Roberte (1979) - full transcript

Phew! Nobody!

Another minute outside
and I’d have been done for.

A bunch of idiots who take their
restlessness as the enrichment of life.

No pleasure from any richness gained
by pausing to look at themselves live.

For what is richer than life
that gives itself as a spectacle?

There, holding its breath,

suddenly suspended in its fall,
it unveils itself.

Eyes for the fires of concupiscence,

ears to open to immoral discourse,

a tongue to prostitute to calumnies,

hands to devote to theft,
feet to run to the crime.



Andiamo!

You villains!

Who was that person?

Antoine’s tutor.

Antoine is Roberte’s young nephew.

You have to admit amazing
things happen in this house.

Blind despite his eyes.
Deaf despite his ears.

Forget that incident, cousin.

I find it inadmissible that
Roberte voted in the House

against the subvention
in favour of non-state schools.

Inadmissible, you say,

but for me, as far as Roberte is
concerned, I think: contradictory.

I’d like to show you

a very curious painting



that marvellously illustrates
that contradictory logic.

“Lucretia and Tarquin”.

You’ll have to attribute words

to Lucretia to really feel, like me,

that perfectly contradictory something

that the painted movements and
the restlessness of her body suggest.

Who did this painting?

A little 19th century master.
One Frédéric Tonnerre.

“Mirabile dictu!

Duo fuerunt,

et adulterium unus admisit.”

Look at the attitude of the hands.

One lying,
and the other confessing to a crime

that seeps through its fingers.

The irruption of pleasure
in Lucretia’s body

coincides exactly

with that of the moral repugnancy
in her soul.

Cousin, I’m giving you this
painting for your charity auction.

You are guilty, Octave!

You take pleasure in visions

where you think you recognize
a woman whom you’ve led to err.

That painting is a fake.

A pornographic fake!

March 1958.

Here I am resuming…

the dear old…

habit…

contracted…

in childhood…

of writing…

a journal…

of free enquiry.

Those fifteen years old
images are as strong as ever.

It seems that, far from weakening them,

my married life
with Octave is reviving them.

But how could I reconstruct
the scene of the “grave offence”?

In vain I re-read what I wrote
in autumn ‘44 in Rome,

once I’d got over my emotion.

I’d hoped to see those
burning images consumed in oblivion.

Instead, they’ve smouldered
beneath their embers.

Thou whose death
finally allows everyone to say:

I am the truth,

receive here the fruit of Thy teachings.

May I put into practice
thy sublime words,

“Let the dead bury the dead”,

according to the exegesis
that I attempt to draw from it:

let remorse bury remorse.

Roberte, don’t move.

Father, can I confess?

Have you forgotten what you have to do?

That’s why I’m here, Father.

Why dress like that
in a place like this?

Don’t worry, and don’t forget your role.

My role?

To act with or without witnesses.

We need those documents tonight.

What documents?

Relax, the old lady is not bothering us.

Why should she?

Courage, Roberte.

Act, and make the most
of the candle she’s just lit.

There, she’s heading for the exit.

You who have insulted the Word,

who are you?

Heavens! Behold the corruption
from Paris to New York!

Sad times.

Sad times.

END OF ROMAN IMPRESSIONS
First fragment

Ah! Justin, if one could put a stop
to the corruption

infecting all our young people.

It’s a desire that does credit
to your new functions, Madame, but…

Inspectress of Censorship,
surely that’s a heavy task for a woman.

Hold on, Justin. I haven’t said yes yet.

The dragon’s watching, my friend.

I’m off!

Antoine is an orphan,

too young still
to be left to his own devices.

Since I don’t have children,
he’ll be my brother and my son.

I shall preserve in him
the greatest purity of intention.

I shall teach him not to confuse
his adventurous impulses

with a deceptive need for justice.

Why did you call me?
I’ve done nothing wrong.

Antoine, I don’t much care for your
classmates from that private school.

