk to them.
I understand your concern.
We're poor,
without resources.
You gain nothing
by throwing us in prison.
Poquelin, out!
A mountebank, that's what you are!
A juggler! A marionette!
A parasite!
And what are you?
Upholsterer!
A good-for-nothing,
and with my money.
That's it, your money.
And my armchair?
Where's my armchair?
But this is the last time!
Adelaide, look at me.
I'm going to travel.
Farewell, my dear.
Thus it was that Jean-Baptiste
and his tribe left Paris.
They set out to find the celebrated
troupe of Monsieur Dufresnes,
whose patron
was the Duke of Epernon.
They discovered
the kingdom of France.
She wants water.
Where's the gourd?
Raped by foreign soldiers no doubt.
The French, the French.
Bread.
We have nothing to eat.
I tell you we have nothing more,
madame.
If we had the smallest crust
we'd give it to you.
We have nothing for ourselves.
You not know any more.
Try again but eat slow.
Eat slow.
Good, we share.
They're eating our horses.
I want some, too.
It was just outside Toulouse
that they found
the famous troupe of Monsieur
and Madame Dufresnes.
What is it? Is it good to eat?
Here, Menou.
What is it?
- That's not the Dufresnes.
- Yes, it is.
They're blowing away.
They are the Dufresnes?
Of course they are the Dufresnes.
That's them.
You're as stubborn as a mule.
Perform, perform,
no matter what happens.
Let's keep calm, my dear wife.
Set up the stage,
in spite of everything.
In spite of winds and storms.
A plague on stubborn mules.
My sweet better half,
keep calm, please.
Nothing vexatious finally happened.
Nothing vexatious!
We were half over the cliff,
half smashed to bits.
And you say nothing vexatious
happened to us?
Do you think you are stronger
than the wind?
The wind! The wind!
The wind, my dear wife,
is the servant of sailors and millers
but it will never be
the master of thespians!
Madeleine!
You old madman!
Madeleine Béjart,
my favorite actress.
Catherine de Brie.
Edmée de Brie,
her husband.
Too bad she has a husband.
Maxime, our valet.
Not Maxime, Maimé.
René du Parc, known as Gros-René.
Let's go.
And in all this movement
they also took along the
Italian woman named Thérèse.
So ends
the first part of the life
of Molière.
-- English --
Enjoy!
- How is he?
- Not well.
He coughs, he grumbles...
It's a bad day.
Where are the others?
At church.
Today is the 17th...
Madeleine died a year ago today.
He shouldn't go on stage today.
He's too sick.
I'm in perfect health!
I want to be left in peace!
But start on time
or you'll have to perform without me.
It's a bad day.
It is a known fact
that Molière died
on February 17, 1673
after the 4th performance
of "Le Malade Imaginaire".
Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (Molière)
was born in Paris in 1622.
Our story begins
when he was 10 years old,
some 346 years ago.
Ace!
Jean-Baptiste?
Are you playing?
Another sou.
I haven't any more.
No more money?
I'll have some tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes!
Let him die!
That's enough!
You will be judged.
What'll we do to him?
What'll we do? Burn his feet?
Yes! And throw him overboard!
Make him eat his snot!
Come down.
You shall remain here in pillory.
So say your judges.
No one knows I'm here,
they'll never find me!
Too bad!
If you call for help,
you're a coward.
If you call for help,
you're a coward.
Jean-Baptiste...
I'd have come back.
Want me to rescue you?
Ho, you Moors!
Heretics, damned Jews!
Show yourselves, I see you.
You're hiding behind the armchairs.
Steady, my noble stead.
Rash demons,
dare to come forth and face me.
Your eyes will pop out of your heads,
astonished at the sight
of my courage.
The stars shine only for me
and my just cause.
Courage!
Vile traitors!
Stabbed in the back...
Dare to touch
one strand of hair
on my mistress's head
and this trusty sword
will disembowel you!
I feel my strength declining.
