All language subtitles for César (1936)

- What brings you here?
- I had to see you, Elzéar.

Couldn't you have attended mass
at the same time?

You're afraid of seeming to be
a weak spirit.

I'm afraid I've only just arrived.

I came to find you
because Panisse is dying.

Poor Honoré is close to death.

Did he send you?

No, Fanny did. She's meeting
her son, my godson, at the station.

Yes, I baptised him.

Who's his doctor?

Félicien.

He says it's his heart.
He had an attack last year.

That gave me a real scare.

He recovered,

but last night
he had another attack.

Come and hear his confession.

Does he realise he's so ill?

I think so.

He called us all
to say goodbye this morning,

Mr Brun, Escartefigue,
the stoker and me.

But he was unable to speak.

I'll come.

Find an altar boy.

Elzéar, I don't think
you should tell him.

I can hardly avoid it
if I confess him.

Don't say you came on purpose.

But I'll be bringing the host

and I'll have on my surplice.

Precisely.

You'll scare him.

And Félicien said
the slightest shock could kill him.

Why don't you leave your surplice
and the altar boy downstairs?

You can say you just dropped by...

and then break the news
little by little.

It would be
less hard on him that way.

I know I'm asking you to lie

but it's for Honoré's sake.

All right.

Thank you, Elzéar.

You're a good man.

Elzéar is on his way.

Tell him.

He doesn't speak any more.
Not a word or gesture.

The doctor just left.

What did he say?

He said he's done for.

Done for?

Done for.

Poor Honoré.

Monsieur Brun,

Panisse is done for.

What was that?
Did you speak, Honoré?

He said "bollocks".

Then he must be better.

He's asleep?

I feel a lot better.

I can breathe now.

You're saved.

I don't know about saved, Félix...

I think so,

speaking for myself...

Let him speak. He can hardly breathe
and you interrupt.

It was worth saying.

What's worth saying
on a day like this?

Now look.

Who's dying here, you or him?

Him!

Then let him talk!

Honoré, you don't look ill at all.

You look fine.

That's what is so annoying.
I don't look as if I'm dying.

My face is like a baby's bottom

and my bottom like Félix's face.

Minus the beard, of course.

I'm dying and yet
it doesn't feel like it.

It's ridiculous.

I don't mind dying

but I hate to think of not living.

I hate to think I won't see
my wife again and my son.

Or you people.

Or drink a pastis
under the plane trees.

Or play boules with you.

Don't worry. We'll find a substitute.

Wait till he's dead.

I don't want him to worry.

I'll miss not shaving each morning
in front of the open window,

looking out on the old port,

thinking about the day to come...

while watching Félix start out
on his first trip of the day.

I shall miss the little things.

I shall miss the hairs on my chest.

I'll miss my corn.

It never did anyone any harm
and it forecast the weather for me.

But skeletons don't have corns.

What an awful thought!

You'll lose more weight than me.

Someone's coming.

How's old Elzéar?

I haven't seen you for ages!

Hello, César.

- Hello, Félix.
- How are you, Elzéar?

The Good Lord keeps me going.

What's wrong with you, Honoré?

Are you ill?

Yes, it seems I'm ill.

But, Elzéar, it seems you're a liar.

Honoré, he's a priest!

Why do you say that?

Why do you pretend you don't know?

You've no proof, I know.

I suppose you just happened
to be passing by chance.

By chance.

Not exactly by chance.

You just looked in
to pass the time of day.

Why not?

I chanced to be passing
and it seems I chose a good moment.

I know the chance
that brought you here.

It was someone with auburn hair
and almond eyes.

Someone called Fanny.

No, it wasn't Fanny.

But let's say it was.

Let's say your wife came to mass

and I spoke to her afterwards.

What would be odd about that?

After all, I baptised her.
I solemnised your marriage.

Quite natural, of course.

Nothing odd about that.

And what if I asked after you?

"How's your husband?
He never comes to church.

"He must be knee-deep in sins".

What if she said,

"He's not too well.
Come and see him some time"?

Surely, that's not a crime?

No, Elzéar, quite the contrary.

The truth is: You panicked.

You think you're worse than you are.

But, if you're a bit worried...

If you think your hour has come...

I can ease your burden.

Since I'm here...

and you seem well-disposed,
why not let me confess you?

It wouldn't kill you.

That's true.

Since I'm so well,
it's just the moment

to give me the Last Sacrament.

Honoré, this is no joking matter.

It's you, Elzéar.
You're joking with me.

You want to hear my confession?

It's urgent?

It's always urgent.

But you think it's less urgent
for Félix or César?

Yes, it's less urgent.

Well, then... hear my confession.

Wait a minute.

Elzéar, do we have to be alone?

The early Christians
used to confess in public...

but they were saints.

They had little to say.

I'm no saint
but I'd like you all to stay.

I don't think it looks good

when everyone leaves.

When they're on the staircase
they start to think...

"What's he confessing?"

"He must
have done a lot of awful things."

Everyone imagines the worst...

but I've nothing terrible to say.

Not that I've done nothing but good.

But any wrong I have done...

I regret it more
than I regret confessing it openly.

Except maybe before Honorine.

I've committed no crimes...

but some things shouldn't be said
in front of ladies...

even though ladies were involved.

I shall leave

because of the ninth commandment.

Sit down.

Now, my son,
at this solemn moment...

I must ask you about your life.

My son...

Elzéar, I tell you frankly...

if you call me your son,

I shall laugh.

What else can I say?

Call me Honoré.

As you wish.

Honoré, repeat after me:

Bless me, father, for I have sinned.

May God be in your heart
and on your lips...

so that you make
a full confession of your sins.

In the name of the Father, Son
and Holy Ghost. Amen.

Have you done any wrong
in your life?

Of course I have.

One can't live
without doing wrong,

even without meaning to.

- Haven't you, yourself?
- Of course. I'm only human.

But I'm not making my confession.

You are.

What wrong did you do?

I don't know;

I mean, I don't know
what you think is wrong.

God's commandments decide,
not me.

César, come over here.

Read God's commandments to us.

You could do with a reminder.