Because they come from a wealthy milieu,

they think they know all
and possess all.

They’re only the golden boys
of a bourgeoisie

condemned, I trust, to disappear.

You don’t even know them.

All you like is to lecture me
as if you were still at the House.

Precisely! I intend to take you in
hand and enroll you in a state school.

What are you saying?

I want you to learn to create
your own truth, Antoine.

You don’t like mussels?

Yes, yes, I do.

- It’s scented.
- Thank you.

Do you like working in your bank?

I beg your pardon?

Well, you’re at the start
of your career, aren’t you?

Yes, I currently handle the deeds.

I didn’t care for the State exam.

But I have a degree
in Political Science.

What do you think?

It’s not bad.

I’ll need a secretary
for my campaign.

Would you like to try?

You are very kind, Madame,
but your activities…

I fear I won’t be able to help you
as much as you would wish.

Come with me.

You’ll understand immediately.

Can I clear the table?

Obviously.

Not at all, I have nothing
to do with that financier.

Those around him
are at each other’s throats.

I’m well-placed to know
how they make the shares

go up and down at the Exchange

or how they secretly control

the investment companies
that deal in property

and give them public funds.

How can you be seen
wearing such a monstrosity?

What time do you have
to be back at the bank?

If I can still give you
some clarification, it can wait.

You couldn’t be
better placed to inform me.

Isn’t the experience
provided me each day

by my collection of Tonnerre’s
unexhibitable paintings

a deceptive derivative
to that which I aspire?

The sharing of an asset
all the more immutable

that it remains incomprehensible?

One only lends a precious and rare
object with the utmost reluctance.

But how to lend one’s wife to other men?

Would I gain anything
by seeing her treated as a value?

Will I be punished for offering her
as the hint of possessions to come?

And yet, such sharing
of a dear but living being

is not without analogy
to the hallowed gaze of an artist.

Life itself,
the physical life of my wife

can belie the sincerity
of my generous act.

The prestige
of a jouissance freely given,

the vulgar call it the favour
of a woman who’s bored.

But no one sees my emotion.

It has no reference
for this mercantile race.

Hello?

Yes, he’s here.

Hold on.

Is it you, cousin?

Is it definitive?

I’ve been excluded from the Faculty.

That’s enough.
You're wasting my time.

You have to call my bank
to say I’ll be late.

You still haven’t told
me what you think.

She looks too much like your wife.

Blind despite his eyes.

Deaf despite his ears.

Disgusting old pervert!
Worthy of the bitch!

What a cow!

Justin, whom are you talking about?

Madame, of course! Madame!

One is supposed to be jealous
like that mercantile race.

The snaps you’re going to see

were taken by the press office
of the Palais Bourbon,

probably during the campaign
on the politicians in the street.

Thus, under everyone’s eyes.

However, one detail,

anodyne if it didn’t concern Roberte,

gives those anecdotic images

the whole value of an exhibit.

Look carefully.

That you could think there was a trick
or a staging of those photographs

wouldn’t take anything away
from their documentary value.

On the contrary.

You don’t notice anything?

I only see my aunt
passing people I don’t know

and pulling on her gloves again.

Pay full attention to the way
she slips on her gloves.

I’ll take it back.

Does that shot seem to you identical

to the one preceding,
or the one following?

I quite like this one, Uncle.

Why is that?

Perhaps because Aunt Roberte is looking…

Anything else?

Does her hand seem to be in
a natural position to slip on a glove?

The thumb is raised too high…

but, that way, it stretches the flesh
of the palm, makes it perfectly round.

I’d like a copy of that photo.

Out of the question!

However, it is the forfeit
of an operation to which I agree

to initiate you
if you know how to keep silent.

I swear to you.

But prior to that, I would have
to ask you a few embarrassing questions.

Expect to be less free,
even if you refuse to answer.

I don’t care about my freedom.
I don’t know what to do with it.

There is someone at this moment

between you, my nephew,
and me, your uncle.

