All language subtitles for Napoleon (2002) Epis.2

You're not dressed.

But the carriage
is awaiting in the courtyard.

Have you forgotten we're
going to the opera?

No, but Bonaparte is working.

And when he locks himself
up in his study,

God knows when he'll reappear.

No, but you go ahead.
Go ahead to the opera.

Ask Murat and Caroline
to chaperone you.

Thank you very much, but
I don't need any chaperoning.

But you're only 17, Hortense.

And at your age, a girl can
easily have her head turned.

And men you know...

And what if my head is turned?

Bonaparte has other plans for you.

Nothing is settled, of course, but...

he's wishing for you
to marry his brother, Louis.

Louis?

But have you ever looked at him?

Or spoken with him?

He's ugly and miserable.

But my child,

if the First Consul is asking
for you to marry him...

The First Consul should look
after the affairs of state

and leave me alone.

And what's more important,
he should look after you.

But he loves me, as much as he
loved me the first day we've met.

Then let's hope that what
everyone is waiting for

will finally happen.

And what do you mean by that?

You know very well.

People are surprised
you haven't born him a child.

But I will, soon.

Who knows?
I might be pregnant now.

This morning, I got dizzy.

- Don't fool yourself.
- You're not pregnant.

And you may never be.

But what is the matter
with all of you?

Why is it that you all
think that I'm barren?

You, and your brother Eugene.

I gave you birth, didn't I?

Forgive me, Maman,
but that was a long time ago.

6,000 Frenchmen fell at Marengo,

and transformed what everyone
predicted as a defeat into a victory

Thanks to Marengo, a part of
Italy regained her freedom.

I intend to turn this victory
into a splendid victory,

which is why we must
have a monument

commemorating the battle.

This calls for a triumphal arch.

No, gentlemen. A fountain.

- A fountain?
- But it's so ordinary.

There's nothing splendid
about a fountain.

Paris lacks water.

Paris is dirty. Paris is dying of thirst.

Every time Parisians draw
water from this fountain,

they will feel a moment
of gratitude

toward the men who fell at Marengo.

Percil, you'll do the drawing.

And Fortin, you will carry out to the sculpture.

I'm in conference, my dear.

Gentlemen, the First Consul
will see you tomorrow.

Tonight is Christmas Eve.

No one discusses profane
matters on Christmas Eve.

Just who do you think you are?

Your wife.

We've planned to go to the opera,

and that's what we're going to do.

Certainly not. Go on
your own, I have work to do.

I want us to be seen together.

Paris is buzzing with rumours
that are very painful for me,

and your presence
at my side will quell them.

What rumours?

They say that you reproach
me for not having a child.

And that you intend to get
another woman pregnant,

whom we would pay to give
up the baby at birth.

Preposterous.

Come. I'm longing for some music.

No, music will do nothing for me tonight.

Well then, don't listen.

I will bend close to your ear,

and whisper little exciting things.

You devil.

Don't tell anyone.

It's Christmas Eve.

Oh, you stubborn animal.

What are you trying to do, girl?

They told me to move my cart.

There's a procession coming this way.

- Not any more.
- They've taken a different route.

Nice horse.

Oh, we're going
by Rue St. Nicaise?

Fouche wants us to keep changing our itinerary,

as a security measure.

- Even on Christmas Eve?
- It's a holy night.

And anyway, you have
fewer enemies now.

Even the press is unanimously
singing your praises.

I had to close down
60 newspapers to achieve that.

What's happening?

We're just moving a cart out of the way,
Citizen First Consul.

It's not my fault.

They told me to go away,
then said not to bother.

How could I know?

- It doesn't matter.
- My soldiers will help you.

What is happening?

I don't know.

Hey, you. Move. Move it.

Bring it around.

Coming through.

What's your name?

Isabelle.

In Christmas tales,

princesses are often called Isabelle.

Oh, I'm not a princess, sir.

Perhaps not tonight, but maybe tomorrow.

You must believe in the future.

Merry Christmas, sir.

Poor child. What's the point
of filling her head with dreams?

You know she'll never be
anything else than a guttersnipe.

That's how you think, my dear.

As for me, I want France
to be a country

where nothing
is impossible for anyone.

Don't stop.

Drive on, for God's sake.
Drive on.

What's happened
to the other carriage?

- My daughter.
- She was just behind us.

Is she all right?

Are there any casualties?

Many dead. It's horrible.

Hortense.

What is it, Murat?

They're safe. They're safe.

You can't stay here.
Soldiers, stay with us.

Maman.

I need the girl who was driving the cart.

She's there.

The Providence was protecting you.

I didn't appoint Providence

as Minister of Police, Fouche, but you.

I will know who
the culprits are within a week.

Until then, you must show yourself.

Give the people the impression
that you are invulnerable.

The curtain rises on
the opera in 30 minutes.

I'll be there.

How old do you think she was?

Hungry children always look younger.

Gather up the remains of the horse.

The poor are begging
for the meat, sir.

- It's not meat.
- It's evidence. Go.

My men showed the sketch of the horse

to every dealer in Paris.

One of them thought
he remembered the man

who he sold it to.

A royalist agitator.

So you conclude the crime was signed.

Without a doubt.

I have a doubt.

The Royalists claim
to be inspired by God.

They would never have
picked Christmas Eve

to carry out such a dreadful crime,

and they would never have
sacrificed an innocent child.

History is filled with crimes
committed in the name of God.

Why would the Royalists want me dead?

I've put an end to
the extremes of the Revolution.

Priests are no longer persecuted,

and the emigres have been pardoned.

No, look for the culprit

among those anarchists and rebels,

those who long for the return
of the Reign of Terror.

The Jacobins.

The Jacobins are political
opponents, not assassins.

