All language subtitles for The.Third.Lover.1962.1080p.BluRay.AAC.x264-SLiZOBEDLA.English

I called myself Albin Mercier but
my name was André Mercier,

I signed my articles and books,
under the name of Albin,

I was a writer but such a minor one
that only I knew it.

Not long ago I was in Germany,
in Bavaria, near Munich,

sent by a modest Parisian newspaper.

I had to write articles on everyday
life in Germany,

our enemy of yesterday,
our ally of tomorrow.

I was poorly paid but…

I couldn't complain,

my lodgings were covered
but I paid for the cleaning lady.

I had been warned.

-One curtain, six napkins.
-Three cups.

-One table, one tablecloth…
-Four chairs.

-Four soup dishes, six plates…
-One sauce pan, one coaster…

-Three pots, three dish towels.
-One wooden spoon, one bowl…

-Six sets of cutlery.
-One iron, one cooker.

-One teapot.
-One wash bowl, one fridge…

one kitchen cupboard…

One bread board.

Not very lavish but good enough.

Sad, as is death.

Four pillows, one mattress.

-One duvet, one nightstand.
-Two blankets.

One night lamp.

-One embroidered doily, one ashtray.
-Another image of a saint.

One armchair.

-Four bed sheets.
-One chair.

Two double curtains, two lace curtains.

One mirror cabinet.

I was both bitter and happy.
But more bitter than happy.

I spent the first two days
walking around the village.

It was a lovely microcosm,

a few workmen, some farmers,
many land-owners.

People from Munich on their holidays.

Beautiful open-fronted house

for all those who passed to admire.

I felt alone.

Nobody looked at me, nor spoke to me.

I felt like I was in a desert.

I hated these houses.

I felt like a prisoner.

I said I spoke German
so that I'd get the job

but it wasn't true.

I couldn't speak a word of it.

I was hopeless.

Only one thing attracted me.

A beautiful wall that protected
one couple's intimacy.

I found out from my cleaning lady

that the wall kept behind it
the famous Dr Hartmann.

Hartmann.

The greatest writer of his generation,

and the hope for a New Germany.

I got closer to see if
I could spy this rare bird.

Do you have my hat?

Yes, chérie, here it is.

Yes, we did. We walked and sang.

A clown.

But he seemed like a nice guy.

I wondered how I might get to know him.

In the meantime, I had to justify
my measly salary.

Everything bored me,
I wrote anything I could.

My cleaning lady kept
blurting out her grievances.

She grumbled non-stop.

She always needed a new kitchen item
and I couldn't make out a word.

I had to go make a fool
of myself in the shops.

Sign language was not my forte.

Until one day when chance smiled upon me.

She spoke French.

She was French.

I should have known.
She was Hartmann's wife.

And I felt quite smug
getting an invitation.

Her name was Hélène.

A pretty name.

I'd been made aware of your attendance.
Mister…?

Mercier, Albin Mercier. How though?

All little villages are similar.

The arrival of a stranger…

I thought no one had noticed me.

Come now, we've been watching you.

-We all talk about you.
-What an honor. Excuse me.

Hang on.

-There.
-Wonderful!

You know, I'm a big fan of your husband.

That's very kind.

I'm sure he'd be glad to meet you.

-Heaven's, why?
-You write, don't you?

Yeah, how do you know that?

I can't believe you've read my books.

No, I haven't.

But I'm sure they must be excellent.

Come have coffee this afternoon.

I'm confused.

Don't be. It would be my pleasure.

If you would rather not
then please say so.

I'm impressed.

It would be a real pleasure…

An honor.

An honor.

I don't know how to thank you.

At two o'clock?

-May I offer you a lift?
-No, thank you.

I really like walking.

Goodbye. See you later.

I'd done it.

Without a hitch, totally naturally
I was going to enter their lives.

Look, and see.

I went there naturally.

Like an old friend,
who's been visiting for years.

I was having so much fun
as I had to improvise.

I had never read one of Hartmann's books.

I liked the house, at first glance.

I felt at home there.
I felt calm and at ease.