It’s not my fault
if things have gone that far.

It’s not your Aunt Roberte
I’m talking about,

nor the disputes I have with her
about your education,

but someone who perhaps
affects her in some way.

But between you and me,
who else is there, Uncle?

The one who prevents us getting
along at this precise moment.

And yet, without him,
we couldn’t succeed.

A fourth person?

No, a third person.

The one who intervenes
between you and me,

between me and Aunt Roberte,
between you and your aunt.

And this third person is a pure spirit.

You must be joking.

I have never been more serious.

I have named Roberte to him.

- What are you driving at?
- At fulfilling your desire…

You… me with my aunt?

Don’t go so fast! Turn off the light.

Nothing is more impalpable…

despite appearances.
It all depends on him.

What’s happening to you, Uncle?

Listen carefully:
I named Roberte to the Pure Spirit.

“You and your laws of Hospitality!
My poor Octave,

you think that my conjugal
honesty and my lack of religious beliefs

make me a monster of inconsequence.

You think I am chaste.

You think that by committing
adultery or prostituting myself

I would end up suffering in my soul
until finally I believe it immortal

and that a salutary shame would be
born from the satisfying of my senses.

That I would finally be divided,
open to grace

for having opened myself
to what you call sin.

But you are misjudging us.

A woman is totally inseparable
from her body.

Nothing is more foreign to her

than the distinction
between the physical and the spiritual,

and the insurmountable misunderstanding

begins with the idea
that she is a mere animal.

But the thing is,
her body is truly her soul.”

Here he comes!

Professor, I’d like you to meet the man

to whom you owe
Frédéric Tonnerre’s paintings.

My friend Vittorio de Santa Sede.

Pleased to meet you.

Very pleased indeed.

If only you knew how your discovery
has brightened my final days.

I’m delighted.

I’m almost certain…

that Frédéric Tonnerre
was a pupil of Courbet.

Undoubtedly.

Salomon told me we are on the same side.

You’re a professor
at the Catholic Faculty, I believe?

Of Canon Law.

Well, I myself was an adviser
to the Vatican, but the war, alas.

Salomon, do me the favour.

Bring Monsieur de Santa Sede
to the house.

I absolutely must have
other paintings by Tonnerre.

Would a deposit do?

Count on me.

Delighted to have met you.

Thank you very much, Salomon.

See you soon.

Goodbye.

The deal was one thousand.

I myself shall give the
five others to the maniac.

When it’s all done,
you will put that in her bag.

That Octave has
the inconceivable arrogance

of thinking himself the author
of my misbehaviours is all for the best.

But as for thinking
he’s at the origin of my temperament,

the poor old dear hasn’t the faintest

of what I’m capable of
without any help from him.

Could it be that a woman,
since she is honest and respectable,

is actually seeking
that violent feeling of shame?

I remember I felt ashamed.

Did I enjoy it any the less?

Are you feeling all right?
You’re a bit pale.

All things considered,
what should I rebuke those people for?

If they have enjoyed
a pathetic pleasure.

For me, it’s now that pleasure begins.

Turn off the light.

Are you feeling all right?
You’re a bit pale.

How calming is the fountain
fall beneath the plane trees.

How delightful is this city
as it slides gently downhill.

What’s going on?

- She went to enrol him at the lycée.
- It’s in the bag then.

Antoine will no longer languish
in a private school

whose regime he couldn’t bear.

By enrolling him in a state school,
I took the situation in hand again.

But isn’t it a challenge
to have him here permanently

when Octave has the sabbath prevail?

Roberte.

Roberte!

Roberte?

- Yes?
- It’s me, Octave.

Roberte, I would like
to introduce an excellent friend.

I’d be happy for you
to accept him as Antoine’s tutor.

You have to admit
Antoine needs private tuition.

Monsieur de Santa Sede’s
references are irreproachable.

But I leave it to you to decide,

and to inform him of the circumstances

that made us call on his services.

