All language subtitles for eng.A Season in the Life of Emmanuel

A SEASON IN THE LIFE OF EMMANUEL

Film by Claude Weisz

from Marie-Claire Blais's novel

His mother put away his homework,
went off, proud and satisfied

Not seeing in his look
a fight with all he vilified.

All day he suffered oppression,
intelligent but quirky.

Some traits spoke in him
of his bitter hypocrisy.

In the mildewed shadows
of the hallways,

he stuck out his tongue,
two fists rolled always

seeing spots behind
his tight-shut eyes.

A door opened into night,
up there at the railing

he complained about the light,
day hanging from the roof.

In summer especially, feeling
beaten, stupid and stubborn,

he shut himself up in
the cool of the toilet

to think, and pick
his nose in quiet.

The little garden in the back,
by a wall, buried in the Marne

awakened in winter,
washed of the smells of day

his cold fish-eye for the
crushing visions

he listened to the movements
of the grubby oarsmen

Pity! He knew each lonely child,
shifty, bareheaded

eyes staining their cheeks

hiding thin, yellow fingers
black with mud

old clothes stinking
of the country fair

talking with idiot softness

and if his mother was frightened

finding him with unspeakable pity

his deep tenderness
added to her surprize.

It was good.
her bluish gaze that lied.

Song-Rimband / Ferre

No crying now.

Already you're selfish and mean.
Angry too.

Bad time to be born.

Never been so poor
Hard season for everyone.

I've got my rheumatism.

Nobody talks about that.

I've got work too.

]1 hate newborns:
Insects in the dust.

You'll be stupid, mean and bitter
just like the others.

Never thought about the
grief you brought me

did you?

Baptise you, name you...
I have to do it all.

Your mother's working
as usual... one more day

like all the others,just
yourself to think about.

I suffer too, you know.

Newborns are dirty.
Disgusting.

Good to you, aren't I?

Wash you, take care of you.

But you'll be first to
celebrate when I die.

No point crying, little one.
No one to hear you.

You'll see you're all alone.

That's all there is.
You'll be scared too.

It's over, nothing to
be afraid of...I'm here

You'll see...you
get used to everything.

Enough!

Look, I'm here.
I'm in charge.

Take a good look...I'm
the only one here worth anything.

My room's the sweet-smelling one

bars of soap lined
up under my bed.

Lots of time today...no rush.

Another boy! Christ,

what's to become of us?

I'm strong, child.
You can trust me completely.

There he is, hungry,
crying all day.

Enough! No more!

Go on, get out of here!

Where's the seventh child?

You'll stay in school
while I'm alive!

School, who needs it, Grandma!

Hard winter. Hope springs better

Least there's boarding-school.

I like the seminary better.
It's free and the kids grow up right.

Why do they need to study anyway?

A man wouldn't understand.

I know more about life than you.
I know what to do with my kids.

This kid sees it all,
doesn't miss a thing.

What do we call him?
David? Joseph?

No, too many of those in years gone by. Weak men!

Emmanuels have been solid.
Always good at working the land.

Let's call him that.

What date for the baptism?

Let's wait till spring. Springs good.

Sunday. I'll see to it myself.

The wife thinks so too.

You can be grateful
I decide these things for you.

Get back to school now and
bring me the seventh child.

Not you, Jean le Maigre,
you're coughing too much.

Where did you got to now,
reading under the table?

I'm going to bum that book of his!

I'm telling you, Grandma,
We don't need books in this house.

Jean's got talent.
The priest said so.

He's feeble.
Why does he need to study?

Who asked the priest to
stick his nose in?

Jean le Maigre will never
be worth anything.

He's finished before he starts.

Just who does he think he is?

I see you. You think I don't.

No you can't. When I'm reading, nobody can.

Don't you believe it.
Time for your syrup any time now.

Not me. I'm dead.

Maybe, but I'm alive, and as long
as I am, you're drinking your syrup.

And just what good's that
going to do?