They had exquisite taste.

Andréas Hartmann.

I read one of your books.
It was interesting.

We had the same name,

but my minor deception
meant I couldn't admit it.

With pleasure, chérie.

André is suggesting coffee outside.

Bravo!

More time I spent with them
the more comfortable I became.

They treated me like an old friend.

It almost made me uncomfortable.

Are you happy that you get
to speak better French than with me?

Yes.

André is happy that
I can speak French with you.

He's not all that good at it.

-Really?
-Really.

Oh, terrible. Terrible.

Thank you.

Elsa, one moment.

Alcohol? Cognac?

Cognac, please.

Please bring us some cognac.

Cognac?

I'd love some, dear.

Ah, Cognac…

Cognac. Cognac.

Hm. French.

I was stunned by how
this man and woman masterfully

navigated the ebbs and flows
of conversation.

A miracle of intelligence.

They made a game out
of linguistic problems.

They complemented one another,
smiled, had a zest for life,

a zest for life together in this house.

For being there, with me,
talking about things that interested them.

They were extremely courteous with me

which gave me pleasure
in finding out about them.

I had before me an astonishing
image of happiness,

so rare and so precious,
that to my own pleasure

a discomfort, a tension of all my being
was secretly entangled.

I'm at the point where I don't know
what word will follow the last.

But the main thing is that it
serves the European cause.

They liked me, that much was certain.

André thinks this is the best way
to discuss such a subject.

Yes.

We parted ways late in the afternoon,
still full of laughter,

promising to pay each other
many more visits.

But catastrophe was to strike
this all too pleasant day.

The cleaning lady. That fool…

She didn't have the sense
to turn off the water.

I had to do it myself.

So now she was mopping it up.

Hey hey! Hello Mr Mercier.

-Are you well?
-Yes, yes.

Goodbye!

Hello, Mr Mercier.

I saw them from far off,
a little each day.

Sometimes her, sometimes him.

We exchanged a few pleasantries.

They must have really liked me
as I kept getting invited over.

To dinner this time.

I came carrying a bouquet of flowers
which was almost excessive,

but not excessive.

They're beautiful.

You chose very well.

I must admit that
I didn't choose them myself.

No, but you chose the one who chose them.

André will tell you
that it is all the same.

My word, what a dreadful theory.

He knows.

And what is it that I know.

Hartmann had decided
to prepare dinner himself.

No doubt to show me that he was
an accomplished yet simple writer.

But I found him quite ridiculous.

Same thing.

Dinner was simple but delicious.

And it was a short while later…

while I sat in one
of their beautiful lounge sofas,

while sipping on his delicious cognac,

that, for the first time,
I had an awful feeling

that was to guide my life
starting from this moment.

Perhaps I'm a failure,
that is my thinking,

but I can't be blamed
for deceiving myself,

for dreaming impossible dreams,
for lying to myself.

From the moment I was aware of it
I was able to analyze that feeling,

with an absolute lucidity.

This was not jealousy,
for there was none in my heart

any feeling of injustice or bitterness.

It was rather…

a type of envy, but so all pervading,

so utterly absolute and absorbing,

that I knew it would bring me to violence.

As such, I fully realized that

my aim was to penetrate
this couple's universe,

to stick to it, as does ivy to a wall.

And if necessary, to replace that man,

to take the seat

of the man with the same name as me.

To take it completely,

fully,

to fill that space,
every nook and cranny of it.

And I knew that my goal

was an impossible one

but that I would use all of my strength.

I decided then and there
to up the contact,

to see them continuously,
to make myself indispensable.

But I also had to think

of how I could make myself indispensable
in such a complete universe,

such a perfect one,

so perfect and harmonious that it became

the very object of my obsession.

Andréas beat me this evening,
with no effort, of course.

He was beaming.

From then on, I managed to
see them regularly.

When they didn't invite me,
it was I who invited them.

Of course, I wouldn't take them
to places that were too chic.

As I suspect they knew
I didn't have much money.