Do with me whatever you please.

From me you can only
expect indifference…

and forgiveness for the rest.

We only met a moment ago,

it’s pure madness
to entrust Antoine to you,

but I count on your
common sense for total silence.

I don’t want to know how you escaped
the Germans in Rome,

and then the Allies.

I’m not curious either of the fate
you reserved for Von A. and his victims.

Cigarette?

It’s up to you to choose between
a revenge that would cost you dear

and a behaviour strictly limited
to your functions as a tutor.

I would never have had the audacity
to accept your husband’s offer

if I had known I’d find you here.

My good fortune
never ceases to surprise me.

Who would have thought
the sensations experienced ten years ago

in wartime circumstances

would be renewed within so charming
and welcoming a house.

Out!

This is mine.

Antoine, this is Monsieur de Santa Sede

who’ll be helping you
prepare your Baccalaureate.

What a torture,
what an injustice is that Baccalaureate.

Madame, when will you vote
for the school reform?

Not before Antoine has passed it.

But that is pure cruelty,
isn’t it, Master Antoine?

You may go. You’ll have plenty
of time to get to know each other.

Why tell him I’ll be his tutor?

I was ready to leave
and disappear forever.

I can see what your game is.

Now that you’re here,
you’re going to stay.

Come with me.

You’ll stay at the other end
of the apartment.

Here’s your room.

But be warned.

You won’t move from here
without my knowing.

You’ll only come to me when I call you.

At your service, Signora.

There wouldn’t be any
if you hadn’t given him bad habits.

It’s more than time, at sixteen, that
he stops considering himself a rich kid.

What does it matter?

I wonder what entertainment
he’s eagerly spending all his money on.

On those, obviously,
that are soiling our screens.

That’s what’s bothering you.

Go ahead, spoil him rotten.

Anyway, as soon as
I’ve my back turned,

you throw him to the mercy
of a tutor discovered under a gateway.

I thought I had your tacit agreement.

Tacit! What bad faith.

Antoine will get on
marvellously with Vittorio.

Of course!

This Vittorio will have plenty of
misadventures to entertain him with:

at the Vatican, with war criminals…

What are you on about?
The Vatican? War criminals?

Only one thing matters to me: to protect
Antoine’s still intact common sense.

But what do you do?

You throw him into the arms
of that degenerate aristocrat

who has resigned from the Papal Guard.

That should reassure you, surely.

Following I don’t know what gambling
scandal or corruption of minors.

Who, when the Reich occupied Rome,
was a Fascist liaison officer,

then a secret agent charged
with keeping an eye on the Vatican.

Who, suddenly disappeared,
to be changed into a parachutist

and drop from the sky,
a monstrance in hand,

right into the middle
of the camp of Communist hostages.

It’s too good to be true.

What surprises me

is that you’re the one
dishing out all those details.

What else do you want me to tell you?

Your Vittorio is one of the picturesque
phenomena of this century,

amusing, touching for you, I agree,

but disturbing once
you want them to contribute

to the education of a young man.

What can possibly
fixate willpower in goodness?

Certainly not resisting temptation

in order to deserve
I don’t know what fantastical beatitude.

It is the idea of deserving,

the idea of temptation itself
that I want to suppress.

For that, only one course:

to never regret any of our acts.

That’s what I shall teach Antoine.

What about the method
of this charming education?

Challenging him to coldly
face up to its consequences.

So, if ever the idea
of murdering me

or raping you entered his mind…

Such a crazy idea, my dear, could
only come to him under your influence.

- And if he makes a mistake?
- He will pay.

Roberte, tonight.

Your great mistake, Madame,

is that you serve two masters,
because you…

Antoine, is it you?

What do you want?

Come down! I’m with X.
He has something for you.

Look out! He’s coming.

What do you have for me?

This. A hundred francs.

But what is it?

If you want to know, pay.

But why a hundred francs?