Guess you're right... might as well
get used to going to school in winter

I've seen worse winters than this.

Seasons black as death.

Seen my share.

Yup, bad way to end the day.

Stop laughing. I'll rip that
book out of your hands.

Too late

I've read it all!
Can't bum what I've read!

Got it all right here!

Stifling in here.

I'm not sewing that button on.

I know it's you...always is you.

Listen, Jean le Maigre.

Seminary school.

They've got infirmaries,
warm dormitories...you'd love it.

I'm going to slap that
Jean le Maigre of yours around.

Come over here. No one's going
to hurt you around me.

Now what?

Nothing.

Good Lord.. a head full of lice again!

Too many of them. I don't want
all these kids around me any more.

Now what's he done? Monster...
He stinks of liquor.

No forgiving him tonight. Finished.
No one pardons him any more.

There, down with you, my boy!

Go on to bed.

Next time, out you go! Not tonight.
It's stormy, but tomorrow.

Bunch of goons! Your father's right,
Jean; you're rotten to the core.

At least I can drink without getting sick.

At least I can drink without getting sick.

Strange moon in the sky tonight.
Never seen it like that.

Where? There isn't any moon.

You drink too much. At your age,
I was good for something...

learning Latin, having brilliant
conversations with the priest.

Ha! I feel pretty good.

I'm getting something from the kitchen.

I'm not afraid of Father.
I never ask him to forgive me.

I'll meet you in the attic.

So, can you still see the moon?

You've had too much to drink.

Now's the perfect time to confess.
A great big, fabulous confession!

Tell me all those nasty little stories.

I know you've got a bunch of them.

Tell me all and I'll absolve you.

Then you can start again.

Speak, my child. I'm listening.

Time for evening prayers!

Enough! No more!

God's my witness... I've heard enough.

I only did it the once.

A liar too! How dare you!

So how was it?

The candle's burning out.

Oh, I see...no repentance, eh!

No, I repent. Still it was fun!

That's vice, alright. I know all about it.

So tell me everything. I have to know

First, you were outside,
in the snow?

God no. You've got your stories mixed up.

It was a hot day, near the old mill.

There were flowers and raspberries.

Not in May there weren't.

Sure were! Maybe just before or after.

Remember the little hunchback?

She was so good!

Next day, she gave me pancakes.

Another time, she gave me a paper and pencils
so I could write poems.

She was nice. Always went to
church with a nice gilt prayerbook.

What about now?

Now she's a young lady living in town.

Still makes pancakes though.

She's got a lot olde; though. I suppose
all hunchback girls get old fast.

Heloise get down here for prayers!

Our Father who an in heaven,
Hallowed be Thy name,

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive them that
Trespass against us

Lead us not into temptation, but
Deliver us from evil.

Amen.

Your future looks dim, very dim.

If I were you, I'd ask for
Extreme Unction right away.

Then it would be over. Besides,
you never know, you might get better.

If you think I'm going to trot off
to paradise just like that...

quietly with only a blessing

I know, I'll perform my
posthumous work.

I knew a man who was very sick

sicker than you. He coughed and
spat up blood.

I do that too!

They gave him the Last Rites,
then the next day

he was cured.

He just went right off and
started cutting wood, as usual.

Yes, but once I'm dead, I don't think
I'm going to want to cut wood.

I'll just take my wings and fly away.

But where to?

You'll just stay behind...

here, and you'll get up at six
and go cut wood,

and I'll be flying across the sky

like a dove.

A dove?

Sure, why no t?

Beware of a woman who will want to
lure you into the city.

She has evil on her mind.

God, it's Grandma Antoinette with
her Seminary school all over again!

At least someone's looking out for you.

He lives nearby and he's very nice.

He's wise and good.

No one understands him though.

Wise and good down deep,
but still he's a thief,

the worst there is.

He's brave and won't
shed a tear when you're gone.

Jeez, you're the one who's the thief.

Me? Not on your life!