I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt
have no other gods before me.

All right.

I've never worshipped other gods,
on my honour.

Thou shalt not take the name
of the Lord thy God in vain.

That hits me hard.

I've always sworn a lot.

What Marseillais hasn't?

Thou shalt not
bear false witness...

against thy neighbour.

I must admit I have lied.

- Often?
- Continually.

Several times a day.

When playing boules
or after hunting or fishing.

Especially to customers.

If you told them the truth...

you'd never do business.

For instance,

you couldn't have sold
that boat to Monsieur Brun.

Tell me all.

Forget it. I'm not going
to lodge a complaint.

It wasn't a real lie.
Just a tall story.

Thank you.

Thou shalt lie with no woman...

except thy wedded wife.

Go ahead, Honoré,
relieve your conscience.

I'm embarrassed to tell you.

There are many unfortunate girls
in my parish.

I've heard worse stories, I'm sure.

So go ahead.

Yes, I admit I've sinned.

What's worse,

I enjoyed it.

If sinning made us suffer,

we'd all be saints.

How often did you sin?

Often and with relish.

Before my first marriage,

I knew a lovely girl...

I trust you confessed that
before your wedding.

I did, so we can forget that.

Tell us. We'd like to know.

Félix, you have no discretion.

It happened again
during my first marriage.

But I confessed before I married
the second time.

And since then?

The devil has tempted me.

In what guise?

The guise of one of my workers.

Which one?

- The redhead.
- I thought as much.

Your confession concerns you alone.

That's a hard and fast rule.

Félix, leave the room.

Seriously?

Go on. Leave, you great oaf.

Did you sin for long?

Just five or six minutes.

But how many months?

About a year.
Then she married and stopped.

You seem to regret it.

Yes, I regretted it then,

but now I regret I regretted it.

Now I hear you talking,
I regret it sincerely.

But you don't know the worst.

When she finished with me...

I'd better stop confessing.

I can see I'm grieving you.

Honoré, I'm listening
with all a priest's compassion.

Speak.

When she finished with me...

I took another.

Now I have a question to ask you.

But, as it concerns a third party,
I should like us to be alone.

Leave the room, all of you.

What is it, Elzéar?

What about the child?

You've never told me
it wasn't yours.

But you already knew.

Everybody knows.

Everyone knows.

But he doesn't know.

Have a drink.

Keep your strength up.

It's Honoré's white wine.

He knew how to choose them.

It's quite frightening, reading
the commandments, don't you agree?

- Well, I...
- Pity the dead.

I'm not a great believer...

but there was something
about that service

I found most comforting.

It comforts you to see that man?

One thing worries me though.

What if our God isn't the true one?

- Oh!
- What are you saying?

I know Moslems, Hindus,
Chinese, Blacks,

their God isn't the same as ours.

What's a sin for us
isn't necessarily a sin for them.

They may not be right
but suppose they are, Monsieur Brun.

That's the question.

Poor old Panisse is well prepared
for a meeting with Elzéar's God.

But suppose that up there,
in the clouds,

he finds a god
he doesn't know at all.

A red, black or yellow one.

Or one like you see
in antique shops...

with a big belly
and lots of arms.

What could poor Panisse say
to a god like that?

How would he communicate?

Put yourself in his place.
Tired by your death...

and dizzy after your journey...

trying to make yourself
understood to this god.

You pray and he says...

"What's that? What are you saying?"

All in Chinese.

It's tragic. You give me the creeps.

So the Bible's all a lie?

Aren't you ashamed
to talk like that

in front of an altar boy?

If you went to church more,

you'd know there's only one God.
Ours.

Yes, ours is the good one...

but people are easily taken in

and I'm sorry for them.

There.

The priest doesn't scare me.

It's what the doctor said.

I've no faith in doctors.
They often make mistakes.

Quite right.

Sorry, Doctor.
I was speaking in general.

But it's true of Panisse's doctor too.
You're quite right.

He's conscious?

Yes, Elzéar is in there.

Oh, dear, I'm sorry to hear that.

Mind you stay here. No going up.

One is quite enough.

Now everything is in order.

I'm sure,
if you're called before God,

He'll be lenient with you.

Don't you feel better for it?

Yes, it has done me good.

I imagined you worse than you were.

I had brought
the extreme unction with me.

It would do no harm...

Yes, it would.

Too early, it can do a lot of harm.

What are you saying?

- What are you doing?
- My duty.

But your duty
prevents me from doing mine.

I'm the doctor. Let me speak.

Why come here scaring everyone
with your altar boy?

By the way, he has adenoids.

Send him down to my surgery.

His nose needs unblocking.

How are you feeling?

I'll have a listen.

Don't breathe, Honoré.

That doesn't sound at all bad.

You sound a lot better.

Of course, you're still
not very strong

but there's life
in the old dog yet.

I'm done for.

Of course you are. And so am I.

Elzéar too.

We all have to die sooner or later.

How long would you give me?

Eternity, if it were mine to give.

I can give him eternity
if he merits it.

Your eternity
begins with a funeral.

No, with the soul's salvation.

Your salvation caused the deaths of two
of my patients only last week.

Me?

God knows, I'm no pagan, Elzéar.

When my time comes, I'll call you
to perform your little ceremony.

- It will give you peace.
- That's true.

But the full ceremony,
when it's with the oil and everything...

makes you go before your time.

For you,
who practise religion every day,

it's nothing special.

But, for everyone else,
it's the first time

and it's very disturbing.

Communion never killed anyone.

That last one can.

I'd have saved your sexton,
the other week.

He had heart trouble too.

But I'd hardly gone after ordering
total calm,

when you arrived
with your altar boy.

You made him tell his life story,
annointed him

and off he went.

He may be in heaven,
but he's not here.

And the tram employee
who had his leg cut off.

He was doing fine,
till you came along.

Then he felt he was as good as dead.

And that was the end of him.

I'd rather
you didn't kill my patients.

I kill enough myself without that.

So I'm a murderer.

No, but you're too eager.

Wait for my call.

I'd be confessing corpses.

God knows His job!

In the final moments, clarity returns.
We call it euphoria.