And I made no effort to appear otherwise…

I was jolly, simple, frank,

honest, and pleasant company…

I think this may have been the nicest
I've ever acted in my life.

But I suffered terribly

as I was making little progress.

I saw them more and more often,
but I felt that

I had no control over them,

that I was gliding over the surface
of their happiness…

And due to that, perhaps,
I found I was becoming prey

to certain fixed ideas
that I had to satisfy.

For instance,

I wanted to see the first floor,
their bedroom and their bathroom.

It would have been simple enough
to ask them for a tour.

They would have happily showed me.

But I wanted to visit it in secret
go behind their backs…

-I had a plan…
-Albin.

You're lost in your thoughts… and sad.

-Excuse me.
-It's the rain.

We are from the Mediterranean.
Rain makes us sad.

-You aren't sad?
-No.

Germany is a green country, all green.

On the geography maps, it is green.

That's thanks to the rain…

All the greenery.

-Beautiful.
-Yes, excuse me.

I actually like the rain.

I'm so clumsy.

You've hurt yourself.

You're crazy. I'll go get a plaster.

-Does it hurt?
-No, no. Please go on.

Let me fetch a handkerchief.

-Is this your room.
-Yes.

-It's nice isn't it.
-Beautiful.

I was smiling.

I felt happy as I had obtained
what I desired.

Through my ruse.

But the following morning,
I received a shock to the system.

I suspected something. I got closer.

As I thought.

They were hosting,
but I hadn't been invited.

They were having fun and
hadn't asked me to join them.

I was no more than a distraction to them.

Mercier, the scribbler,
was the great author's jester.

At the court of the illustrious
Andréas Hartmann.

I was livid.

I decided I would be the killjoy.

Subtly, of course.

Tactfully.

Albin Mercier.

Peter Ublik.

My wife.

-Are you the Frenchman?
-Yes, madam.

I'll turn off this thing. Excuse me.

Would you mind helping me up?

Thank you.

Hello, Albin!

Hello.

-You write?
-I do.

New Europe is it?

Yes, articles, tales
and short stories for education.

André must be horrified.

André is hostile.

André is not hostile,
you old goat, he's a realist.

He'll explain it to you one of these days.

We're going for a dip
in the lake this afternoon.

Oh really?

Once André has finished working.
The water is lovely.

I don't fancy it.
It would have to be amazing.

You're a bit wary, have a drink.

Gladly.

-A whiskey?
-Yes please.

-I'll bring it to you.
-Go on.

-Do you know Chichka?
-That's me.

She's Yugoslavian.

She struggles more
than you do with languages.

She doesn't understand German.
And she can't remember Yugoslavian.

So she speaks French.

-Our American friends like her a lot.
-Thank you.

-Right, Chichka?
-That's right.

It's true.

I was surprised, I was being welcomed.

No one was surprised that
I was there uninvited.

As if it was normal,
as if I were always welcome.

I wondered if André
would behave the same way.

We go swimming.

We go swimming.

We go swimming.

Albin, get on the boat.

-Are you okay?
-Yes, I'm fine.

A lovely dip.

Sweet little Albin.

Sweet little Albin, don't make that face.

Albin, for a Frenchman,
you're not very gallant.

You're all alone over there.
That's not very nice.

I beg you, sublime hours,

pause in your headlong flight.

And time, suspend your race.

Allow us to savor the fugitive delights

of our

happiest days!

Go on, Albin. Come on in!

-Come on, Albin.
-No, thanks.

The water's lovely.

-No.
-Come on, come on.

Come on, Albin. Come on.

Get in the water.

-Come on.
-No.

Albin, yes, yes.

-No, I don't want to.
-Yes, yes.

Leave me alone.

I can't…

Why didn't you just say?

Right then, I hated him.

I held him responsible for everything.

He'd humiliated me and
I wanted to humiliate him back.

I thought of concocting
a plan for revenge.

To give him a taste of his own medicine.

Without giving up on my end goal.

I wanted to get my revenge,
for my pride's sake.

We went for a picnic.

Hélène, please come here, beautiful.

I want you to translate something.