Yes, robberies, lots of them.

I can see them before me like
microbes in the water!

Candle's gone out.
Hey, someone's coming.

Better go down right away.

Don't forget about me.

I've got crimes on my
conscience too, you know.

I'm not at peace. I don't sleep.
I grind my teeth.

"My head is a fish-bowl. Things
swim around in there, and

your crimes and mine,
like seahorses..."

God, this is awful. I can see them...

"In my soup, cats and foxes

"Just remembering those murders,
I lose my appetite."

What's this? Who told you to
come up here?

I'm not even going to bother talking,
not with a good-for-nothing like you.

Come here, you.
Just you wait and see.

It's not right. Everyone's bad-
tempered around here.

I'm leaving, that's all.
Tomorrow morning.

Oh God, not you again!
Wet hair in my bed.

Get out!

It's Grandma Antoinette, she
shoved my head in the wash-bowl.

I'm going to have room to myself,
my very own bed,

when you've gone to the seminary

Can't hear you.
I'm sleeping.

I'm cold.

Beg on your knees or whatever
I'm not warming you up.

Anyway, I'm fast asleep,

dreaming of crossing a river on skates.

It's frozen, but I'm afraid
it will split open all of a sudden.

More scared all the time.

I call for help, but you
can't hear me, rotten beast!

I can't help it. I'm on the
other side of the river

Besides, I can't change
what you dream.

What's that noise, bears?

There are bears outside.

It's just Pomme's stomach
growling. You know that.

It's not fair. The smaller mine is,
the bigger his gets.

Come over here.

Remember, we're way
above everyone else.

At least, I am.

Take off your shirt.
It smells awful.

I don't know Heloise gets to sleep.

With her convent dress and
crucifix on her chest.

Incredible.

She might sleep in the nude.
You never know.

Good Night.

"I lie ..."

This is unbearable.
Fleas eating us alive.

I'd sleep a bit if I were you.

Everybody's got to get sleep.

Not me. Waste of time.

I should write poems instead.

Obscure poem written on my
brother's back

while he sleeps through
his long nightmares.

Assassins. Cell number two.
Cell of the arsonists.

Ouch! Don't touch my behind.
It's hot as a furnace. Ow!

If you don't stop lamenting like
a babe in the woods,

I'll go wake up Pomme. At least he
doesn't talk at the same time.

No, don't do that.

We've got something worthwhile done.

I like to go to confession right away.

So do I. Even this late.

We ought to visit some good people.

That would calm you down and
keep you from going to hell tonight.

Let's go visit Heloise.

A good example would help us.

Diary of a man fallen victim to demons.

I want to talk about our visit to
the Saint, our sister.

She doesn't eat, steal or kill
like most of us.

She keeps to herself in her
room with a prayer-stool,

a crucifix and a family of mice
that grows every year

Every night at the same time,
you read afresh installment

in this novel of the piety of Heloise

if the birds of insomnia
torment you like me!

My brother and I, alas,
after a lifetime of sin,

wish to convert.

It's too late, but we always
think about it too early on.

I thought it would help
my brother convert if I

showed him the example
of our sister praying

on her knees at night,
or so I thought,

but who, I hate to admit,
was doing just the opposite.

I won't go into enough
detail to shock Grandma,

because I know she's nosy
enough to read this.

My brother and I

were happily surprized
to see her doing alone

what the two or four of us do
when Alexis and Pomme are awake.

This event is most important.

It needs its own chapter titled
The Misadventures of Heloise,

or The Fall of Heloise, or
Heloise Seen at Night

at the Hour of Temptation.

You talking about Heloise?

There's a mystery about her,
same as Jean le Maigre.

The reader may follow my
painful voyage toward death...

the forest gets thicker,
and my eyes close.

"And I age a thousand years
thinking about my solitude."

Still, I have to say Heloise
always loved torture

While others were milking
the cows around her,

there she was,
kneeling in the hay,

arms crossed, meditating, or
watching the drops of blood

from her pricked fingers.