Oh, really?

But who sent Louis XVI and Marie
Antoinette to the guillotine?

After murdering
the King and Queen,

why should they think
twice about me?

Louis XVI and his Austrian woman

were tried and condemned
by the Supreme Tribunal.

Their execution
was perfectly legal.

There is no connection between
that and the brutal attack.

It's enough, Fouche.

If you don't agree with me, then go.

I can manage very well without
a Minister of Police.

I'll create my own police
force, and run it myself.

And how will you justify my dismissal?

Justify?

To the people?

Do you really believe
the people are going to miss you?

The people won't.

But you will.

Ah. Monsieur Fouche.

We've been looking for you, sir.

We've had some information

about the assassination
attempt at Rue St. Nicaise.

I'm no longer in charge of
that case, or any other.

The First Consul

will be dealing with these
matters himself from now on.

But we've just arrested
the man who bought the horse.

He's called Carbon.
Francois-Joseph Carbon.

A Jacobin?

A Royalist.

Aren't you going to tell the First Consul?

The First Consul can go to hell.

When I think that this is
how France has ended up

after the Revolution,

with that puffed-up, arrogant little man,

it makes me appreciate
the terrorists' point of view.

Sir, the names of all
the people involved

in the assassination attempt
in the Rue St. Nicaise,

and the confirmation
that they were Royalists.

Fouche was right.

As I seem to remember
saying at the time,

his disgrace was unwarranted.

The man who set the bomb
was guillotined this morning.

All the others have been
arrested and interrogated,

and we've discovered
this was just the first step

in a plot to eliminate you

and install the Prince
in Bourbon as ruler of France.

Which prince?

That fat pig who
calls himself Louis XVIII?

No, he's too old and too
feeble for such an adventure.

Yes, but why not his
brother, the Count D'Artois?

He fled to England,

and he might have found
money and support there.

Oh, it's possible.

The English are always enthusiastic

when it's a question
of getting rid of me.

But D'Artois doesn't have the spirit.

He's too timid, and so stupid.

Of course, you're right.

Then I think we must
look for someone younger,

more hot-blooded,

possibly even insane.

Why not the Duke D'Enghien?

Louis XVI's cousin?

He meets all the criteria.

He's a Bourbon, he's dashing
enough to please the people,

he's sophisticated enough
to please the nobility.

And the return to royalty
is a sacred crusade for him.

Recently, he's emigrated to
Ettenheim, in the duchy of Baden.

Which leaves him free to plot in peace.

The duchy of Baden is a sovereign state,

and organised under his protection.

Yes, but I wouldn't call him
completely unreachable.

Ettenheim is only a few leagues
away from the French border.

A kidnapping?

It's possible.

But there would be a hell of a
racket in the courts of Europe.

And what you lose in foreign affairs,

you make up at home.

Even the most fervent revolutionaries

would applaud your decision to be firm

with a henchman of the monarchy.

Support from such men leaves me cold.

They've shed too much blood.

They voted for the King's death.

Yes.

And I wonder,
what would you have done?

I don't know.

- Of course you know.
- The Revolution was irresistible.

You would have done
much the same as I did.

You can't fight a tidal wave,

and you needn't worry about this
business with the Duke Enghien

ending up like
the butchery of Louis XVI.

He shouldn't come
to any harm, necessarily.

But of course, that's up to
you, and only you, to decide.

Talleyrand.

Yes, Citizen First Consul?

Who, in your opinion, is tactful enough

to arrest Enghien and bring him back to France?

What about Monsieur de Caulaincourt?

How would you like
to approach this, Monsieur?

With style and good manners.

We shall knock politely on the front door.

And what if he doesn't open it?

In that case, I regret...

I shall be obliged to ask
you to batter it down.

Go.

I'm not saying I don't want
a child, but there is no rush.

I'm having enough worries with
my brothers and sisters.

Setting them up, arranging
their marriages...

It would be better if you didn't get
involved in their marriage.

The match you made
between your brother Louis

and your wife's daughter is not a success.

Only because Louis won't make an effort.

Hortense is absolutely adorable.

My compliments, Madame.

I beg you to forgive this intrusion, but...

Enghien is in Vincennes.

How is he?

The prisoner is calm,

fragile, pale, exhausted.

And nonetheless
extremely arrogant.

No. Extremely dignified.

He's a prince of
the House of France.

Thank you, Caulaincourt.

Madame. Bon appetit.

What are you going to do now?

It's for the tribunal to decide.

It's what Pontius Pilate said.

Enghien is not Christ.

I don't care who he is.

But you, Napoleon, must
not become a murderer.

Move on.

Roustam. My carriage, quick.

I want to go to...

Oh, never mind. Prepare my bath.

For my fiancee.

- I don't need you.
- Leave me alone.

Ready.

On my command.

Aim.

Fire.

I heard a noise.

Haven't you been to bed?

Look at me.

Why don't you look at me?

You've done it.

You've done the dreadful thing.

Although I begged you not
to, and so did your mother.

Your entire family.

This affair doesn't concern you.

Or my family.

It's an affair of state.

It concerns the government of France.

And me.

You? Yes, you.

You could have pardoned him.

You didn't need anyone.

You only had to say one
word. One little word.

If he had asked me to spare him.

But those Bourbons...

are so stupidly proud.

Proud, yes.

But innocent.

He wasn't even in France
during the attempt on your life.

His friends were.

And even if they didn't do it in
his name, they did it for him.

This foul deed will
bring a curse upon us.

Sorrow to you, and sorrow to me,

because I couldn't stop you.

And sorrow to all who
had a hand in this crime.

- Ah, come closer, Talleyrand.
- Come and admire these marvels.