It's the best time for confession
so wait for it.

If you're so eager to use your oil,
make a salad dressing!

Then there's your altar boy.
A good Christian, but adenoidal.

My poor husband had a strange death.

One day he wakes me at dawn,

he puts his hands on his chest
and asks:

"What if I died suddenly?"

I said,
"That wouldn't be very clever".

Says he, "I'm not clever then"
and dies.

No way!

He was fifty-three.
The doctor said he died of an emboliger.

An emboliger?

Yes, monsieur, an emboliger.

But everyone has an emboliger.
I've an emboliger.

Mine's as big as a sovereign.

No, it's not a navel.

It's a medical word for a disease.

Doctor told me
it was like a cork in his arteries.

It stopped him dead.
Like cutting off the gas.

What she means is an embolidre.

Some people call that an embolism.

In Lyon.

In any event, he died.

A fine way to die.

For those left behind. But I'd prefer
a poor life to a fine death.

How's dad?

He's upstairs.
The doctor is with him.

And the priest.

We were there for his confession.

Don't go up yet.

He must be prepared.

Besides,

we must see
what the doctor says.

Go upstairs and see.

Don't upset yourself.

You can't do anything about it.

Anyway, he hasn't left us yet.

He's better.

I hope to save him, this time.

But he won't see Christmas.

I'm afraid we're all so ignorant.

At least you've your son.

I'll come round again
this evening,

see he takes his medicine
and keep him quiet.

The boy is here.

Tell him gently.

You have to lie to sick people.

Even when they know,
it helps them if you lie.

I've some other visits to make now.

See you this evening, Fanny.

I've something to tell you.

Elzéar has pardoned my sins

but he's still bothered by one thing.

What's that?

The boy.

I think Honoré should tell him
the truth before he dies.

No, I won't tell him.

I've been his father all my life.

I want to die that way.

Am I to lose everything
at the same time?

My life and my son?

Is bringing up the boy
such a terrible sin?

Of course not, Fanny dear.

It's just that it's not exactly
telling a lie

but it's hiding the truth.

A lie by omission.

I can see this admission
is hard for Honoré,

so it will be even more laudable
and appreciated by the Lord.

It's not a sin exactly

but just imagine
if Marius had a daughter.

What if Césariot, in ignorance,
married the girl?

That would be an incest,
a mortal sin.

A terrible state
for two young Christians to be in.

And you would be punished.

An omission with such awful implications

cannot be absolved.

If Marius had a daughter, I'd know.

Supposing he has a daughter
and doesn't even know?

Supposing you go fishing

and pull out a bus? Suppose...

Supposing everyone went blind
in one eye.

It would spell ruin for opticians
and a bonanza for monocle sellers.

My suppositions are less preposterous
than yours.

I refuse. I refuse to tell him!

I'll do my time in purgatory
like a good soldier.

I fought at Verdun during the war.

Purgatory can't be worse.

If you go on bothering me,

I'll hide my head
and die straight away!

Then I'll hear no more about it!

Calm down, Honoré!

Your father wants to speak to you.
He's better but don't excite him.

Come along, my boy.

We'll take Our Lord back home.

Why are you here?

Did they close the school?
Have you been expelled?

Mother sent word that you were ill.

That's certainly true.

I'll wager you've brought
your special hat for the funeral.

Just in case.

Here's someone who doesn't lie

and doesn't take a sick man
for a fool.

Thank you, my boy.

But I think
I've been given a respite.

I'm sure of it.
I've been given a respite.

Perhaps not for very long

but enough to make me happy.

First of all, because it's good
to be alive, even if one is ill.

But, above all
because I wanted to see you.

To explain my legacy.

Oh, things like that...

I don't mean my legal testament.
I've dealt with that already.

I want to give you
my moral legacy.

I want to talk to you about life.

To give you advice for later.

To explain the book
I'd have written for you...

if I'd had more schooling.

I feel I've still time.

Now I'd like to sleep a little.

Stay beside me.

Will you shut the window?

Sit down over there.

Find a book or something to do.

Maybe you think I'm selfish,
to keep you here.

Of course not.
I'm happy to stay with you.

Try to sleep. It will do you good.

Go to sleep, dad.

Hello, kid.

Hi there.

Want your money?

- I don't deserve it but it's due.
- Come on, then.

When I think I don't work for it...

your money burns my hands.

Only till you pay your bar bills.

That's what consoles me.

You can laugh...

but at night I think,
"What have I done for our garage?"

You put down the cash.

But I didn't earn it.
It was left me by my aunt.

What work did I ever do? None.
All because of my affliction.

And your laziness.

Laziness is an affliction too.
Maybe the very worst.

This morning in the newspaper
I was reading an obituary.

You like that sort of thing?

It gives me something to do.

Something struck me.
I saw your father's name.

My father's name?

It's nothing to worry about.

Your father's name was there
but not in the star part.

The star was...

Look“.

"Madame Honoré Panisse and her son.

"Madame Honorine Cabanis
and Madame Claudine Foulon...

"announce with great sadness..."

"the death of Honoré Panisse."

"Sail-maker in Marseilles,
he departed his life..."

"at the age of sixty-six.
Please pray for him."

Panisse is dead.

Well, he was sixty-six.

Then there's another announcement

in much bigger letters.

It must have cost a fortune.

"César Ollivier
of the Bar de la marine.

"Aldebert Brun, Customs Inspector,
Captain Escartefigue, retired.

"Ex-stoker Innocent Mangiapan
and Doctor Félicien Venelle...

"have the sad duty to inform you..."

"of the death of Honoré Panisse,"

"their dear friend
for over thirty years."

Panisse is dead.

Poor old Honoré.

- You knew him well?
- I'll say I did.

I told you about him.

The man
who took your wife and child?

He took them in.
It was more my fault than his.

Any debt he owed me,
he repaid with interest. Without him...

What, he...?

Yes, he went to see
the lawyers and judges.

He saved us from the courts.

And he helped with the garage in secret.

I thought Peugeot gave me
that credit because they trusted me.