One mystery: why did Mother Superior
throw her out

while she was still a novice?

I hope the reader will
excuse my absence.

My throat's burning, and my kidneys
can barely make it,

and my knee bends,
and my painful nose...

Jean, huff)' "P!

Good morning.

Good morning, Father.

And how are you today?

Fine.

All your students are here?

As always.

Oh dear!

Father, they are so very young.

Hmm...evil. I've known them
from birth.

Especially that one, the redhead...
Can't trust him.

The other one over there,
just venial sins, nice enough.

He's sweet and smart.

Ah, well.

I'll need 5 or 6, 150 or so.

Easy now, Horace, easy.
This time I think it's...

Ok, Ok.

Uh huh. You know you mustn't
get involved in trade

before dying. I've told you
a hundred times, right?

No.

I would settle for one of your
sheep though, a young one.

Of course.

I mean, how else could
I feed my poor?

I'd give them to a cowherd.

Good, good.

I still have time before I die.

Yes, you do. Next it
could be your wildcat coat.

Wildcat coat?

I mean, how else could I
clothe my poor?

Of course.

Alright?

Alright.

Good then.

My childhood in St. Malo.
Period.

Far out on the wharf

surrounded by ocean,

comma,

between the castle and Fort Royal

comma,

He just keeps on writing words like

love, passion and lust, Father

lust...oh yes, honour too...often!

There's only one thing to do,
you know... the seminary.

It's all there ever is.

The priest's downstairs. He's
waiting to take you.

I'm not moving.
I'm not opening my eyes.

I'll dress you myself if I have to.

Grandmother, spare your child
this indignity.

I'm only getting up to pull out
the chamberpot under the bed.

And he taunts me too!

You, help me.

Don't forget to mention me
in your prefaces and epilogues.

Seventh is lost. He'll lose his
Soul without me.

He's weak by nature.
He gives up easily

I have to plan my escape
right away.

Go on, scoot, everyone out to
push the ca:

Oh come on. Put your backs
into it, children.

All together now, 1-2-3.
Hey you, bring the basket.

It's the weight.
I'm too heavy.

Phew...come on, Jean, help me!

Ah, that's it. Good.

What time is it, anyway?

We must get there before dark.

Hey, don't do that on your sleeve.

Boy, what ears he's got. Bet

flapped down their share of sins!

Here, take this handkerchief.

Thanks, Father.

It's a calling that comes late in life,
but not without hope.

Keep an eye on his lungs and
shave his head.

He's eaten up with fleas and
filthy on the outside,

but when he's washed,
his soul will shine through.

Now, my child, you must renounce
the world, its goods and its pleasures.

Four days later, they rolled her
naked over broken pottery-shards

and hot coals, but this new torture
didn't shake Agathe's confidence.

They took her back to prison,
where she prayed

and raised her hands to heaven:

"Lord, my Creator, who has
kept me since childhood,

"I must now quit this life and
rejoice in Your charity."

God answered her prayer, and gathered
up her spirit as she finished.

Silence!

Maybe tomorrow will be soon
enough to escape.

Here, at least, they respect
my intelligence.

There are lots of books on piety.

I could become devoted and
not even know it.

I could teach everyone.

I would have visitations, and
saints would talk to me in my sleep.

Get into bed, children.

How are things this morning, Horace?

Well enough. How about you?

I'm in pain. Rheumatism as usual.

You should get it looked after.

I do, Horace, I do.

Rheumatism's got to be looked after.

Lord, Horace, you're like my
dead husband today!

Just like him. You're going to die.

Your husband in heaven.

You're dying, Horace.

Can't be so sure.

Hmm...you love life, don't
you, Horace? Oh yes.

Aren't you ashamed at your age...
loving life that way? You should be.

Yes.

Come on, I'll sort out your things.

Your place is a mess this morning.

Don't you think I have enough to do?

Well, you'll have some nice soup.

Don't want any soup.