No one will dare say that

my expedition to Egypt was pointless.

Or that the Duke of Enghien's
death was an assassination.

Well. The case is closed.

For you, perhaps.

But Enghien's execution was
on the agenda for the deputies.

They approve of it,

by a large majority.

All of those who voted
for the death of Louis XVI

consider you one of them now.

They even have a title
to propose for you.

Emperor of the French.

It's not a bad idea, of course.

On one condition.
To avoid any possible confusion,

it must never look like a disguised return

to the monarchy.

There will never be a king
in France again, Talleyrand.

I fought, and would have given my life,

to make France a republic.

But an Emperor can be elected,

like the Caesars in ancient Rome.

The Caesars were elected by the Senate.

I would want all the citizens of
France to approve my election.

Then let me be the first citizen of France
to offer my approval.

Sire.

Sire.

Sire.

You'll get used to it very quickly.

We'll see.

The results of the plebiscite.

A total victory.

No one could deny that the French people
want you as their emperor.

And want a member of your
family to succeed you...

What are you doing?

It's obvious,
I'm correcting what is not right.

- But it's illegal.
- And unnecessary.

I mean, you have 3 million
Yes against 2,500 Nos.

What more do you want?

It's not only the result that counts, Lucien.

The distribution
is just as important.

The army's tally is very disappointing.

Only 130,000.

There, 450,000.

The world will know

that my soldiers came out
in force to support me.

That should make it
harder for the English

to unite other powers against us.

Now, take that to the Senate.

And tell them that
my figures are the ones

to be officially proclaimed.

I continue to think that the truth...

The truth? What truth?

You still have not understood that power

is in the appearance of power.

Absolutely, my dear.

From now on, when you
want to talk to me,

you must address me as His Imperial Highness.

The grand elector.

- And what about me, your wife?
- What am I called?

Oh, for God's sake, Julie.

You're only the Emperor's
sister-in-law.

It would be the last straw
if you had a title

while we, his own sisters,
aren't even princesses.

- Speak for yourself, Caroline.
- I am a princess.

Well, it's not fair.

It really isn't.
Why her and not us?

Because Pauline married Prince Borghese.

I can't help it if you and Caroline preferred

to marry generals?

My dear Bonaparte,

I trust you don't see my marriage
to Caroline as a bad match.

You are my friend, Murat,

and that's worth all the titles in the world.

When I give my friendship,
I never take it back.

But a crown can be lost.

But I would be grateful
if you would stop calling me

"my dear Bonaparte".

Remember to say "Sire"
when you address me.

And this goes for all of you.

But it's a family gathering.

The Imperial family, from now on.

All the princes of Europe are watching us,

and they can't believe what they see.

"Those Bonapartes aspire
to the rank of Royal Highness.

"And they are not
even aristocrats.

"They are barely French."
"And they are not
even aristocrats.

"They are barely French."

We will show them
we are their equals.
"They are barely French."

We will show them
we are their equals.

Don't nurse any
illusions, Caroline.

If we want those people
to treat us as equals,

we must behave as they do.

They will mock us
at the tiniest slip.

It doesn't bother me at all,

except that France, and
the honour due to France,

is at stake, through me.

And I'm sure you
will never change.

Emperor or not,

your white britches will always
be covered with stains.

I don't know what you
do with your britches.

He wipes his pen
on them, of course.

Let's discuss my coronation.

It will be the 2nd of December,
at Notre-Dame-de-Paris,

with the Pope's blessing.

The Pope? You want
the Pope to come here?

But you don't know what you're
talking about, Napoleon.

You can go to Rome to see the
Pope, and receive his blessing,

but he will never come here just for you.

Yes, he will. He owes me a lot.

I drew up the concord
that restored peace between

the church and the state.

Without it, there would be
no more religion in France,

and God would be just another emigre.

I see you've planned everything.

Almost everything.

Becoming Emperor also
means founding a dynasty.

How will you do that with a woman

who hasn't even bothered
to bear you a child?

I beg you, Lucien.

You're talking about
the mother of my wife.

What of it? We're not talking
about your dear Hortense.

That's enough.

Do you think she would
have abandoned me

if I had lost on the 18th Brumaire?

If I'd been thrown into
prison, or even executed?

No, Lucien.

Josephine would have
never abandoned me.

I've decided that
she will be crowned with me.

From now on,

Josephine will not only
be your daughter-in-law,

she will be your Empress,
so please take note of it.

It won't stop me thinking of...

You will think in silence.

Two paces behind her.

Eavesdropping?

I was just passing by, Sire.

I walk very slowly.

You are minister of my
foreign affairs, Monsieur,

not of my family affairs.

Yes, of course, but
I couldn't help overhearing, Sire.

I fear your brother Lucien is correct.

An Emperor without an heir is
in an extremely tenuous position.

A successful attempt on his
life can annihilate everything.

Not just the man, but his work.

Sire, I think you should
take all the time you need.

You will find a delicate
way of explaining it to her.

Explaining it to her is not a problem.

I love her.

That is the problem.

The road to Namur.

Perfect.

The Pope will think we've run
into him totally by chance.

I cannot let him imagine

that I would make an effort to meet him.

I owe him no more respect than
I do to any petty little king.

The procession is coming, Sire.

- Gentlemen, remember.
- We are out here hunting wolves.

Excuse this dreadful
mud, Holy Father,

but it's been raining
so much lately.

We've always wondered if
the Pope, like his divine master,

could walk on the water.

I cannot, evidently.

But I do have other powers.

Such as crowning me Emperor.

Yes, and also...

marrying you.

Marrying me? But I am married.

During our long and tedious journey,

one of my cardinals told me
that you and the future Empress

have not been united before God.

Well, that may be true, but

our civil marriage is no less valid.