Later I discovered he'd guaranteed it.
Of course, we paid it back...

but, if we'd failed,
he'd have had to pay.

Then we must go to the funeral
tomorrow morning.

No, I can't.

No, I don't want to see
my father and Escartefigue.

All that lot.

They wouldn't be pleased to see me
and I'd find it very distressing.

Let's put our hats on.
This sun is scorching.

No one else has.

Someone has to be first.

Félix, put your cap on
or you'll have a stroke.

Is it unseemly?

It's better than dying at the funeral.
I'm putting mine on.

You're right.

That's very strange.

- What's wrong?
- It's the wrong hat.

Where?

I left it downstairs when I went up
to see our poor old friend.

I must have picked up the wrong one.

Put on your hat.

No, I can't. It's not done.

Félicien says
you could have a stroke.

Really?

Maybe it belongs to the dead man.

What a ghastly idea!

Look, here are the initials.

- They're not his.
- Too bad.

César, put your hat on.
Honoré would want it.

You must put on your hat.

César, I order you
to put on your hat.

It's an order?

I know my job inside and out.

Of course.

No one's denying it.

An aperitif isn't a medicine
like cod liver oil.

It's better and harmless.

- Better tasting.
- We agree on that.

When I say it's harmless,
I should explain.

It's said aperitifs
are bad for the liver.

But aperitifs are made from plants.

Wormwood, gentian...

Sage, aniseed, orange.

- And alcohol.
- A vine is a plant.

None of these plants have livers.

They don't know what a liver is.

- Neither do I.
- Don't interrupt!

They never met a liver.

I will not believe that plants
hate a liver they've never met.

What can one say?

I'd say
your whole argument was absurd.

Why?

Sulphuric acid never saw copper.

But it will attack a copper plate.

That has nothing to do with aperitifs.

Maybe not...

I'm sorry, Monsieur Brun,
this is a scientific matter!

Maybe over Félix's head.

I'm listening!

You're listening
but it goes over your head.

Tell me what aperitifs
and sulphuric acid have in common.

More than you think.

Spoken like a Lyonnais!

Diamonds, trumps. Three for me.

Sulphuric acid!

Spade.

So are you playing-U?

He's really dead.

It's only just sunk in.

Yes. That empty chair
is sadder than his grave.

The poets have said it all.

Listen to these lines
written by Sully Prudhomme.

He's a great writer and poet

who is taken for a fool these days.

Listen.

It's when you sit as a family
round the table...

When the chairs are further apart,
then you say your real goodbye.

That's beautiful.

Do you have to go tonight?

It wouldn't matter much if I were
a day late, but what's the point?

Won't you stay for my sake?

You'll only ask me again tomorrow.

I'd like you to stay...

because there are still some things
we've not talked about.

You mean the will and all that.

You deal with it, mother.

I need to get back,
I mustn't miss any classes.

If I come top in the coming exams,
they'll make me a major.

First place, you mean?

First in my year.
On leaving the Military Academy...

certain posts are offered to you.

Engineer for canals, ports,
artillery, railways...

Some are much better than others.

I'd have first choice.

In one way it's not important,
as you and dad have provided for me...

but it would be a great honour.

I'm sorry dad won't know.

He couldn't be more proud of you
than he already was.

He was such a good father.

A wonderful father.

I talked about him sometimes
to my school-friends

and show them his letters.

Like my friend Dubouchet.
The one I go outwith on Sundays.

His father only ever wrote to him
to scold him.

Whereas mine...

Others had devoted fathers...

but never one

as good as mine.

But...

But what?

What were you going to say?

He wasn't your father.

- What was that?
- That's the truth of the matter.

Mother!

Mother, that's absurd!
It would be frightful.

What are you saying?

The truth.

I know it's going to hurt you.

I know you'll despise me.

But you are not Honoré's son.

I remember something my father said.

Your husband rather,
since that's all he is now.

One day he said to me,
"Your mother isn't like other women.

"She's intelligent, devoted."

"She's clean."

"There's no other word for it."

"Clean - that's what she is."

I know that's what he thought.

That's what Dad said.

What will I think of other women
now I know my mother can lie?

I never lied to him. He knew.

You confessed and he let you stay?

No, dean.

He knew before he married me.

He knew before?

He knew absolutely everything.
I never lied to him.

But you lied to me for twenty years.

I never said he was your father.

But you let me think it.

That was to please him.

He insisted I said nothing.

What could I say?

For twenty years,

he brought me up, he fed me.

He loved me.

He devoted himself to me.

- And he knew.
- He knew.

He lived for you and me.

He was a saint.

Almost.

Devoting his life to us
made him happy.

Our marriage was full of his laughter.

Did no one else know your secret?

Granny knows?

She does.

And my aunt?

She knows too.

I suppose my godfather knows too.

He does.

In short,
the story was well publicised.

I was the only one in the dark.

There must have been
so much whispering and worrying.

It must have made poor dad
look so silly.

What a position.

He was fully aware of his position.
He chose it.

He never stopped thanking me
for his son.

I should have been told.

I loved Dad very much,
but I'd have loved him even more.

I'd have thanked him
for his kindness.

Now it's too late.

Dear Dad, it makes no difference.

Though you weren't my father,
you were always my dad.

And he always will be!

And my real father?

I've just made you a confession.

It cost me a lot to tell you.

You'll despise me.

You despise me already.

I only told you...

because the priest insisted
when Honoré was dying.

He said I had to tell you
you weren't Honoré's son.

But not the rest.
After all, what good would it do?

What good?

So is my pretend dad dead?

Perhaps.

What do you mean by that?

Don't you know?

I don't care much
but maybe you still do.

Césariot, don't talk to your mother
like that.

I don't want to hurt you...

but since you've gone so far
why not tell me everything?

Forget it. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Is that really possible?

Maybe you've reasons
for not telling.

You've seen him?

You intend to see him.

It would be awkward if I knew.

You're hurting me.

I'm sorry, Mother.

But it could be a man
I see here sometimes.

I feel as if...

I've lost my father twice over...

yet you're not quite a widow.

Is he still alive?

A moment ago you said perhaps.