Stop complaining.

Don't want any. I'm not hungry.

The Lord doesn't like complaining.

Don't want any.

Yes, there's work to be done here.

If you eat it up nicely, I'll let you
smoke your pipe afterwards.

First, eat a bit of soup, alright?

Don't want any more.

Oh yes, you do.

Don't want any more.

Oh yes, you do.

No,just no, that's all.

I don't want any.

And I'm telling you, if you don't
have any you won't get...

Don't want any.

...your pipe.

I'll eat somewhere else.

A nice glass of wine...

no soup.

...to finish off.

Don't want any.

It'll be good.

Don't want any!

I told you before...stop complaining,
and straighten up.

Eat up. Soup smells good.

Don't want any.

Go on, eat it.

No, a few spoonfuls.

And get some on yourself...

Don't want any.

There, that's two spoonfuls.

You'll be glad; then
I'll give you your pipe.

OK, that's enough. Now
have your pipe.

There's no tobacco.

Never mind. I'll give you some.

You're getting thinner all the time.

I'm thinking of writing my will.

Warm milk, morning and night,

and you keep your feet dry.

Narcisse died when he was
thirteen-and-a-half.

Brother Paul died on his
thirteenth birthday.

Since birth, I've had
a crown of fleas.

"A poet!" my father cried joyfully.

A Wen.!

My face already shone with
a dark, tormented fire.

My eyes darted flames of
genius around the room.

Fortunately, Pivoine
died the day before and

kindly left room for me,
which...

meant everyone got to
have a nice meal with

the priest after the funeral.

One more angel in heaven.

But Father, this is the second
child I've lost this year

Ah, but how God rewards you!

He's green... green!

Eat up, Heloise.

She is far too sensitive.

Good God! This idiot has
cost me my cow.

Who knows, perhaps
a future calling?

Long ears. He'll be
very intelligent.

Un-huh. What matters most is
cutting wood and milking cows.

Pivoine and Joseph-Aimé
both died.

Don't look back. Think
only of the future.

That child will blush
before he commits

his first deadly sin.

I know all about sin.

May god forgive him.
He'll commit lots of them.

Our poor mother, when she
wasn't in the fields,

or in the stable, talked
with the dead,

lined up in a row.

Léopold, the student with
dark thoughts,

was oddly summoned back
to God one Good Friday.

Fortuné and I had already
begun our descent into hell:

attempted suicide and
assorted bad acts.

Thugs! I'm warning you,
it'll be school, then

prison right afterwards!

Especially that punk there.

When the teacher got
lost in the snow,

it was the priest who
tried to teach us.

Ha, Jean le Maigre, I wonder
what I'd do without you.

Oh, by the way, my son,
Bemardine died last night.

Rest her soul. She was
sleepwalking and

caught cold in the snow.
She was a little

weak in the head, I
always thought.

She always mixed up
pepper and sugar or mustard.

Ha! Ha! She used to drink my
communion wine in secret.

While those ignoramuses
are out,

let's do some geography

You're too ambitious.

You like competing too much.

Beware of pride, my child.

You must put silver moons,
and golden stars in a

stormy sky in your poems.

Oh, I almost for got
East, West and South

We have to know
where to find them.

Rewarded with high marks
by Mademoiselle Lorgnette,

I didn't really worry about
my behaviour.

Like the weather, it sometimes
dropped below zero.

"Little beast, you pest,
mischievous nuisance!"

she said in my ear I guarded
all these loving words jealously

There were lots more
I won't tell you now.

There were way more, and
they got worse and worse.

I was always afraid Brother
Théodule would come along

and read over my shoulder
the way he liked to do

whenever he saw me take
pen in hand.

He wouldn't be pleased to
know Mlle. Lorgnette

had so much influence
in my life.

Anyway, she was only a
few years older than me,

and my headful of Greek
Wonk! soon be beyond he:

Proud as a peacock, I'd leave
my Greek translations

lying around the house:
funeral elegies, fables, tragedies.