What is it? Andréas wants to talk?

Yes. He wants me to translate
what he'll say.

Understood.

This all seems a bit solemn.

André is always solemn when he is serious.

Hélène, please tell him the following.

I have done a lot of reflecting in life.

He has reflected a lot during his life.

And I think I've resolved
almost all of my problems.

And he believes that he has resolved
most of his problems.

I'm a happy man.

He is happy.

The other day I noticed
that he's not happy.

And he noticed the other day
that you were not.

The other day, when he took
an involuntary bath in the lake.

Over the swim we had.

I'm sure he still has a terrible memory
of that experience.

He thinks you must have a sour
memory of that day.

But now I'd like to know if he can see…

He would like to ask

…that it was his own fault.

if you realize it was your own fault?

Can he see that?

He is asking if you are aware of that?

It doesn't matter!

This is of fundamental importance.
You don't forget unimportant incidents.

Does he understand that?

No, I'm sure he doesn't understand.

What are you saying?

He says that it is of utmost importance.

And I said to him that no,
you most likely do not realize.

Of course not.

He just needs to say he can't swim.

It wouldn't have happened.

So, he says that all you had to do
was say you couldn't swim.

Nothing would have happened then.

But he didn't dare say it.

But you didn't dare to.

He wanted to be like the others.

You wanted to be like the others.

Whole people are dragged down
by such complexes.

Entire nations are trained in this way.

A similar complex
causes all human atrocities.

It is from this feeling that
all human sorrow is born.

Wars, Albin, wars are caused by this.

Wars, Albin, wars are
born of this feeling.

They say, war is absurd.

We say that war is absurd.

-This is not true.
-This is not true.

Everything has a cause, a reason.

Everything has a reason.

The cause of war is not wanting
to understand what you are.

Wars happen because we do not
wish to recognize what we are.

That's why a trapped May bug
will fly head first into the wall.

-This is why, when a chafer is trapped…
-Until it kills itself.

Flies repeatedly into the wall.

Does he understand now?

-Do you understand?
-Yes.

The war has broken me.

War has broken me.

In the end, I was empty and spent.

I came out of it empty.

Absurd. Absurd.

For 15 years, I drank to forget the war.

For 15 years I drank to forget.

I worked and earned money.

-I worked, and earned money.
-But I was a wreck.

But I'd become a rag, Albin.

The people didn't notice.

They pretended not to notice.

They thought I was absurd
and a strange fellow.

They thought I was absurd and quaint.

But in reality, I was nothing.

-In reality, I was nothing, a rag.
-A wreck.

Hélène, she saved my life.

As always, it's love that saves you.

And now we're a unit, you see,
an extraordinary, inseparable unit.

Our love, it is… more beautiful than…

More beautiful than anything before.

I wasn't asking for anything.

What an obscene man, to tell me that.

It was so obvious.
There was no need to tell me.

I like you.

Albin, you're a dreadful swimmer
but a great chauffeur.

They irritated me
with their joy and happiness.

And he annoyed me with his
successful romanticist's philosophies.

Today was an absolute nightmare.

But one thing had warmed my heart.

Andréas had to go the next day
on a conference.

Conferences!

On the art of finding happiness no doubt.

At any rate, it suited me just fine.

I suggested we spend the evening in town,
at a cabaret.

Hartmann was very happy.

After his lecture on morality,
next was history.

Munich, the birthplace of Nazism.

Destroyed by war,
rebuilt to look like it once did.

This man was obsessed with war,
with Hitler, and militarism.

He was so convincing that I began
feeling some fear towards this town.

When actually I didn't care about
any of those things.

The Paris Nights

Munich-style, now there is
thought-provoking show.

I needed to go forward and I felt

that this trip would be
the perfect occasion.

Being the good friend that I was,
a lovable companion,

I had to get even closer.

I was so likable, nice,
utterly of service.

But I could be even more so.

I could be infinitely more so

thanks to my friendship with Hélène
and my profound, sincere admiration

for the great Andréas Hartmann.

In the meanwhile, even this show
did make them uncomfortable.