I can't be sure.
I've not seen him for fifteen years.

He wrote?

Never.

Do I know him?

You saw him fifteen years ago.

I've no desire to know who he is.

Some rich fellow who deserted you.

But he's a swine!

He wasn't a rich man.

He didn't know about you
when he left.

Nor did I.

You can't have known him long.

So you did it...

just like that?

No, dean

I'd known him a long time.

- He loved me.
- And you loved him?

If I hadn't loved him, my dear...

you wouldn't be here to blame me.

If he loved you so,
why did he leave?

He was mad about the sea.

He wanted to be a sailor.

It was like an illness.

Like Marius, César's son.

It was him.

I'm Marius's son?

Now who's that?

- Who's that?
- Me.

- Who's me?
- Césariot.

- What is it? An accident?
- Yes.

It's not mother, it's me.

- What is it?
- The accident concerns me.

What's wrong? Are you ill?

No. Shut the door so we can talk.

I'm to shut the door, am I?

I'd do it if I could, I wouldn't
give orders to my grandfather.

Why are you calling me grandfather?
Am I old suddenly?

I'm calling you grandfather
because that's who you are.

Who said?

Mother. She just told me.

Is that the accident?

A funny sort of accident.

Don't try to pump me!

I'd never do that.

Tell me what happened.

When that priest Elzéar
heard Dad's confession...

he insisted I was told the truth.

Dad refused. He left it to Mother.

I've just learned
Dad was nothing to me.

It seems the man who made my mother
pregnant is your son, Marius.

So I called you grandfather.

What do you think?

I've been walking round the port.

I couldn't decide whether
I'd dreamt it or Mother had gone mad.

I saw your light was on...

so I knocked.

What do you say to all that?

It's too bad poor old Honoré
had to go and die.

This is madness.

You can say that again.

What about you? How do you feel?

Different.

Yes, but what do you feel about it?

How do you feel about me?

You've always been my godfather.
I've always loved you.

I may not have shown it.

Yes, I know.
It's not a thing you say.

Your being my grandfather
doesn't change anything.

You're vexed
that you're grandson to a bartender.

I'm surprised to be Marius's son,
a man who's done so little in life.

- Except maybe you, of course.
- He didn't do it alone.

So your Marius slept with Mother.

I imagine so, since you're here.

It disgusts me.

Why?

- Why should it?
- It just does.

So where is Marius?

In Toulon, running a garage.

- You've seen him?
- Thirteen years ago.

- Toulon isn't far.
- It's far enough.

Why didn't he come here?

He wanted to be a sailor.

At twenty-one he joined the navy.

He didn't want to see
Fanny and her husband.

He used to come here in secret.

Then he met a woman.
That's too good a word for her.

She was a loathsome woman.

The kind you wouldn't touch
with a barge pole.

He loved her?

He was living with her.

So I've a host of brothers
not to be touched with a barge pole.

No, you're his only child.

That's one blessing.

This woman introduced him
to a lot of disreputable people...

and some dubious business.

So he's in prison.

No, it was a close shave
but he avoided that.

Then one day I said, "Leave that girl
or don't come back again".

It happened here.

And, well...

he replied...

rather rudely.

He swore at you?

Worse than that.

He said,
"I thought you'd be more tolerant".

So?

Tolerance.
All this talk of tolerance!

You just listen to me, Marius,
do you hear?

I can't slap you any longer.

But my dad would have thrown me out
for such insolence. Beat it!

- Were you any different?
- I didn't kill him.

That's stupid.

Calm down or you'll have a fit.

- You take advantage of me too.
- Listen, tolerance...

What about it? You too?

Tolerance means being generous,
aware of others.

I know what the word means.

Do you?

Even if I haven't had
an education like you!

I was washing glasses when I was ten.

I'm merely trying
to point out something to you.

Marius thought you were tolerant.

He expected kindness, yet you threw
him out. Wasn't that very stupid?

There wasn't only that.

He bore a grudge for something else.

Why?

After your mother married,

he came back from Australia.

Honoré...

wasn't home.

He was going to Paris on business.

Marius visited your mother
that night.

When I found out...

I rushed over.
I arrived just in the nick of time.

- I made him leave.
- But for that...

She loved him too much.

Mind you, she was very glad I came...

because she was about to give in.

That time he obeyed me.

I've no book learning
but I spoke out about our family honour.

I said what had to be said.

At the time he understood,
but later he resented what I'd done.

And, one evening...
it all came out.

From that night on,
it was all over.

He wasn't my son.
You took his place.

- Didn't you love him?
- Me?

He meant everything to me.

I never married again because of him.
I was his father.

When his mother died,
I had to be his mother too.

Of course, I didn't speak too fondly
to him. It wouldn't do.

And I shouted at him. That's my way.

I thought he'd understand but he didn't.

And one night.
Maybe he'd drunk too much...

the irreparable happened.

- Nothing is irreparable.
- Oh yes, some things are.

I've never told anyone this
because I'm ashamed...

but, that night,
while we were quarrelling...

I was in such a rage, I hit him.

He hit me back.

My child hit me.

It's terrible
when a son hits his father.

It's almost patricide.

He didn't hit me hard
but all the same...

Afterwards he thought I'd kill him.

But I didn't say a word.

I opened the door and he left.

I thought I was the son of
an honest tradesman and a decent woman.

But my mother
was a barman's mistress.

And my father and grandfather
were at each other's throats.

What a fine bunch of relatives.

Césariot is leaving this morning,
within the next few minutes.

He's going with the stoker
on his mother's motor boat.

Césariot said that he was going off
to meet a friend.

I wouldn't mind betting
it's a girlfriend.

If he said it was a friend...

what makes you think
it must be a girlfriend?

He's lying out of discretion.
Don't you know what a lie is?

You're going too far, César!

He asks me if I know what lying is!

I've done nothing else since birth!

I lied to my nurse,
my parents, my brothers.

I lied to my boss,
my wife, my friends.

I've lied to everybody!

Who's to say I'm not lying now?

And I don't know what a lie is?

After such a confession, we must
admit he's an accomplished liar.