To me, it is meaningless.

But rest assured,

I would be delighted to
bless your union before God.

I have no intention of getting
married a second time.

Well, unfortunately,
I cannot crown a man Emperor

who is living in a state of sin.

Very well.

But a discreet ceremony,
without unnecessary witnesses.

When one has the Pope
as a witness, Sire,

no one else is necessary.

Please, let me help you.

Take my hand.

- Your shoulder?
- Yes.

Push.

Great.

Harder.

Good, very good.

Au revoir.

I'm having the cathedral
entirely redecorated.

My idea is to transform Notre-Dame
into a Greco-Roman temple.

That is to say, pagan?

That is to say spectacular.

You have depicted me as smaller
than Monsieur Talleyrand.

Well, Sire, I was merely
respecting nature's proportions.

A man's scale is determined by his destiny,
not by nature, Monsieur.

Of course, Sire.

So, you will stand here.

And you will be over there?
I fear my arm will not be long enough.

For what?

To put the crown on your head.

It will not be necessary.

I intend to crown myself.

Then why am I here?

To bless my reign.

Who exactly are you asking
to bless your reign, Sire?

Almighty God,

or his humble deputy
on Earth, the Pope?

Humble?

Is that the word you use

to describe the thunder of organ music,

clouds of incense, altars full of flowers,

robes trimmed with gold?

Sire, you confuse God with religion.

On the contrary, I separate them.

On the one hand, a theory: God.

On the other, a certitude: religion.

It gives human society a framework.

People would have no reference
points without religion.

We saw the results of that
when, during the Revolution,

the churches were looted
and the priests guillotined.

The country toppled into anarchy,

the chaos and madness
of the Reign of Terror.

You can do without God,
but not without religion.

Do without God?

Can you live without faith
in the immortality of your soul?

Without belief in the everlasting life?

If you had ever been on a battlefield,

you would not believe in God either.

But I spend all my days

and all my nights on a battlefield, Sire.

The whole world is a battlefield.

And every man who suffers
is a terrible defeat for me.

Place the crown on your own brow
if that is what you wish.

I will pray it does not become
too heavy for you to bear.

Have you ever regretted being Pope?

It terrifies me, Sire.

Every day that God gives.

You may leave us.

My God, you're beautiful.

Not a day over 25.

It's make-up.

A painter invented it,
and helped me put it on,

working highlights and shadows,

as if I were a masterpiece.

You are.

Your masterpiece, then.

A masterpiece of your love.

May I have your permission to say that?

Do you doubt it?

Not when you look at me like that.

Not when we're alone,
just the two of us.

It's the other people who frighten me,

and spoil everything.

The people I'm giving
every excuse to hate me.

The trick is not to see them.

Keep your eyes on me.

But I won't be able to
at the most important moment,

when I lower my head.

Then remember that my eyes
will always be on you.

Ah, you've captured the Pope perfectly.

He looks as if he'd
been made to sit for you

and forbidden to move.

How bored he seems, poor fellow.

All he could see from his position

was the back of your coat.

Where is my mother?

Well, nowhere, Sire.

Since your dear mother preferred
not to be present

at the ceremony, I...

Because she couldn't bear the idea
of seeing Josephine glorified.

A catfight.

But history will never understand

why she was absent
at such a vital moment.

Here, maybe. Paint her right here.

Make her easy to see.

Give her a beautiful dress
and see that she looks radiant.

Sire, I don't know if your
dear mother would appreciate...

She'll be furious.

She's very stubborn, like
everyone else in the family.

But with time,

she will be grateful
that I saved her

from appearing so petty.

Very well, David.

It's going to be beautiful.

When do you think it's
going to be finished?

Well, Sire, it takes time,
you know. Two years, maybe three?

Two years?

Soon, this empty sea will be
covered with ships

full of men,nhorses and cannons.

Head west.

If God grants me favourable winds,

I'll be in England
in six hours time.

It's not just a question of winds.

The English fleet is out to sea,
and our landing boats aren't...

No, Admiral Villeneuve will be here soon.

He's sailing from Spain with 74 warships.

The English have barely 50.

These masts won't take long to sail.

We may have God on our side,
but the English have Nelson.

- Nelson, Nelson.
- What is this Nelson?

A little man perched
on a lump of wood

that's called a boat.

Well, Murat, boats can be sunk.

Convicted of spying for England,

they are condemned to
be shot by firing squad.

Soldiers, present arms.

Aim. Fire.

If blood must be shed,
it's time it was English blood.

The population of Bologna is...

What has the population
of Bologna got to say?

I've had 200,000 men
stationed at the city gates

for over a year.

All the wine merchants and
whores must have made a fortune.

True.

The army stinks of wine and ass.

Don't worry, Murat. It will
soon be stinking of gunpowder.

Sire, perhaps you can put
your maps of England away

for the time being.

Are you bringing news
of Admiral Villeneuve?

I am, Sire.

Monsieur de Villeneuve
has judged his squadrons

too vulnerable, and
his sailors too ill-prepared,

to face Admiral Nelson.

He prefers to wait, Sire.

Hiding behind a rock
like a frightened child.

Coward. Idiot.

Does he realise what he's done?

Without his ships, I'm stranded
here like a legless cripple.

Sire, perhaps it's best if we're
not crossing the Channel,

because the English have also
convinced both the Russians

and the Austrians
to attack us from the East,
because the English have also
convinced both the Russians

and the Austrians
to attack us from the East,

but while our army
is occupied here in the West.

A sound strategy,
if rather English.

The English forget that
my strength is speed.

In 20 days, I will be in
the heart of Germany.

Murat, a change of plan.
Order the bugle to sound the call.