Quick, I must set you free.
My friend, my friend,
do not leave me, do not die,
I beg of you.
Come now, courage!
It's my death scene!
It's more dramatic
when it's the woman who dies.
Mollier, I need to pee.
God...
God punishes all
whenever He chooses.
God punishes all
whenever He chooses.
The last ones in, close the door.
The last ones in, close the door.
Sing to an ass
and he'll fart in your face.
Sing to an ass
and he'll fart in your face.
Do you have lice?
Of course, don't you?
No, give me one.
How many?
One's enough.
The exterior form
of the human body
reveals an admirable regularity
in the proportions of all its parts.
But the interior mechanism
is even more admirable.
God's order is revealed therein
in all its glory.
Each organ inhabits this body
in order of rank.
The basest ones are near
our fundament, the subtler ones
in the chest,
and the highest in that sovereign
of the body,
the head, which reigns over
this dear city,
even as our beloved King
reigns over his humble subjects.
A foreign heretic,
an Englishman,
now claims
that a perpetual circular movement
agitates our blood.
How
could anyone believe
that a man's blood can circulate
inside him?
Such a movement
could only unbalance him.
Would it not so derange him
as to make him lose his mind?
Similarly,
can we believe
that the earth we live on is moving?
Could we endure such a movement?
Wouldn't the wind be whistling
in our ears?
What a din,
what insanity,
what confusion upon this earth
turning, turning every which way,
with our entrails agitated
by the same diabolical movement.
Where then the serenity needed
to contemplate God?
These marvels prove
beyond all doubt
that we are the work of God.
God holds us all accountable.
God holds us all accountable.
God punishes all.
God punishes all.
God sees all.
God sees all.
Madame, some bread!
Move, you tub of lard!
Make way and be quick!
This is heavy.
You flea-bag, out of the way!
Back up, you bearded goat!
Back up!
Let me pass!
Clear the way!
Move or I'll run you down!
Who do you belong to?
The Duke of Pernes.
The coach belongs
to the Duke of Pernes.
My master, the Duke of Villeboeuf,
takes precedence.
Make way!
The Duke of Pernes will not retreat.
Give way!
Are you going to stay there long,
you ass?
Until you melt, you tub of lard!
I get fed, I do!
I don't get buggered!
But you'd like to, eh?
Wait for me, pretty flower.
How you've grown, Jean-Baptiste.
Dirty again.
Get out!
Get out!
Good day my heart
Good day life's sweetest
Good day beloved
Good day my dearest
Good day my beautiful lady
Good day my precious
Good day my delicious
Good day my love
My sweet springtime
My cherished young bloom
Go help in the shop,
you're tiring your mother.
My sweet pleasure
My sweet pigeon
My dear little sparrow
My kind turtledove
Good day my sweet love
Crowns!
Crowns for sale!
Crowns for kings on Twelfth Night.
Two of your best.
The very best.
And almonds tomorrow.
Amen for the almonds.
Crowns!
Crowns
for the kings' delight,
chosen by fate on Twelfth Night.
Welcome the king's fool tonight
or you will be in a sorry plight!
Let's get on with it, children.
Nicolas, get under the table.
Who gets this beautiful piece
of cake?
It's for Mama!
For my daughter,
so beautiful in spirit and soul.
And this one.
La Forest.
For La Forest.
And who gets
this very, very large piece?
It's for Papa!
Did you hear me well, Nicolas?
Who did you say gets
this very, very large piece?
It's for Papa!
- No!
- Yes!
Did you hear me?
It's for Grandfather.
As you wish, my dear boy.
And this one?
For Papa!
Who gets the bigger piece?
It's for me.
And this miserable piece?
Jean-Baptiste.
For Jean-Baptiste.
And this
shall be for God.
Who has it?
Why it's me!
And now...
she must choose a king.
Here is my king.
The king drinks!
My little king drinks.
You can't stay there, you children.
Can't see very well.
You can't stay there.
You children can't stay there.