He says Césariot didn't lie
and it's not a girlfriend.

But then why lie?

I used a word
Félix doesn't understand.

Discretion.

Discretion is a delicate sentiment.

It's subtle, refined, beautiful.

Quite different
from anything you'd know!

Here, take this.

Thanks, my flower.

Don't be cheeky!

I only called you that
because I admire you.

The words just came out.

Is our captain ready?

He's just coming. Are you ready?

I've cleaned and polished everything.
Even the brass.

Fanny has never looked so good.

Almost as clean
and shipshape as you.

I just have to crank her up
and we'll be off.

- Where are you going?
- East.

That's the East. We're heading East.

- Where to?
- No idea.

You know but you won't tell me.

If I know where we're going...

may the Good Lord strike me dead!

May I have to do
my war service again.

You never went to the war.

I know, I was only thirteen.
It was just a manner of speaking.

But I swear on my parents' grave
I don't know where we're going!

- You believe me?
- Yes.

Don't.

He's visiting friends
in Les Lecques.

- Then why did you lie?
- For the fun of it.

But you swore you weren't.

My parents are dead anyway.
We're going to Les Lecques.

- You're sure?
- May I be struck by lightning...

Listen to what I want you to do.

Telephone me every two days.

And give me news of my son.

I don't want to bother Césariot.

There's no need.

I can't leave the shop
but you'll keep me in touch.

I'll tell you about the people he meets,
the fishing trips, the...

What if I see him with a girl?
Shall I tell you?

Of course.
If he does anything silly, let me know.

And the people he meets.

If I see him with a woman,
I'll look at her.

I'll photograph her here.

And, telephonically,
I'll send you a full description.

Buy some cigarettes.

Clear sky, a good wind.

Let's go.

The weather is good.
I wish I could go too.

Next time.

Of course. Anyway I don't know
these people or your friend's mother.

And I've the shop to attend to.

Let me hear from you.

Every day-

I can telephone while he's out
fishing and give you the news.

That's it. Let him call.

- We're not going to Australia.
- I know that, stupid.

I must go now.
Thank Madame Dromard for me.

I'll be off, then. Goodbye, dear.

Don't go out in the boat if it's rough.
And keep in touch.

- I will.
- I'll be off, then.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye, dear.

Let's be under way.

The bicarbonate is under your pants!

What for?

For your digestion!

Okay. Goodbye.

- Hey, kid.
- Yes, boss?

Why come here?

Take this screwdriver
and remove the boat's name-plate.

Put this one in its place.

Le Pescadou is a nice name.
You're de-christening the boat?

For the time being.
I found the name-plate in the shop.

Give me the pliers.

I'm not inquisitive.
I mind my own business.

But I'd like to know what's going on.

You'll go when I say.

- Not the same place as you?
- No, I'm leaving you in Les Lecques.

- You're leaving me behind?
- Just for a few days.

You'll go to Monsieur Dromard.
Villa Canaris.

And you'll give him this letter.

And then?

Then I've some money for you.

You'll go to the Palm Hotel,

book a room...

and wait for my telephone call.

I might as well tell you, your mother
told me to keep an eye on you.

I knew it.

I'm to call her every morning
and tell her what you've been up to.

And watch out for any girls.

If any come near me,
what are you to do?

Make a mental note of her appearance

and describe her in the tiniest detail
over the phone.

You can report back once Dromard
has read my letter.

I'll call you and tell you
what to say to my mother.

You ought to call her too.

Oh, I will, don't worry.

Excuse me, monsieur.

Monsieur Dromard?

You want Monsieur Dromard?
He's dead.

He must have died very suddenly.

That's it exactly. All at once.

That's too bad.
It changes everything.

Especially for him.

So young too.

He wasn't very old. Seventy-two maybe,
but he didn't look it.

You scared me for a moment.

I meant the young one.
He's not dead, is he?

The chap with the black beard?
He's gone to Paris with his mother.

Paris?

Mind you, I don't know exactly...

but my daughter works for them and
she was complaining that they'd left.

When they're away,
she doesn't get paid, of course.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

This is too bad. Now what do I do?

It's a catastrophe!

It's most inconvenient.

Hello, monsieur.

What now?

Madame, one of Césariot's friends
is outside.

From his accent,
I'd say he's from the North.

Let him in.

- Hello, monsieur.
- Madame.

Please come in. Césariot's friends
are always welcome here.

But I'm afraid he's away
visiting some friends.

Let me give you a drink.

That's very kind of you.

You've studied together?

Yes, for three years now.

- So you're going into the army too?
- Yes, I'm making it my career.

- You're from Paris?
- No, from Valence.

But I know this area because
we have a house on the coast.

But I had to go back to Valence
for a family wedding.

Now I'm off to the Balearics.

Maybe I can catch up with Césariot
on my way home.

You go back in October too?

I hope you'll let me invite Césariot
to stay with us before then.

We're so close.

- Where are you exactly?
- At Les Lecques, near St Cyr.

What is your name?

Dromard. Pierre Dromard.

I met you once.

Last year in Paris.

I seem to remember,
but didn't you have a beard then?

Fancy you remembering.
I shaved it off for this wedding.

- He's telephoned?
- Better than that.

Meet Monsieur Dromard.
He's on his travels.

- Césariot's godfather.
- Pleased to meet you.

For my part, I'm so sorry.

Why?

Oh, never mind.

No reason at all.

So you're travelling
from your villa in Les Lecques...

leaving my godson at your home.

Césariot has the freedom
of the place.

What place?

At Les Lecques.
Of your house at Les Lecques.

You invited my godson
to spend a few days with you.

But you know that. He's with you.

Oh, yes, of course.
So I'm given to believe.

That's why the cook telephoned the other
day. I didn't quite understand.

Yes, he must be there.

You're as bad a liar as my son.

If they're all like you,
you'll make a fine regiment.

I'm sure you know where he is too.

You're aiding and abetting.
His debaucheries!

It runs in the family!

She's always been a bit hasty.

Some people have quick tempers
but it doesn't mean anything.

Les Lecques is on the telephone.
Take it here.

It will be news from the Dromards.