Then I found out my father
was flushing them

down the toilet,
one-by-one.

Jean, I need you to help me.
How do you spell "elefant",

“execusioner”, “haze” and
“encongruous” 'I

Mademoiselle was more
and more impressed

with my knowledge and
less and less with her own.

Or else she was testing me.

"Crocodile"

u u

"concentrically"

"conception"

Alright, enough! You can go now.
I don't need you any more.

That's it. Go.

You little nuisance!

You need too much attention,
Jean, I can't do it any more.

There was Marthe the hunchback.

Her kisses were loud and disturbing.

Do you love me?

Yes.

Then set fire to the school.

Cell number 2, the arsonists' cell.
Three days on bread and water to start.

Thursday, you go before the
Disciplinary Board.

Please, Sir,just one small candle.

Not even a match. Assassins!

I want out. Open up!

I'll look out for you.

Left ear.

Bastard.

You've got style. I like it,

but I can't let you send this
to your grandmother.

You want people to
feel sorry for you.

We want to rehabilitate you,
not punish you.

Want some bouillon?

No thanks.

Get some rest.

Close your eyes.

My poor child, you're going
the wrong way again.

Come on, we'll get you to
Grandmother's.

Then it'll be easier to escape.

Just let the wind take you and
slide down to the house. It's easy

Just be careful not to cough, or
Brother Theo will hear you.

Don't be afraid my child, we're
here to bring good news,

not punish you.

Don't touch me. Oh Sir,
please let me run away.

I won't commit sacrilege
any more, I promise, Sir.

Sir.

Don't trouble yourself, my child.
God's mercy is infinite.

Look around, and you will see.

Oh Sir, let me out
for a few minutes,

so I can go to the toilet.

Not now. Today you are
condemned to death.

That's our good news.

But I promise, if you don't cough,

if you don't scream, it won't hurt.

Tum around and bow your head.

"At seven, he wrote novels
about life in the desert,

"where lost freedom
still shines:

"forests, suns,
rivers, and savannahs,

"red in the face, helped
by newspaper photos

"of laughing Spaniards
and Italian women,

"when the daughter of
neighbouring workers,

"a crazy, brown-eyed,
eight-year-old girl

"in an Indian dress,
showed up.

"The little brute had
cornered him and

"jumped on his back,
as she shook her hair

"Trapped beneath her,
he hither behind,

"because she never had pants,

"and hammered by her
fists and heels,

"he went away to his room
with the smell of her skin.

"He feared the thought of these
boring Sundays in December,

"when, all cologned, at a
walnut serving-table,

"he read the Bible
on cabbage-green pages

"Each night in the alcove,
His dreams tormented him.

He didn't love God, but men,
in the prowling evenings,

"Black, in shirts, he saw them
return to the suburbs,

or town-criers with
three drum-rolls

"draw laughing, grumbling crowds
with their edicts."

Oh, these deaths are ruining me,

and this one most of all.

A beautiful grave:

I want Jean le Maigre
to be proud of me right to the end.

A beautiful passing with

lots of masses for his soul,

lots of flowers.

He so loved ceremonies.

You're responsible for
killing him with your

negligence and laziness.

Not surprizing you killed him.
You can't even read.

My God, how awful!

Just keep going.
These things happen.

Stay where you are and get
back to work. It's nothing.

Fortuné!

Your grandmother told me
where you live.

She thought it might be a
good idea

if you took lessons with me.

Maybe.

We could walk and chat a bit
right now, if you like.

It's true I'd have liked to
write like my brother,

play the piano.

Grandma used to say,
"An impossible dream:

"don't have grand dreams,
my child.

"We are little people."

Jean understood everything.
If he were still alive,

I'm sure everything would
be different.

Now Pomme's cut his
thousandth sole, and

he's in the hospital.

It was an accident?

Yes.

Spring already, and Grandma
will soon be watering the flowers

in her garden with that big
watering-can of hers

I wish I could go home,
really get away from here,

I feel a bit sick.