We will leave at once.
Thirty miles a day.

Five-minute pause every hour.

I want drummers
at the head and tail,

and drumming without a break
to fire the men with courage.

They won't lack courage
if you're with them.

I will not be with them,
I'll be at the opera.

At theatre, at balls,
on hunting trips.

I must put them off the scent.

If I'm sitting in Paris,

the enemy won't imagine that
my army is racing to meet them.

I know, gentlemen.

No one has ever seen 200,000 men
with all their equipment

accomplish such a feat.
That is the key to our victory.

It's because it seems impossible
that we are going to do it.

And that's why from now on,

the army will be known
as the Grand Army.

It's here the game will be played.

Once Austria and
Russia are crushed,

along with Prussia, should she
be tempted to join in the game,

I will rule Europe.

And England can rot in her lair.

You're in luck, Fouche.

Returning to politics just
as things are going well.

Apart from one detail, Sire.

The state coffers are empty.

We shall fill them.

Winning the war means
making a fortune.

Before we can win it, Sire,
we must declare it.

Your army is ready,
but there's been no battle.

Fine. We will attack. We have
avoided suspicion long enough.

I'm joining the troops.

Ow.

I've delivered you from an enemy.

A scout. The main army
will be here soon.

- Don't be afraid.
- We'll face it together.

Together? I will be
old long before you.

I may be dead before you.

- I have a war to win.
- And I'm needed.

So get up, Josephine.
We are leaving now.

We?

Yes. For Strasbourg.

When the men see
you travelling with us,

they will think that the war
won't be too long and brutal.

It's very important
for their morale.

You calculate everything.

I try.

Have you ever made
love in a coach,

driving through the night?

You poor thing, you're drenched.

Roustam will prepare
a hot bath for me,

later on at the camp.

You know that cures
me of everything.

I hope of not being
separated from me.

I want you to write to me,
once a day at least.

Twice would be better.
Now, listen carefully.

If anything should happen to me,
you will be regent, until...

Until your son will be
of age to succeed you.

My son?

You took me with
such passion last night,

I wouldn't be surprised

if you've given me
a beautiful child.

If anything happens to me,

I will be succeeded by Hortense
and Louis' son, a Bonaparte.

You see, I've planned it all.

- Plan to come back to me.
- I can't live without you.

Sire. A place to sleep
here, very bad everywhere.

This house, the best.

It will do. Prepare
my bath, I'm frozen.

It will be a while before you
can warm your toes, Sire.

Your tub is far behind us, stuck
with the rest of the waggons.

Not to worry, Sire.

Roustam fix something for Majesty.

Good.

Brrr. I never felt
so cold in my life.

What is this, exactly?

- Sire, it's for pigs.
- But Roustam washed it before.

The Emperor of the French,
in a pig trough.

On the day of the coronation,

as we were walking into
the cathedral, I said to Joseph,

if our father could see us now.

Well, if my brothers
could see me tonight...

Have a look.

Eggs. Beautiful eggs.

Ah. This is all I could
find. Not bad, huh?

Not too bad.

I tried to catch the hen for you,

but she didn't care to be caught.

And while I was chasing her,
I slipped in the mud.

Terribly sorry about the smell.

- Oh, yes.
- You do smell disgusting.

But we will miss
the stink of manure

when we smell the stench of death.

So give your eggs to Roustam.
He will make us a fine omelette.

And get in the water.
It's still hot.

Oh.

Brrr.

I'm still just as cold.

Do you have a fever?

No, it's not that.

It's more like if
I had drunk too much.

Everything is going round.

The walls are spinning.

I'm choking.

Please help.

Napoleon.

His Majesty needs doctor.

Do you have a fever?

I feel better now, Roustam.

If you'll kindly stop
ripping off my skin.

No, no.

Don't get up until
we know what's wrong.

I've sent for the army surgeon.
He's going to examine you.

Perhaps bleeding would be...

Oh, bleeding, never.

I only shed blood
when I'm on the battlefield.

Well, Roustam.
Where is our omelette?

- Oh, you're hungry.
- It's a sign you're better.

Wait until you see me sucking
the marrow from Austria's bones

and grinding Russia into a pate.

I shall give the English good
reason to call me Bonny the Ogre.

Why, gentlemen. Let this be
quite clear. I'm not ill.

I didn't feel faint.

If any one of you should make
the slightest reference

to this passing weakness,

I shall consider
he has betrayed me.

And I only know one
way to punish traitors.

Yes, with a dozen bullets.

Plus my contempt.

I will be the first
to take position.

I want to force the Austrians
and the Russians

to fight where I decide.
I want to force the Austrians
and the Russians

to fight where I decide.

We will be on
high ground, of course.

That's you, Caulaincourt.

Wanting to look down on people
because you're a Marquis.

Sire, all the
military handbooks agree

that the most favourable position
for a battle is on high ground.

The authors of those handbooks
are not where we are today.

By the way, where are we?

Austerlitz, Sire.

Well, gentlemen,
Austerlitz will prove

Caulaincourt's beloved
handbooks wrong.

We will give the high ground
to our opponents this time.

I will let them occupy the plateau of Pratzen.

So they can swoop down on us.

No, so they think
they can swoop down on us.

The road to Vienna, my friends.
We control it.

So let's try to think from
the enemy's point of view.

In your opinion,
So let's try to think from
the enemy's point of view.

In your opinion,

what will he concentrate
his forces on above all?

Taking back the road,

and cutting off our
line of communication.

Quite right.

Just let them try.

We'll stop them in their tracks.

We'll stop them before
they even make any tracks.

Now I stop you, Murat.

We are going to pretend that
we are abandoning the road.

As though we are terrified
by the force of the enemy's fire,

we will turn back and retreat.