Get away from here. Go on.
Off you go.
Faster than that!
There's no more wine!
They promised plenty of wine!
You children can't stay there.
Go away.
La Forest.
Why aren't there any fish in there?
Why are you being so quiet?
Are there any fish?
Whose is it?
The next day, returning from school,
they found the courtyard empty.
The doctors were gone.
There's water...
Are you crying?
Come on, you three.
Let's not stay here.
Come with me, children.
Is Mama still not well?
Come in.
- Is he mean?
- Yes, he's mean.
I've seen that somewhere before.
What can it be?
Where could I have seen it?
No, it's not possible. Never!
Come, little boy,
give me your hand.
For pleasure,
not for money.
I see so many things there.
What a life!
People,
many faithful friends, women.
Glory.
Glory.
The light
shining on you.
The sun.
Jean, called Jean-Baptiste,
son of Jean Poquelin,
master upholsterer,
know you the rules of the trade
of upholsterer?
Work not at night,
for the light
is insufficient
to work at this trade.
Teach not the trade to a woman,
for it is too serious for a woman.
Work not with any yarn
but good and loyal wool.
Make nothing mediocre or false
which can be faulted.
Honour Saint Geneviève
as you do Saint Louis
or Saint Francis.
Neither blaspheme nor take
the name of the Lord in vain.
Do nothing to demean your position.
Know you these rules?
I know them.
Do you so pledge?
I do so pledge.
What's the matter?
What is it?
Will you answer me?
What am I going to do with you?
With all of you?
The more I observe you,
the more worry you cause me.
For the last time, Jean-Baptiste,
what do you want?
Answer me!
Why are you hiding there
and listening?
I'm not hiding!
You see I'm calm
and ready to listen.
I advise you to answer me,
Jean-Baptiste.
I'm losing my patience.
Can't lose what you haven't got.
Will you keep quiet?
What are you going to do?
What's to become of you?
Do you want to be a man
with no trade?
An idler,
of no use to anyone?
- Poor?
- Even worse.
A vagabond, haunting our cities?
A vagabond...
Enough! I want you to keep quiet!
You! Speak up.
- Will you obey me or not?
- I'm not talking.
What are you doing?
I'm thinking.
He may not want
to be an upholsterer.
What does he want?
He may want to study.
What a beautiful day.
- Heard the news?
- No.
Your grandson doesn't want
to be an upholsterer.
What good news!
Monsieur has an idea.
Monsieur wants to study.
What a good idea.
But I don't want it!
Do you know these admirable lines
by Corneille?
"Heaven's decisions
are not governed
"by our wishes."
I've talked myself hoarse
telling him that.
Jean-Baptiste, do you hear
what Corneille says?
But the quotation is meant for you,
monsieur.
Thus it was
that Jean-Baptiste Poquelin,
an upholsterer's son,
set off to study law in Orléans.
And there,
for the first time in his life,
he encountered pious men.
God, in his wisdom,
has inspired us to form,
here in our city of Orléans,
an Order of the Holy Sacrament,
so the Kingdom of Jesus Christ
may be established here
in our sinful city.
As you know, the Order in Paris
governs all the other orders
in the kingdom.
Therefore we asked them to send us
the statutes
and also a few sparks
of the sacred fire
that inflames the members.
We have received the statutes
and I propose
that we study them today.
Our task is to understand them
without changing any rule.
The Order's principal goal
will be to combat
the sins committed in our city,
as well as in the provinces
under our safeguard.
We cannot tolerate any confrere
who does not live like a Christian.
Anyone not living
like a good Christian
will be charitably warned
by the director of the Order.
And if he doesn't heed the warning?
Then I think the Superior
must help the director
to reason with his errant brother.
And if that is insufficient?
Then we gather all the officers,
to seek gentler
and more persuasive means,
to set the brother back
on the right path.
And if he's obstinate?
He is crossed off.