Look what a beautiful evening it is.

You'll give me chocolates,
a whole box of them, right?

not for me, for Pomme.

You'll have anything you want,
but let me tell you about my dream.

I dreamt it last night.

You were whipping me,

over an over again, and
I was happy.

Not my fault you have nightmares.

I'm not bad. I wouldn't do it ever
not even if you asked me.

There's no one else who can.

Please do this for me.

Don't be afraid.
I won't harm you.

Let go of me.

I won't harm you.

Let me go.

Bad news, really bad, Emmanuel.

I don't know what's to
become of us.

Pomme's just sliced
three fingers off his left hand

in the factory.

This is going to be tough for
all of us, Emmanuel.

At least Seventh sends us
his paycheck every week,

and Pomme is safe there
at the hospital.

Thank God Heloise earns a lot.

At the inn where she cooks,
she's clothed and housed.

Do you realize that Emmanuel?

Horace, the neighbour, is better,

though he's still got pus
in his cheeks and eyes,

so I guess things could
be worse.

You know Uncle Armandin?

Five boys, all of them devils.

Someone gets spanked every day

Well brought up though,just
not enough schooling.

Worth living in town, eh?

Not one of them's got a brain.

It's not like with us.

Léopold's sly as a fox,

and Jean le Maigre so smart it was scary

Poor kid wanted to know everything.

He died of it.

Father beat him too much.

You will be too, if you ask
too many questions.

Better to go to work and
keep your mouth shut,

like the others. Yes,
that would be best.

Heloise was gifted too,
the Father said

Don't know what she did
with it all.

Off to the factory, or the shop,
or the bakery or whatever every morning.

Young ones get their fingers
cut off in the shoe factory,

or poison their lungs in the
tobacco plant.

God forgive us!

No, I'm too tired.

Your dad, stubborn as a bull,
innocent as a lamb.

Throws his kids out as soon as
they can look after themselves.

Wonder what'll happen to him
without his three fingers.

They say he's real thin...doesn't
eat much at the hospital.

Your Uncle Armandin wrote me
about it...not a sigh!

Heartless man, like your father...

can't spell, either.

Away from here, life's not
so bad, Emmanuel, that's sure.

Still, we're not so bad off here.

Progress is not what I want.

Heloise.

Hello. I'm here about the ad.

Oh yes, the ad.

For the job.

Florence, it's about the ad!

The ad...Florence!

Here, try this on. Take off
your panties and bra...

stockings and garter-belt.

What do I do now?

What do you do? Well, you
can keep house, can't you?

You can cook, so do you
want to earn some money?

Yes.

OK, so you get to share what
we earn, as well as the fun,

and you can stay with us.
Like that?

Untie your hair. Oh how nice!

Tum around...beautiful!

Ah, there you are.
See how you once looked.

You are all like that
when you first get here:

awkward and gawky, timid,

and all you knew how to do
was pray!

Changed a lot, eh?

I earn more stealing than working.

Soon as we have enough, we'll
send it to Grandma for Emmanuel.

Not sure why, but I think
he'll be as smart as Jean,

except he's going to live, and
he'll write about us.

Like he did with Heloise.

Yes, I bet he'll write poems.

Sure, everything's fine.

See, Emmanuel, it's going
to be a beautiful spring.

Jean le Maigre won't be
with us this year.

"He dreamed of a loving field
with luminous waves,

"wholesome perfumes,
golden pubescence

"gently stirring and
rearing up!

"When in the bare room,
tall and blue,

"with closed blinds, steeped
in acrid moisture,

"He mulled and read his
novel ceaselessly

"filled with ochre skies and
forests drowned,

"flowers of flesh with
star-filled woods unfurled

"Dizziness, crumbling,
distraction and pity!

"Amid the tumult of
the neighbourhood below

"alone and lying on strips
of raw linen,

violently presaging sails!

Subtitles by Nigel Spencer