That’s what your tutor gave
to have the other.

If you want, you can feel it…

Don’t worry,
you won’t regret your money.

Fifty francs, that’s all I have.

That’ll do.

Look what you made me do!

Don’t you have an essay to write?

You scared me!

It’s late.

You forgot to turn off your light.

I’m hot.

You have no reason to worry
about your exams.

All will be fine.

A lot of things are troubling me.

Take this.

It’s a light sedative,
it’ll help you sleep.

I wasn’t aware you knew my friends.

They told me you bought
something from them.

All those close to you interest me.

My aunt criticizes everything I do.

She criticizes
the Latin tuition you give me.

Your aunt has important responsibilities
in all she undertakes.

Everyone treats me like a child.

Swallow that tablet.

You need a good night’s sleep.

I’m sure your aunt regrets not taking
care of you as much as you deserve.

Ah, Canon.
I’m happy for you.

You’re looked upon
from high places.

Really?

I wouldn’t be surprised if your merits
were rewarded with some honours.

“Bishop in partibus”, for example.

I shall support you.

I really don’t understand
that nomination of Roberte

at the Censorship Commission.

Is it a manoeuvre by the Socialists?

I’m tired, cousin.

Tired of a world where Madame
leads the honourable fight

for universal democracy and fraternity

while I’m consumed by beauty,
thus dying for the villains’ cause.

Admit at least
that you’ve done everything

to condemn yourself to that solitude.

I’m very worried for Antoine.

He’s obsessed by
a story of stolen gloves

allegedly ripped from his aunt’s hands.

Most vexing is that Roberte doesn’t
do anything to set the story straight.

How could she?

She is surrounded
by informers and betrayers

waiting for the slightest mistake
on her part to compromise her.

That’s without even mentioning
certain rumours

that circulate almost openly.

What do you mean?

Papers have been seized, with
indications of addresses and floors.

I thought at first there were calumnies,

but the news is spreading
more and more in our parish youth clubs.

Some of our leaders,
and even younger people,

boast quite openly about their exploits
with a lady they all call Roberte.

I would like to believe
it’s only a coincidence,

alas, I must admit
I’m no longer so sure.

Roberte is a simple heart
and I made her ashamed of it.

So she has contracted
with the greatest simplicity

what in others

is but the fruit of a hideous soul.

If you were nothing but a Pure Spirit,

as you sometimes pretend
to be at the Censorship Board,

you would nonetheless be constantly
assailed by thoughts more outrageous

than the one you allowed
yourself to have tonight.

“Has Octave made me to that extent
submissive to his infamous visions

for me to enter
straightaway the portrait

he enjoys now depicting
in his 'Roberte, ce soir'?

Or am I reduced to live
in the truth of yesterday

just because it is the lie of tomorrow?

To hasten his end would then remain
the last, inconceivable resort.

But wouldn’t that be typical of him?

If I wish him dead now,

it’s because he unnecessarily
survives his oeuvre

and prevents me living
like he always wanted me to be.”

“My poor Octave,

why do you wish me to be so prudish?

Vittorio, whom I don’t love,
at least has the merit, in my eyes,

of allowing me to be
as I like to see myself.”

Do you remember, Philippe?

We had agreed to bring back
to its former royal aspect,

if not the whole of France,
at least the Parisian region.

For that, no more factories!
As a result, no more red belt.

Let the Jerries take away everything,
send them as many men as possible.

Empty France of its troublemakers,
only keep the women and children,

see Germany blocked with labour,

and eventually
choke on its industrial crises,

its riots, finally rot
under Moscow’s thumb.

We’d trade North Africa and Indochina
and sell to the highest bidder

and, rich in currencies,

we’d lock ourselves
in our revived Syagrius kingdom.

It was common sense.

With a density of population
carefully controlled,

we’d become again an artisan
civilization, a manual civilization!

Eh! Manual in many skills.

Paris would become inaccessible!