Hello, Marseilles?

- Is that you?
- It's the driver.

How are things?

Going fine.

Tell me,
what's this Monsieur Dromard like?

Charming. Very well educated.

I like him.
And I think he likes me too.

He gave me some money this morning.

What are they doing right now?

Playing boules.
I can see them from here.

How's that?

Through the window.
They're having great fun.

Dromard is about to make a throw.

Yes, that's him all right.

Oh, that was a marvellous hit!

It's a wonder you didn't hear it.

Excuse me, monsieur.

I want to speak to Marius Ollivier.

He's under that car.

Right, thanks.

Monsieur Marius Ollivier?

That's me. How can I help?

My boat has engine trouble.

A sailor suggested I come to you.

I don't know that I can help.
Cars are more my line.

- If it's a Diesel...
- No, it's a Baudoin.

I serviced one of those
for two years.

Monsieur Frére's boat.
Do you know him?

- No, I'm a stranger here.
- Well, no matter.

Let's go and have a look.

I'm going to see a boat.
What's its name?

A pretty name.

I'll fetch my tools.

- Come on, young man.
- Lead the way.

- You like to fish?
- As much as possible.

- You don't fish.
- I'd like to learn.

But you've some fine equipment
on board.

My father's. He went fishing
twice a week. He knew where to go.

That's what makes
a serious fisherman.

Marius knows the best spots
all along the coast.

- Let's go tomorrow.
- I leave at four.

That's fine by me.
What about you?

I shan't be coming along.
I never do.

Why not?

It's too early.

She didn't love you?

Yes, she did but there was
the family honour to consider.

All that baloney.

So I never knew my son.
Her husband brought him up.

Did that upset you?

A bit.

Not enormously. They said the true
father was the one who loved the boy.

Not you?

How can you love deeply
what you don't know?

I would have loved him
but the other fellow was paying.

They said he loved the most.

Why?

Nowadays loving and paying
are the same thing.

A friend gives you food
but a father gives you life.

An elephant eats coconuts
but the coconut tree isn't his father.

An elephant isn't a coconut tree
with a trunk!

Of course not.

We'd better move on.
We're wasting our time here.

The garage is a going concern?

It doesn't make much
but it's good camouflage.

A good front.

Marius had the idea
and it's worked well.

You can keep all sorts of tools
in a garage.

Jemmies, for instance.

Locksmith's tools too.

Keys, picklocks.
See what I mean?

Above all,
welding gear and blow torches.

The blow torch is a fine tool.

And Marius is an expert.

The only stuff we don't touch
is stolen cars. You know why?

No, it's not my line.

Where do you look for a stolen car?

In a garage.

So we don't touch them.

There are other things
which make more money.

Such as?

For instance,
right now there's a good job.

But maybe I shouldn't tell you.
Marius hasn't said anything?

He's shy. He doesn't dare.

But I trust you.

Shall I tell him?

All right, but if he doesn't like it,
he must keep his mouth shut.

I'm sure I can trust you
but I'm warning you. Don't talk.

It would be dangerous.

What's the job?

A hundred and sixty kilos of opium.

Your boat isn't suspect.

Join us on the job.
It could be worth your while.

What do you say?

- Marius is in this too?
- Of course.

- I think it's stupid.
- Why?

He's a very likeable boy.
He's no more a journalist than I am.

It's a nasty sort of joke.

Listen, Marius...

The false customs officer will catch us,
fire a few shots in the air...

It's absolutely crazy!

When I see the boy,
I will tell him everything.

It's not funny.
Just because he's educated...

you want to make a fool of him.
He'll think I'm a swine.

All right. Don't fret.

We'll say it's off.

Tell the truth.

We don't need to say anything.
Look, he's leaving.

Here's my admiral arriving.

It's hard.

You've not been bored?

Quite the contrary!

- Dromard?
- Wasn't there.

- He knows I'm here?
- I couldn't deliver the letter.

- Didn't see him.
- I don't get it.

Listen and don't be cross.

- I fear the worst.
- You may be right.

But I think I was smart
and acted in everyone's interest.

I took the initiative
and it's turned out very well.

Now I do fear the worst.

Here we go.

They're back.
The boat is just coming now.

Fanny will shout at him.

No, it's not worth it.

Maybe, but you're sure to shout at him.
So will you, César.

Why would I do that?
Why shout at him?

Why should I?
After all, what has he done?

After all, he's twenty.

We'll ask him to tell us about
his holiday and see what he says.

We've come back.

What a nerve!

Madame Dromard sends her regards.

My regards to you too.

Is something wrong?

Yes, there is. You and your lies!

It's a wonder
they didn't break the telephone!

Get out of here, you little rat...
by the other door!

You said you wouldn't shout.

This is going to be fun.

Your skin is all salty.

Don't kiss me!

- Why not?
- I don't want to.

- She's cross because you left.
- I wasn't gone long.

- You're sorry you're back.
- No, I'm not.

It's always fun
being by the sea with friends.

I'd feel the same.

You had some good fishing?

Fishing?

Oh yes. Especially long-lining.

We were lucky with the weather.

At this time of year in Les Lecques
it seldom snows.

I'd have liked
to see the masked ball.

Where?

At the Dromards'.
The stoker told us.

What was your disguise?

I wasn't disguised.
It was just a costume.

You know...

What did you go as?

As a liar!

Meaning what?

You're lying. I'm ashamed that
a son of mine should be so stupid!

Why do you say that?

Dromard was here two days ago.
He dropped by to see you.

That was smart.

You should have warned him.

We said you were at his house.

It makes you look quite ridiculous.

He tried to lie to help you
but I soon threw him out.

I can imagine.

As for the girl you were with,
I'll find out who she is.

You'll go to the doctor
straight away...

and have a thorough check-up.

Your clothes must be disinfected!

Take them off!

You shouldn't speak to him like that.

I'll bring up my son as I choose.
You've no right to criticize!

She's very hot-tempered.
She can't help it.

Yes, have me disinfected.

You admit it?

I was in Toulon
with Marius Ollivier, my father.

You saw Marius?

- I spoke to him.
- What did he say?