Two brothers will be named
to visit the galleys
to confess and instruct convicts
who curse, blaspheme
or otherwise misbehave.
Galleys in Orléans?
Lacking galleys, we'll visit
hospitals or the prison.
Neither misery nor our devotion
will be found lacking.
As for atheists,
deists, free-thinkers,
heretics, schismatics,
profaners and blasphemers,
we shall try to show them the way.
What if they're incorrigible?
We must threaten them
with the magistrates.
And if threats fail?
Then we denounce them.
We must observe,
be vigilant...
and have necessary information
reported to us.
Jews must not be allowed to settle
in our city.
We must work to suppress
the terrible immodesty
of the nudity of women.
We must see to it
that all bohemian women
are run out of our city.
We must open a house of refuge
to incarcerate prostitutes,
brothel-keepers
and other shameful women.
We shall make every effort to oppose
the debaucheries of Carnival-time.
Monsieur Nefle,
that is your concern
as Lieutenant of Police.
How will you prevent
such licentiousness?
Carnival starts tomorrow.
Tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning.
And what if the population learns,
as I have,
that the tax collectors have arrived?
Tonight? On the eve of the Carnival?
Weren't they mauled enough
in Tours?
And I am to protect them
during Carnival?
There will be no Carnival
if our new and holy Order so decrees.
Eradicate the blasphemy
at its very roots.
Let's put a stop to the Carnival!
Such an action will go down
in our annals.
Instate the order of God
in our provinces.
Such is our mission.
The entire city takes part
in this festival.
It might be sufficient
to forbid the university students
and your students here,
to participate.
That way, my task
might be simplified.
We'll simply restrict our students
to the college.
I'll have it announced right away.
Father Guillaume,
can you notify the students?
I think you can announce it
immediately.
To prevent the licentiousness,
disorders and sacrilege
which characterized
the past few Carnivals,
and so that you can search
your souls
and pray before Lent,
we have decided, gentlemen,
that you are confined to the college
for four days.
You are strictly forbidden to leave
the grounds
or to permit entry
by any unauthorized person.
That's settled.
That's settled.
They've understood.
They're staying at home.
Gentlemen, we must repel them!
The Carnival has been banned.
Courage, gentlemen, courage.
You can't stay there, it's forbidden!
Silence!
The students are confined,
they'll stay in their rooms.
Go home!
Repel them! Repel them!
Please go home!
Go home!
Listen!
The tax collectors are here,
free to squeeze us dry
like the grapes in autumn.
Meanwhile we are locked in
on this traditional day
of joy and liberty.
Keep still!
I order you to keep still!
Remember our song?
"These friends of bandits
"are the ones who trouble
the order of things.
"They abuse their pastoral powers."
The Church has become
a cavern of thieves.
Disperse these birds of prey.
Stop! Go back to your rooms
or you are damned.
My hat!
Give me back my hat!
The tax collectors!
- To the river!
- To the Loire!
Into the Loire!
Have we forgotten
the horrible spectacle
of brutal desires
being fulfilled without obstacle?
When any violence
and total abandonment
prevailed in plain day
by his commandment.
In every quarter
the people called out in fear
and the blood flowed,
mingled with tears.
Everywhere was heard
sounds too terrifying for words.
Heaven's vault was pierced
with pitiful cries,
rising from our misfortune
which had taken us by surprise.
The women, the children,
half-dead with fright,
rent the air
with their laments.
But it is time to act,
the time for talk is past.
Our knives are ready
to slay the tyrant at last.
You have vomited the word
that seals your fate.
You shall die a hundred deaths,
ordered by my hate.
Threaten rather to compel me
to live under your rule.
No other misfortune
could seem as cruel.
Only the fear of such a fate
could make me tremble.
Bravo!
Come in, monsieur.
And close the door, please.
And don't just stand there.
I don't want to be a lawyer.
I'm revolted by it.
I hate chicanery.
What do you want to do?
He wants to be an actor.
I must have misunderstood.
Jean-Baptiste...
explain yourself.