Thus encouraging
the enemy to advance.

That's when he will
make his mistake.

Because to advance,

he will have to withdraw
some of his troops

from the plateau Pratzen.

And our right wing will be waiting
at the foot of the plateau.

They will start by retreating.

Retreating again?

Just enough for the enemy
to fall into the trap,

as it is a trap.

When we feel that
our opponents are confident,

we will stop retreating.

Bernadotte and Soult will
attack the plateau of Pratzen,

while Lannes and you, Murat,

will take the lot
of them from the rear.

It sounds so simple.

It is simple.

That's why they won't
see it coming.

Horrible mist, Sire.

- No, no, Caulaincourt.
- It's a blessed mist.

It's stopped the Austrians
and the Russians

spotting our positions,

and seeing our regiments
assembled on the plains.

Davout. Take advantage of it,

and get closer to
Kutuzov's main army.

Very well, Sire.

What about me, Sire?

Give me ten minutes and I'll
take the plateau Pratzen.

- Yes indeed, Soult.
- I'm counting on it.

Only wait for the mist to lift.

The sun is going to appear.
I can feel it is very near.

We understand
each other, the sun and I.

It will be back, the sun before?

Yes. The mist was for the trap.

The sun will be for victory.

Its light will strip away
the enemy's arrogance

when it reveals how close we are.

- The sun, Sire.
- They're cheering the sun.

They see it as a good sign.

So do I.

Gentlemen.
The Grand Army will attack.

And music playing at the head.

We have no more need
to hide now. Soult.

Ready to lead the charge, Sire.

It's always so
beautiful at the beginning.

Your turn, Lannes.

Sweep across the plain
with your 5th battalion.

Murat will be just behind you.

All that in one day, Sire?

In a few hours, yes.

20,000 of their men dead,

between 7,000 and 8,000 of ours.

Sire, I think for one day, I...
- Seen enough?

No, Talleyrand, not yet.

No, open your eyes.
Look, listen, smell.

until nausea overcomes you,

because you're going
to negotiate peace.

And I want you to know
what it has cost.

Do you never come down
from your horse, Sire?

I've been known to sleep in the saddle.

I think I've done just about
everything a man can do

on a horse's back.

Except make love.
But that's still a possibility.

And what will you
demand from them?

I can demand anything?

Anything. You're the master.

Good.

Then I demand peace.

Peace?

That's all you want,
how magnanimous.

Your modesty will certainly come
as a very pleasant surprise

to both the Emperor of Austria
and the Czar Alexander.

That's all for the main part.

As for the details, Austria will
give back the Tyrol and Venice.

I want the Tyrol for a strategic position,
and Venice for her treasures.

I want to transfer
that remarkable quadriga

on the Place St. Marc to Paris.

I'm sure that Eugene de Beauharnais
won't refuse that to me.

I've made Josephine's
son Viceroy of Italy.

Venice is for Eugene now,
and the quadriga too.

I shall crown my brother
Joseph, King of Naples,

Louis and my beloved
Hortense will rule Holland,

and I shall give
Westphalia to Jerome.

And there will be no more war,

because the whole of Europe will
be irrigated by my own blood.

You have something to say?

I have nothing to say,

but certain royal
families may, unless...

Unless nothing.

No one questions my decisions.

But I'm not
questioning them, Sire,

I'm merely making a suggestion

which could serve to reassure
the European courts.

For instance, you could,
Your Majesty,

speaking hypothetically of course,

repudiate the Empress Josephine,

on the grounds that she has
yet to give you an heir,

and marry the Arch-Duchess of Austria.

Cast Josephine aside for Marie-Louise?

Yes.
- If this is your idea

let me tell you it's extraordinarily stupid.

But Your Majesty, I have the highest
respect for Empress Josephine.

But creating a bond
as strong as a marriage

with the House of Austria...

Now I've made war with Austria,

you want me to make love to her?

But to make love, Monsieur
Talleyrand, you have to love.

Love? Sire, what's called
for here is making a child.

With that fat, pink ham,

who no doubt speaks French
with a terrible accent?

Your Majesty, the whole
of Europe finds Marie-Louise

extremely attractive,

and if you should require
some proof of that...

I'm certainly not insisting.

France has already
had an Austrian woman.

Marie-Antoinette.

You can't build the future
on bad memories.

It's me, Sire. Eleanor Denuelle.

I'm sorry I'm so late.

- Don't worry.
- I told Josephine I was working.

And your...

Your lateness has turned
my lie into a white lie.

I've had time to scribble
a few thoughts on that map.

Really?

Where's Trafalgar?

Trafalgar never existed.

Do you realise,
Mademoiselle Denuelle,

that you're looking
at a state secret?

And I could have you
arrested for that, my angel.

You'd only be punishing yourself.

Unless you came to make
love to me in my cell.

It would be easier
to have privacy.

It's ironic.

They are pushing me
to repudiate my wife,

so I can fertilise an alliance.

And they would call me
a treacherous husband

if they caught me
caressing a little maid.

Not a little maid.

Lady-in-waiting and reader
to Your Imperial Majesty.

Oh, sorry.

They're Josephine's.

No.

They're beautiful in your skin.

Thank you.

Tell me, it doesn't bother you,

sitting at my wife's knee,
reading to her,

knowing that you will be coming
to my bed the same night?

You would have had
a mistress anyway.

You enjoy love too much, Sire.

You enjoy it even more
when there's a risk involved.

You're sure?

Josephine coming back
from the theatre.

Why didn't she come in?

Because she's 20 years older than you,

and much too intelligent

to leave herself
open to comparisons.

You play dreadfully today.

Would you rather let Mademoiselle Denuelle
take my place?

Oh. Perhaps she doesn't play chess.