They weren't disdainful,
neither were they indifferent to it.

They were just there.

Together, and everything slid over them.

And the idea came to me
to commit a crime, that very night.

Oh, only a small crime.

To their car.

I am a patient man.

I waited for them to fall asleep.
And then went to it.

-What are you doing?
-We can't do this.

-Paul, that's enough!
-What do you mean?

Let me go. You pig.

-I'm a pig, am I?
-Stop it. They'll hear us.

They're not back yet.

They are, I'm telling you.

Rubbish. Don't worry.
Go on, give me the key.

Paul, they're sure to hear us.

That's rubbish. They won't.

You see? They're home.

I'm off.

Bye, my dear. See you tomorrow.

Paul!

I left the house as I came
and went to bed.

They were meant to go around nine o'clock.

I'd been up since seven, to keep my calm.

My plan would go off without a hitch.

It worked.

They tried to get the car engine
to turn over.

But of course it wouldn't.

Andréas tried lifting the bonnet,
but found nothing.

He wasn't much of a mechanic,
the great Hartmann.

He grew impatient…

What is this? The engine won't start.
I need to…

I approached, as if by coincidence.

What's happening?

Ah! The engine won't switch on.

Hang on, I'll give you a hand.

I need to take a look at the car.

He's going to miss his plane.

I can't see what it is.

But I suspect it will be difficult to fix.

I think it would be better if I drive him.

Oh, Albin, that's kind of you but…

No, I'm more than happy to
after all the kindness you've shown me.

Don't confuse me more than I already am.

Albin is so kind
as to take you to the airport.

Oh, thank you, Albin. Thank you!

He was enjoying this. He felt I owed him.

I'll show you to the car.

It's a crazy time.

I'll be back in three days. I love you.
Think of me.

I love you. Thank you Albin, thank you.

I'll leave my wife in your care
while I'm gone. Goodbye.

What did he say?

He says he's leaving me in your hands.

Is that wise?

He thinks so.

My little dabble into criminality
had worked like a charm.

But now I felt somewhat uneasy.

I didn't really know what to do.

Much was at stake

while at the same time I felt more
and more confused inside.

Yet, the return journey
was most enjoyable.

I was surprised to discover
a different Hélène than I had imagined.

She made efforts to put me
at ease in a rather charming

and ever so subtle way.

Albin, I find you fascinating.

-Fascinating?
-Yes, I think you're mysterious.

André and I were discussing it
the other night.

For example, we were wondering
how old you are?

-My age?
-Yes, your age.

There are times you come across
as very young, and others when…

you seem very old.

-That bad?
-That bad!

So, how old are you? 20 or 40 years old?

I'm actually thirty.

Well, you don't come across that way.

Still 20 or 40.

Listen, I didn't want to say anything,
but I'm actually 75.

Today is my birthday.
And I'm inviting you to lunch.

It would be my pleasure.

Thanks to her, everything seemed easy.

We were old friends.

I offered to repair the car,

and took a short nap, under its shadow.

Albin! Are those your feet?

I have a feeling they might be.

There, I'm done.

-Oh!
-Would you like a tea?

Certainly. I think I deserve it.

-I think it'll run now.
-Ah!

Fantastic. I didn't believe you'd fix it.

You're getting more mysterious.

There's nothing mysterious.

I've always had a penchant for mechanics.

Let's sit.

I'm filthy, though.

There's nothing filthy about hard work.

I'll happily run you a bath, afterwards.

Let's eat first.

I'll dirty your porcelain.

Porcelain cannot be dirtied.

In any case, this cup is not porcelain.

I bathed,

and took Andréas' bathrobe,
as Hélène had kindly offered it to me.

At last, I was like part of the family.

We ate at home, I mean, at Hélène's house.

Only a light meal, as neither of us
was all that hungry.

I left her around 11 p.m.

She thanked me once more, and I said,

See you tomorrow!

I walked back home very slowly.

A good day.

So good in fact that my excitement
stopped me falling asleep.

Having slept late, I got up late,
and forced myself to work until midday.