I want to be an actor.
Go up to your room, my boy.
Think it over.
Think it over carefully.
When you've changed your mind,
come down again.
I've thought it over.
I will be an actor.
Were present in their person...
And so he joined the Béjart family.
Were present in their person,
Germain Clairin,
Jean-Baptiste Poquelin,
Joseph Béjart,
Nicolas Bonenfant...
The soup's hot!
Georges Pinel,
Madeleine Béjart,
Catherine Desurlis...
Let's eat.
and Geneviève Béjart.
The agreement they have signed
voluntarily,
as cited below,
unites and binds them
as a theatrical company.
The name of their troupe is
The Illustrious Theater.
Drink.
Item:
New plays proposed to the troupe
shall be conceived by the authors,
so that none may complain
of the role he is assigned.
One prerogative agreed to by all,
is that Madeleine Béjart
may choose her roles.
Item:
That all things
concerning their theater,
all matters foreseen or unforeseen,
shall be decided
by a plurality of voices.
No one among them
may contradict such decisions.
Duly signed in Paris,
before Marie Hervé,
widow of the late Joseph Béjart,
residing in Paris,
mother of the named Béjarts,
in her home,
before this notary, in the year 1643,
on the 30th and last day of June.
Duly signed by all.
A toast!
Here.
The Illustrious Theater!
The Illustrious Theater!
To us.
And to Corneille!
Take me with you,
I'm coming with you.
Later.
To drama!
What fun we're going to have.
My little bird, my little urchin,
my lovely baby, my sweet Menou!
I say it's a mistake
to put on a tragedy.
A good comedy is what we need,
not a bad tragedy.
Mama, go to bed.
- I'm not sleepy.
- Quiet!
Why?
Because you tire me out.
You two aren't too tired?
Nicolas, it won't be seen.
This is a theater,
not a goldsmith's shop.
What about the pleasure?
It's ready.
Jean-Baptiste!
- Where is he?
- At his father's house.
He's looking for an armchair
for Act II. Why?
Descartes is in Paris.
Where are you going with that?
- With what?
- My armchair.
I'm borrowing it.
Leave it here.
I need it.
So do I.
- You never use it.
- I was going to.
It's just for the theater.
Precisely!
I'll pay for it one day.
Liar! You'll never have any money.
Thief!
My armchair!
Out of my sight!
Fine, I'm leaving.
Without my armchair.
Jean-Baptiste, Descartes is in Paris.
He'll be speaking at Dupuy's place.
Father!
Hurry, he'll have started.
...that there is a God
who is omnipotent
and who created me as I am.
Perhaps some of you here
would like to deny the existence
of such a powerful God.
Let us not dispute them
for the moment.
Let us suppose, in their favor,
that what has been said
about a god is a fable.
I would therefore suppose
that there is no true god
who is the sovereign truth
but rather some evil genius.
What do you think of Molière?
Listen to Descartes.
Molière.
I would then think
that the sky, the air,
the earth,
the colors,
all these external things
that we see,
are only illusions.
And I would consider that I was
falsely assuming
that I saw all those things.
But such a project is tortuous
and laborious.
And I fear that this project,
instead of illuminating my search
for truth,
is not even adequate
to cast light upon the shadows
that have been stirred up.
There you are, gentleman.
Tomorrow I shall read you more
of these Meditations
before I leave for the kingdom
of Sweden.
Monsieur, why not stay
here in France?
Because, madame,
I thought I noticed
during my last sojourns
that France was a heavily policed
country.
That does not suit the free spirit
I am trying to be.
To serve you, madame.
Meanwhile, in the Palace
at the Louvre
there was much concern
about a new young king.
The death of the late king, my lords,
came as no surprise.
However, his long illness
filled me with such grief,
that until now,
I have been unable
to find consolation
or to place my trust.
The Queen's beauty
and dignity
are so radiant
that no prince of the realm
does not think as I do.
The regency should not be shared.