She can't be good
at everything, can she?

You should know better than me.

Because Eleanore Denuelle is one
of your ladies-in-waiting.

And one of your mistresses.

Just gossip.

She has a way of talking
about you that gives it away.

Not only is she your mistress,
she's in love with you.

Supposing that's true?

The only thing that would matter to you
is whether I'm in love with her.

Ah. Good question.

What's the answer?

She excites you,
but you don't love her.

Blah, blah, blah, yeah.

You see, you have nothing to fear.

Your turn.

I'm not afraid
of Eleanore Denuelle.

No more than any
of these other little...

that you've taken to bed,

and you go on taking to bed.

The only thing I fear

is that you'll love
me less and less,

until the day comes
when you don't love me at all.

That will never happen.

Anything can happen, my friend.

Proof?

Check.

Unless I sacrifice
my queen, in which case...

Oh, I would be checkmated.

Let's start over.

This game isn't going
well for either of us.

- Very good sidewalk, Sire.
- Very good.

Very good.

That horse was destined
for Your Majesty.

If the Queen of Prussia
could see you now

she would have to eat her words.

What did the Queen of Prussia say?

That woman, Sire,
or rather that harpy,

has been telling anyone
who is willing to listen

that Little Monsieur Bonaparte,
those were her very words,

is just a monster from the bog.

- What do you think of her?
- Attractive?

Oh, no. No, Sire, no.

My God, she has a goiter.

Good God, poor thing.

Sire, that woman doesn't
deserve your pity.

She is a Valkyrie.

She rode across Berlin

at the head of
a regiment of dragoons

and swore she would lead
them all the way to Paris.

And added that swords
were unnecessary

for defeating the French.

Clubs would suffice.

Ah. I am a monster,
leading a race of dogs.

I was quite right
to send you there

as our ambassador, Caulaincourt.
-Thank you Sire.

I'm starting to get an idea

of Prussia's intentions toward France.

What I find quite
extraordinary, Sire,

is the serenity with which
Your Majesty listens to my report.

My serenity comes from the fact

that I have 150,000 men ready
to die for me, Caulaincourt,

with whom I can subjugate,
crush, or destroy anyone I like.

And not only can,

but will.

There goes your friend.

- My friend, Sire?
- What do you mean?

The Queen of Prussia.

Obviously not enjoying
war any longer.

Women are so fickle.

What time is it?

Nearly midday, Sire.

Two hours from now,

Jena, which was only
the name of a small town,

will become the name
of a great victory.

Since the battle in Jena
was such a great victory,

what's keeping the Emperor there?

I mean, you came back, didn't you?

I fear I'm not much use
on the battlefield, Madame.

Battlefield?

The war goes on?

Now that the Emperor
has defeated the Prussians,

he has decided to wipe
out the Russian army,

which he sees as a threat
to the peace of Europe,

so he has set out after
them through Poland.

Poland?

I hear Polish women
are very beautiful.

The Emperor must be far too
busy to think of me, but...

...has he forgotten France?

Hardly.

But perhaps his France exists
not only in his memories,

but in his dreams.

Every day he sends designs
for new monuments,

parks, halls, markets...

An exhibition for manufactured goods,

and of course his preferred
creation, the Civil Code,

which will reform relations
between the French people,

with respect to daily life,
inheritances, marriage contracts...

Divorces?

Yes. Divorces, too.

Very well.

Since you seem to be saying

my husband won't be
back for Christmas,

I shall join him in Poland.

I shouldn't think that would
be a terribly good idea, Madame.

And if you returned from that journey
sadder that you departed

you'll have only
yourself to blame.

The man I love is there.

It takes two to love.

What are you insinuating?

Insinuating, Madame?

Strange, isn't it?

People always accuse
me of wearing a mask

to conceal my thoughts.

And yet the one time
I'm completely candid,

you appear not to have understood.

But then, perhaps it's
you who's wearing the mask.

No?

This will bring her
to her senses. Read it.

We must make this known.

- To her?
- No. To him.

As quickly as possible.

Hurry up.
-Sorry, Sire

Push, push it.
Come on, push it harder.

- For God's sake, Caulaincourt.
- You sound like a midwife.

I've found you at last, Sire.

I've come from Paris
to give you this.

Always terrible news with you.

What have you uncovered this time?

Another conspiracy
to assassinate me?

Well...

- Caulaincourt.
- Yes, Sire.

Read it.

Bonjour, Monsieur.

"The Minister of Police wishes to
inform Your Imperial Majesty

"that the 13th December 1806,
at 29 Rue de la Victoire..."

Rue de la Victoire, it's perfect.

"A young woman named Louise
Catherine Eleanore Denuelle

"gave birth to a child
of the masculine sex, father unknown

Come now, Caulaincourt.

Don't pretend to be more
stupid than you really are.

You don't understand?

Read that last line again.

"Gave birth to a child of the
masculine sex, father unknown."

Father unknown means...

The Emperor. Yes, Caulaincourt.
Father unknown means...

The Emperor. Yes, Caulaincourt.

His Majesty has a child.

A son, Caulaincourt.

I have a son.

Sire, I am delighted
to be the first

to offer Your Majesty
my heartfelt congratulations.

Thank you, Caulaincourt, thank
you. And thank you to Eleanore.

Marvellous, miraculous,
little Eleanore.

Thanks to whom I'm a father.

Sire, Sire.

If you'll allow me, Sire,
I will speed things up.

I beg you, Monsieur, help me.
I must see the Emperor.

That's impossible.
Absolutely impossible.

Do you permit one of your ruffians
to insult Countess
Marie Walewska, sir?

Did you say Countess?

Yes.

Sire.

Welcome, Sire.