But that morning, my writing,
which I disliked at the best of times,

was more mediocre than ever.

In the end, I gave up and went over there.

The car was not there,
Hélène was not there.

Did she go to Munich?

-Munich?
-Yes, go to Munich.

To go shopping.

All day long.

What?

Shopping.

Presents.

What presents?

I don't understand.

Go on, get lost.

I didn't understand. I was hopping mad.

She hadn't mentioned anything.

What are you doing? Do you want to eat?
Shall I boil some eggs for you?

Shut up, you old bag.

Even Elsa was gone this time.
The bitch was making the most of it.

Goodbye.

She came home around 10 p.m.

Her presents couldn't have been heavy,
her hands were empty.

I was stunned, I felt like
she was hiding something from me.

That she had a secret.

That she wasn't what she seemed to be.
That she was lying.

I decided to go knock on her door
in the morning, to clear all this up.

I even thought I'd ask for an explanation,
but that would have been ridiculous.

I decided to act with kindness,
even a bit sad.

Some thing a bit different
to keep her intrigued.

Hello, Hélène.

Hello, Albin.

I slept late, yesterday.

When I came over you were already gone.

Yes, I was in Munich. I had things to do.

It's thanks to you that I got there.

-Thanks to me?
-Yes, you repaired the car.

Sit down here.

No thanks, there's no need.

You seem pensive.

Yeah, I'm a little sad.

There are days like that, where
the mountain air takes it out of you.

It often happens to me.

If you don't mind I'll sit on the floor.

Of course.

She wasn't the slightest
bit interested in me.

She was simply tuning in.

When I was merry, so was she.

When I acted melancholic,
she acted melancholic.

She was a chameleon. She wore a mask.

Or, more aptly, a number of masks.
Each one as convincing as the last.

Each of them putting her company at ease.

-Hélène.
-Yes.

Excuse me if I seem sad today.

It's the mountain air.

No, I don't think so.

I think it's actually you.

Me? Heavens, why?

You've done nothing.
It's entirely my fault

the way I am built.

I can't hold you responsible
for what I am.

And what are you?

A poor schmuck, I think.

Why would you say that?

You are delicious.

Delicious.

Let me confess something.

I am poor. I was born poor.

Me too.

My father died when I was very young.

-My mother…
-Albin, give me a cigarette.

You're not interested.

Of course I am, but I don't want
you to torture yourself.

I'm not torturing myself.

On the contrary.

My mother kept me wrapped in cotton wool,
and worked her fingers to the bone.

I was everything to her.

And I was happy with her.

I loved her.

Did she die?

Yes, she died.

But it's not about that.

When she was alive,
I was a good son to her.

How should I put this…

I wasn't a good student, you understand…

I didn't give her any satisfaction.

I told her my life story,
all the while trying to remain honest.

Not because I loved honesty,
but because I needed to convince her.

I thought that maybe if I were honest,
I would see her true face.

Yes, really, I lied very little,

only to the point I thought useful.

I was completely taken aback,

and she was so good,
so tender, so understanding.

Do you understand?
This was my first experience of love.

I have never known another woman.
I have never loved another.

Only my mother. That woman.

And you.

What was her name?

Her name was…

Marcelle.

You're very kind to tell me
all this, Albin.

I love you Hélène, madly, I swear it.

I can only think about you.

Albin, you're very kind,

and I really do like you a lot.

It's not very warm out.

This wind really is chilly.

Shall we go back in?

Of course.

How did she do it?

How can a woman reject you so gently,

that you don't feel an ounce of pain,

even if you want to feel it
or at least pretend you do?

I wasn't even sad.

It was, as always with her, harmonious.

I feared for a moment that
I'd burned my bridges.

But no, in my sofa, in this lounge,

and I rediscovering the calm
of those familiar things.

Be they borrowed or stolen.

I understood that this incident
hadn't cost me any ground.

I was still her friend. Their friend.

It was misfire, that's all.

Oh, Albin, Albin.

What do you call castagnettes in French?

Castagnettes.

Ah, castagnettes.