It would be impossible
to find a job in Paris,

where only families who’d lived there

for a minimum of seventy-five years
would be allowed to reside.

Few young men,

but girls and women
in abundance,

and many old men.

A well-organized poverty, clean,
benefiting from a modest life,

a dwindling working class,

destined to disappear
with the last factories.

As for Paris, it’d only be libraries,
museums and shows.

For a century,
the old men have saved this country.

The petulant youth ruined it.

It was never generosity
that was a creative force

in the social life of our country,

but suspicion, malicious gossip,

denunciation, cold-blooded malice,

that’s what made us grow up

with the most perfect contempt
for our fellow beings.

All virtues that only blossom
with the coldness of old age.

To teach the young
there is nothing more important

than preparing for their old age,
if they can reach it.

To stay sober and continent.

Then, with all the pent-up vitality,

all the sperm hoarded
as much as the money,

carried by the change of life,

to enjoy the golden sunset of life.

What is it?

It’s a stone, Uncle.

It was thrown from the street.

Go and see what’s happening.

“Your paintings are fakes.

They are all in cahoots.

Enough!"

Signed, Frédéric Tonnerre.

Would those fakes be real then?

I can’t see anyone, Uncle.

If she has already taken part in…

Let her take part one more time.

Let her pose for a last tableau,

a tableau vivant this time.

So I shall know finally.

Don’t move!

How shameful.

I can still see.

I shall always see.

Peace, finally. But is it possible?

Octave has been recalled by his God.

What alleviating miracle
could drag from me

more sincere, more joyful thanks?

God, if you exist against all evidence,
you have saved me from my final blunder,

and my father the pastor
wouldn’t fail to say:

“You won’t be tempted
beyond your strength”.

But though I can’t bring myself
to believe in the supreme judge,

it’s more difficult for me still
to believe Octave is dead.

Beyond the grave, he spies on me.

Am I to remain his walk-on part forever?

Am I to let myself take part
in posthumously staged scenes,

to strain my ear for his applause?

Or could it be
the disappearance of his gaze

that suddenly
takes me by surprise?

Excuse me.

I’m happy to go to Rome with Antoine.

So much beauty and gentleness
will help him bloom.

I took upon myself to prepare your
luggage and his in that very spirit.

I hope he’ll like the outfit
I chose for you.

Antoine freely expects only one thing
that I’m called upon to freely satisfy.

And since life is no longer a spectacle,

it starts all over again,
seriously and solemnly.

And more seriously still
as it’s a matter of educating a lover.

There’s no light?

If you allow me?

Here I am, alone, restored to myself,

and there won’t be
those perpetual comments

on my gestures, on my movements.

But since life must resume,

let me find once more
that turning

where I left myself
some fifteen years ago.

That glimpse in my life that I dread
is from now on even more frightening.

ROMAN IMPRESSIONS
Continuation and end

More. Your cool hand
is so soft and soothing.

- What is that key? - This key opens
the tabernacle where a list is hidden.

The Allies are coming!
The Allies are coming!

Schwester, let me see your breasts…
What harm could it do?

Very well… but first, give me the key!

This list… is it the one
with the Jewish children?

And the convents where
Vittorio has hidden them!

- To think I was supposed
to kidnap him. - “Him”?

Pius XII, can you imagine!
To take him as hostage to Nuremberg.

That list means a hanging
for me… on the spot!

Earlier, my angel,
you promised me something.

Help! Leave me alone! Help!

You little spy! Perfumed and powdered
to arouse the wounded,

to make war prisoners talk.
You procuress of the gallows!

Forgive me! I didn’t want that!

How’s that? For once you
wouldn’t have anything to regret…

It’s you, Roberte, I’m afraid, who’ll be
so strong as never to regret anything…

We who don’t regret anything,
our day will also come!

- What’s he shouting?
- The Pope is dead.

Translated by
Catherine Petit and Paul Buck

Subs by xxuuq @ KG