A thousand times welcome.

Our Polish soil awaits
you to rise up and...

And...

And what?

I don't know any more.

I prepared so many
things to say, but...

now that I see you,

I am lost for words.

So am I, Mademoiselle.

So am I.

Which means we shall have
to see each other again,

once we have both
found the words we need.

Would you like that?

Thank you, Monsieur.

I'm sorry about that, sir, it's...

What's her name?

Oh, she's called, Countess...

Countess... what did she say?

Oh, these Polish
names are impossible.

I want to know.

Find out her name. And find her.

Yes, of course, Sire.

His Excellency
Mr Jerzy Torpovsky and Madame.

Count and Countess
Henrik Dabrovnik.

Baron and Baroness Slodorowski.

Ah well, Sire.

I think Your Majesty
has met everyone in Poland

worthy of being introduced to you.

No, no. Someone is missing.

No, I don't think so.

Count and Countess
Anathase Walewski.

There. No one's missing now.

When such an old man
marries such a young wife,

he should long
to cover her with jewels,

so she will forgive him.

I'll see if something
can be done about it.

Sire, that's not what
I want from Your Majesty.

My country no longer exists.

Prussia, Austria and Russia
have dismembered it.

Return Poland to me.

Leon, Sire.

What?

Your son. Mademoiselle
Denuelle has called him Leon.

Half of Napoleon.

Which is what he is.

Seven pounds at birth.

A big boy.

You know how efficient
your police are, Sire.

We know everything.

Make him a Count, with
a yearly income of 25,000 francs.

Have you something to write with?

It's not necessary. I will remember.

25,000 francs and the title of Count.

- I don't mean that.
- A note for Countess Walewska.

"I see only you.

"I admire only you.

"I desire only you.

"And answer quickly,
to calm the ardour of..."

Don't bother to sign it.

She will know who wrote it.

Arrange for her to find it
the moment she arrives home.

Order my carriage.

But the ball, Sire.

- What's the point?
- Since she's not dancing.

Will you dance with me, Madame?

If you don't ask me
for anything in return.

Madame.

May I, Count Walewski?

On second thought,

I do have something to ask you.

Can you refrain, sir?

Sire. Sire.
-Not now.

- She is here.
- Who? She?

Countess Walewska.

- Here?
- Yes.

- Here?
- In your bedroom.

Was I wrong to convince
her to come here?

Gently, Sire.

Come to me as a man,
not a conqueror.

Why are you afraid, Madame?

- It's of no importance.
- Yes it is, for me.

Are you not here
of your own free will?

Monsieur de Caulaincourt
can be extremely persuasive,

but he would never
have forced you.

He's a Marquis.

Other people have advised me

to use this opportunity
to perhaps...

move Your Majesty.

Prince Poniatowski.

Even my own husband.

All of Poland is throwing
me into your arms, Sire.

Don't be afraid, Madame.
You're not yet in my arms.

The nearer I come to you,
the more you back away.

My back is almost to the wall.

And what are you afraid
will happen then?

They say...

you have no compunction
about taking what you want.

Nothing will happen against
your will, I promise you.

Goodbye, Countess.

Sire.

Return Poland to us
as a sovereign country.

Is that what you've
come to ask me?

To give Poland back her King?

I cannot commit myself.
The whole of Europe
wants to bleed me dry.

But I can promise this.

I swear that...

just as I will never
forget this moment,

I will never forget
what brought you here.

Give me a little time. If I see that
the Poles are worthy of being a nation

Of course they are.

Look at me.

Judge them by me,
I am one of them.

Impetuous. Passionate.

Running toward me
like a mad thing,

at the risk of being crushed by the crowd,
and then resfusing to see me again.

If Poland is anything like you,

she must be
a fantastic little country.

What must we do to make you love
this fantastic little country?

Let yourself be loved.

- Good morning, Sire.
- I hope you had a good night.

Unfortunately, I have received
some news that is not so good.

From Marshall Bernadotte.

His men are starving.

His horses have nothing to eat
but the bark from the trees.

His cannons are stuck
in the mud. It's...

So he's retreating.

Let's not confuse things.

Send a dispatch writer
immediately to Bernadotte.

He must not try to resist.

On the contrary, he must continue retreating,
in the way that drove the Russians toward us.

Harness up my coach,
I'm leaving for the front.

Where are the Russians, exactly?

Outside a town called Eylau.

You're leaving?

I will come back.

"I will come back"?

You must have said
that so many times.

I've always come back.

But not always
to the same address.

Would you feel more
reassured if I married you?

Don't be cruel.

We both know that cannot be.

You're already married,
and so am I.

The only thing
you can marry here is...

Your cause. The Polish cause.

That was not
in my mind last night.

Not for a moment.

Last night, you were my country.

Fire.

Left. Left, right, left.

Those fellows don't lack courage.

Sire, our 14th line
has been wiped out.

Augerau is badly wounded.
He lost 5,000 men in 20 minutes.

Any news of Marshall Ney?

We don't know where he is, Sire.

I've sent out scouts to meet
him, but none have come back.

Check again.

- We must move from here.
- While there's still time.

Out of the question.

Are you going to let
those men devour us?

If Ney and his men are not
here by ten o'clock tonight,

I shall have no
choice but to retreat.

Rocher and Pertier will
form the rear guard.

Let them know that
I'm counting on them

to stop the Russians
if they follow us.

Very good, Sire.
But I wonder if...

It is wise to wait
until ten o'clock tonight?

Is that what you
are too timid to say?

I haven't lost yet.

- Gentlemen.
- The Emperor is watching us.

We have the honour
of showing him what we can do.

Swords out.

Charge.

Will that do it?

No.

But it's magnificent.

I haven't lost yet.