I was somewhat worried
to find myself face to face with Hartmann.

If Hélène had spoken of it,
and I did fear it…

I was on shaky ground.

Did you have a nice time,
did you enjoy those three days, Albin?

I didn't understand.

He's asking how we spent
the last three days.

Oh.

Wonderful.

There were only two possible reasons
for that look.

Or she may have not wanted me
to make my declaration the night before.

But why should I have mentioned it?

Or perhaps she didn't want to discuss
her absence the previous night.

Suddenly, I had a moment of clarity.

I came to a realization that
filled me with anger.

Hélène was cheating on her husband.

Lunch is served.

The happiness and harmony
I was so envious of

was no more than lies and deception.

Following her like this was
necessary and satisfactory.

On the one hand, I needed confirmation,

on the other, I was savoring
the indescribable pleasure

of triumphing over Hartmann
on at least one point,

that of shedding light
on his wife's activities.

Hélène was getting closer to me
than to him,

more my wife than his.

I didn't lose her.

I knew all of her comings and goings.

Sometimes she would go
see her friends, Chichka etc.

I could've said exactly where
she was on any day of the week,

and for how much time.

And what she was doing afterwards.

Other times, she went for long
walks on her own,

while Hartmann was working.

I didn't dare follow her, partly because
I respected her need for solitude.

But also because I was
afraid of being found out.

Twice a week, she went to Munich.

There, I was even more
afraid of following her.

In cities, you always sense
when someone's behind you.

And I think I may have also feared
finding myself faced with reality.

I spent nearly every night at their home.

But I knew that
this harmonious atmosphere,

of which I was so envious, was fake.

She had a lover in Munich.

That goal which I'd pursued,
was coming to me now.

But I didn't notice that
he was no longer the same,

that he was but a horrible caricature
of the man I'd seen.

Hartmann was fixated on his book.

New Europe.

He spoke about it with deep joy.

All united against this, against that.

Never for.

He'd poured his thoughts into it.
All his experience.

Old warriors.

Stupid cuckold.

She had a lover in Munich,
I was sure of it.

I was going mad.

I had reached an impasse.

Now, I had to find myself.

The test of cunning was followed
by a test of strength.

And I could feel myself sinking.

I was like a child
at sea who could not swim.

I decided to follow her
on her next trip to Munich.

Until the end, into hell if I had to.

I took every risk.

It was a miracle that
she didn't notice me.

It was an Hélène I had never seen.

Totally different to all the other
versions of herself I'd seen.

Impatient and happy.

As I had never seen her before.

And I recognized her true face.

It felt like forever.

Into hell, I had thought…

It was a peculiar kind of hell.

WELCOME TO THE OKTOBERFEST

So, that was him. There he was!

A nice looker, mediocre though. A bruiser.

She was slumming it like the wife
of a provincial bourgeois

who was bored.

Quite simply, quite stupidly.
What a waste!

I was invited to dinner
with them that evening.

My thoughts, the memories I had created
by tailing them like this

and the outcome I witnessed
had depressed me.

I arrived at my hosts' home
in a dreadful mood.

I forced myself to smile.

Hélène too.

As for Hartmann, he was happy,
peaceful, friendly,

he was the happiest of the three…

I thought of the play by Labiche
which gave praise to the cuckold.

And despite my despair,

I began to laugh on my own, nervously.

Excuse me.

Albin, what's got into you?

Nothing. Excuse me.

I suffered like a little demon.

I felt as cheated on as Andréas.

And that is when
I realized what I had to do.

Without admitting it to myself, I knew
what I was doing and where it might lead.

Heavens above.

I'm not looking for an excuse,
but I couldn't deal with it.

These people who had filled me
with desire, hatred,

these fantasies that consumed me,

they wouldn't get away with it!

It took me a week to put together
everything I needed.

Now, everything was ready.

And everything happened
in a matter of hours.

Unfortunately…

As always, I followed her.

It was one of those days
meant for walking alone.

I was determined, firm, remorseless.

I felt alive.

I'd planned for any eventuality.