The Queen is most worthy
of assuming it alone.
How heavy is the blow
that now lays me low.
The temples of the false gods
and their false idols of gold
shall see in their debris
the effects of my words so bold.
And I shall know,
wherever my power holds sway,
how to make my subjects
adore the true God's way.
This glorious God,
who is my salvation,
and who, in my privation,
by His holy favor
reinforces my dedication.
Shall console my heart
by his secret voice's declaration
and make me
conquer all
in the shadow of the cross's thrall.
Here now is Probe,
returned eftsoon.
Probe, returned so soon?
Does the haughty beauty
still contrive?
Or is she now resolved?
She is no longer alive.
What so soon?
Was iron,
fire or rope her doom?
No, Sire,
she died
in a tub full of water,
as from one bathing room
to another she did go.
She herself started
the hot water flow.
The water, through four ducts at once
poured in like a torrent,
filling the vessel
to the brim in one moment.
The boiling water's steam
stifled her final scream.
And
while the superb
and sad empress...
And while
the proud empresses mourn her,
laced in her sash was found
a coffer filled with gold.
That evening
the resident troupe of the
Hotel de Bourgogne celebrated.
They were still the best.
Well?
A fiasco! The worst I've ever seen!
How could they be so bad?
My God, I pity them.
They're so young.
The night is ours.
Farewell!
Pommier, we owe him 1100 pounds.
Giraud, I don't know how much.
Lenormand, 3000 pounds, I think.
Antoinette Simon,
that bulldog won't let go!
You'd have to kill her first.
Never again will I act
with your company!
What can we do?
I'll go talk to them.
Stop worrying,
he's going to talk to them.
I understand your concern.
We're poor,
without resources.
You gain nothing
by throwing us in prison.
Poquelin, out!
A mountebank, that's what you are!
A juggler! A marionette!
A parasite!
And what are you?
Upholsterer!
A good-for-nothing,
and with my money.
That's it, your money.
And my armchair?
Where's my armchair?
But this is the last time!
Adelaide, look at me.
I'm going to travel.
Farewell, my dear.
Thus it was that Jean-Baptiste
and his tribe left Paris.
They set out to find the celebrated
troupe of Monsieur Dufresnes,
whose patron
was the Duke of Epernon.
They discovered
the kingdom of France.
She wants water.
Where's the gourd?
Raped by foreign soldiers no doubt.
The French, the French.
Bread.
We have nothing to eat.
I tell you we have nothing more,
madame.
If we had the smallest crust
we'd give it to you.
We have nothing for ourselves.
You not know any more.
Try again but eat slow.
Eat slow.
Good, we share.
They're eating our horses.
I want some, too.
It was just outside Toulouse
that they found
the famous troupe of Monsieur
and Madame Dufresnes.
What is it? Is it good to eat?
Here, Menou.
What is it?
- That's not the Dufresnes.
- Yes, it is.
They're blowing away.
They are the Dufresnes?
Of course they are the Dufresnes.
That's them.
You're as stubborn as a mule.
Perform, perform,
no matter what happens.
Let's keep calm, my dear wife.
Set up the stage,
in spite of everything.
In spite of winds and storms.
A plague on stubborn mules.
My sweet better half,
keep calm, please.
Nothing vexatious finally happened.
Nothing vexatious!
We were half over the cliff,
half smashed to bits.
And you say nothing vexatious
happened to us?
Do you think you are stronger
than the wind?
The wind! The wind!
The wind, my dear wife,
is the servant of sailors and millers
but it will never be
the master of thespians!
Madeleine!
You old madman!
Madeleine Béjart,
my favorite actress.
Catherine de Brie.
Edmée de Brie,
her husband.
Too bad she has a husband.
Maxime, our valet.
Not Maxime, Maimé.
René du Parc, known as Gros-René.
Let's go.
And in all this movement
they also took along the
Italian woman named Thérèse.
So ends
the first part of the life
of Molière.
-- English --