And it was important
for the rest of my plan

that Hélène could not tail me.

Hélène!

Albin?

What are you doing here?

I followed you.

Ah, I was afraid of that.

No, no, I'm sure you weren't.

Good then. Albin.

One second. Don't speak. It's pointless.

Such a strange look on your face.

What's going on with you?
Are you trying to intrigue me?

Don't act so superior.

Excuse me?

I'm telling you not to act all superior.

You're completely mad, aren't you?

Are you drunk?

Ah, yes, that would be a relief for you.

Listen, Albin, I'm not sure what
is happening with you,

but I'd like to ask you one thing.
Leave me alone.

-You want me to leave you alone?
-Yes.

You want to finish your walk alone?

Yes.

You like long solitary walks in the woods?

That's right. I like long
solitary walks in the woods.

You also like the crowds,
the towns, and parties.

No. I like the countryside,
the calm and solitude.

Yes, you do.

You like populations, sweat,
strong smells, brutality.

I like tenderness.

But also violence, and brutality.

Don't deny it Hélène, it's futile.

I know everything.

Look.

Look.

I can see.

So, what are you?

A blackmailer?

No, I'm not a blackmailer.

You think I'd try to blackmail you?

Then what do you want?

Do I even know…?

I want you to leave Andréas.

I don't want to see you together anymore.

I can't stand seeing you together anymore.

I want you to leave him.

I want you to come with me.

-My poor Albin…
-Don't call me poor Albin!

If I wanted to I could force you
to sleep with me right here!

Do you hear me?

-I want you to leave Hartmann, tonight!
-No, Albin, I'll never do that.

I order it.

Come now, calm down.

Fine, I'll show him the pictures.

It's pointless.

We'll see about that.

Poor fool. Andréas already knows.

You're lying.

You judge people based on yourself.

But we're different to you, Albin.

We don't play the victim here.

You can never understand
what unites me and Andréas.

Lies! I see it in your eyes.

Really?

I'm going, we'll see.

Listen to me for a second.

When I met André
he was on the verge of suicide.

He had no taste for anything.
He didn't believe in himself.

Me neither. I was as low as he was.

We saved each other.

We are each other's lives.

One cannot exist without the other.

Right… And where does
the other guy fit in all this?

It's none of your business.

-You're sleeping with him?
-Yes.

-Hartmann knows and plays happy couples?
-Yes, he knows!

I don't believe you.

Let's go together.

No!

Then I'm going to tell him!

But it's pointless!

I can't back down now! It's gone too far!

Albin! I beg you, don't do it!

Albin! Albin! Don't go!

I beg you! What good will it do you?
Albin!

My name is André Mercier!

Albin is my pseudonym.

Where is Hartmann? Herr Hartmann!

He is working.

-I don't understand, idiot! Where is he?
-Hartmann is working.

Oh, Albin!

What a surprise, what a pleasure.

Don't trouble yourself.
I brought you souvenir photos.

Happiness is fragile.

I had but to wait now.

My God. My God!

No, André, no!

My love.

No! It's not possible, Hélène, my love.

My love. My love.

It's all my fault, Andréas.

I did it all. I'm the one that killed her.

It's not your fault.

I don't care about anything.

Listen to me! I beg of you!

I'm a monster. I don't deserve to live.

Let me tell them it was I who killed her.
Let me atone for it. Have pity!

Please understand.

I don't care about anything.

Hello?

They took him with the morning sunrise.

I tried explaining that I was
the only one to have done wrong.

But they wouldn't hear me out.

They didn't understand.
They wouldn't believe me.

I pity you, Albin.

-What did he say?
-He said, "I pity you."

I called the paper saying
I wanted to go home.

They refused to let me.

So, I tendered my resignation.

I left for the country,
but it didn't work out.

I couldn't do anything anymore.

I could only tell this story.

And everybody shrugged their shoulders.

I cannot help but tell it.

But no one will believe me.

They don't understand me.

They wonder why
a nice young man like myself

finds joy in sullying his own reputation.

THE END

Subtitle translation by: Christopher Ward