He didn't know who I was.

Despite what I'd heard of him...

I was curious
and stupidly wanted to see him.

I saw him
and I can't say I'm proud of it.

He's a bad lot and I'm his son!

Who told you that?

A man in his gang
told me all about him.

They wanted me to join
in some drug business.

They're not criminals,
just shady characters.

They financed their garage
by selling their women.

How was he?

Very young-looking.
You'd never take him for my father.

He was twenty when you were born.
He's only forty.

So you saw him?

We went fishing together.

He has a mole just like mine.

Lower down.

- You've a good memory.
- Memories are all I have.

- It's monstrous!
- Why?

You loved him!

Yes, passionately!

You probably still do!

I lost my father three months ago
and now I feel I've lost my mother.

- A man like that...
- It's lies!

I don't know why, but they lied!

My dear, if you'd known him
when he was your age.

He was such fun. He was handsome.

He was strong.

I loved him right from the time
we went to Sunday school together.

He wasn't like the other boys.

They were so rude.

They annoyed girls
with their gestures on purpose.

But he never did.

He was so gentle.

I loved him more than anything.

Later... when I was older...

when I was selling my shellfish...

I could hear him
working in the bar.

Sometimes he'd come outside
and we'd have a chat.

When he spoke to me...

my knees used to tremble.

In the afternoons,
I often sat on the terrace.

I'd put my legs up on another chair,
pull my hat over my eyes...

and pretend to be asleep.

Then he'd come out of the bar
and look at me.

Through the little holes
in the straw, I would watch him.

He was so handsome.

In his blue apron.

His arms all golden.

His hair in his eyes.

You still love him!

Selfish boy!

No one is more selfish
than a child.

First you took my blood
to make yours.

So your little body
would become strong.

And then you took my milk.

You woke me each night.
I was your slave.

Your teeth, your whooping-cough...

your homework,
scarlet fever, your exams.

You took everything.

Or rather, I gave you all.

Even the children I couldn't have.

What children?

You forced me to marry Honoré.

Because of you, I lost the children
he couldn't give me.

And I haven't lived.

I've spent my life
watching you grow.

And you'd blame me for
what happened before you were born?

I wasn't always a mother.
I was a woman like any other.

I had a right to my own life.
I was eighteen.

Don't despise me
because my life began...

with a wonderful night of love.

Nothing was missing,
neither tears nor secret elation.

Secret elation?

And you've no sense of regret?

Why should I have?
I paid dearly enough.

I never thought of you as a woman.

- What's that?
- A bowler hat.

Why didn't you kick it away?

I didn't see the need.

That's because you're from Lyon.
A Marseilles man wouldn't hesitate.

Il shoote.

Then what happens?

It's like this.

There's a stone under the hat.

The person who kicks it
will break his leg.

And that's funny.

We call it a fool's decoy.

You might as well
call it a leg break.

You want to maim someone?

As many people as possible.

- It's crazy.
- Stupid.

Even criminal.

But amusing.

I don't see what's funny about it.

You're having me on.
There's no stone under that hat.

Yes, there is. Take a look.

See for yourself.

My gosh, it's true.

But it's such a stupid game!

Dangerous too.

Quick. Someone's coming.

He's just the type.

You think he'll fall for it?

Another Lyonnais!

The mere fact of sitting here
makes us guilty too.

- We preside but we disapprove.
- We even blame you.

Here comes another.

He's the one.

Are you hurt?

Just let me catch that creep!

It was put there on purpose.
And my shoes are new!

Nothing broken?

Yes, my barometer.

Barometer?

A corn, gentleman. A superb corn.
It forecasts the weather...

three days in advance.

I can't feel it any more.

I'm sorry. I needed that badly.

Shooting pains in my shoulder.

My foot will be numb for days.
What an idiotic thing to do!

Quite criminal.

- I might have broken my leg.
- Surely not.

Don't you know that kicking a stone
like that can kill?

You don't believe me?

Put the hat back over the stone.

Wait and see.
Someone may be disabled for life.

With any luck
an old man will come along...

and you'll hear his bones snap.

Let's wait.

- What brings you here?
- Business.

- You're alone?
- I'm a big boy now.

You'd better go,
even if you were sent.

Why are you
talking to me like that?

It's the way I talk to scoundrels.

- Where's my godfather?
- Inside.

He was a bit rude.

Just his little joke.

Really?

I know the fellow better than you.
He's a journalist from Martigues.

What's this?
Césariot, a journalist?

You know better?

I've known him all his life.
He's Panisse's son.

- We grew up together.
- But in different schools.

Yes, he went to the Academy.

Did you say he was Panisse's son?

The sail-maker?

Who died?

Then he's Marius's son.

That's what they say.

And many believe it.

It's a catastrophe!
This is terrible.

I've committed a crime!

- I'm a criminal.
- Shut the door.

You're certainly a cad.

Call me whatever you like.

It's quite stupid.

Mother,
I have to talk to you seriously.

I've been called up.
It's not a surprise.

But I have to be in Fontainebleau
tomorrow.

Now another thing.

I've just seen the tattooed man
I told you about.

The one who knows Marius.

Why talk of him?

He says he lied.
I want you to speak to him.

I don't have to speak to him.
I know he lied.

What's more, Marius is here.

He's come to order some spare parts.
I'm going to see him.

But why?

Go to César's and wait.

- What are you doing here?
- Waiting for you.

- Who told you I was here?
- Your partner.

- Where is he?
- With your father.

What's he doing there?

I don't know.
But we were very glad to see him.

You know my father?

I'm... Césariot.

I'm Fanny's son.

What was that?

I'm your son.

I wish I could say
something fatherly.

I wish I could find the words
but I can't.

Me too.
I'd like to say something...

the words of a son.

It's very difficult.

We must look very silly
talking like this.

You came to Toulon to see me?

- You knew I was your father?
- Mother had just told me.

I longed to know you...

but they said terrible things
about you so I left.

You repeated these follies
to your mother?

What did she say?

She was very upset.

But she didn't quite believe me.

Not quite but a bit, eh?

- Where are we going?
- To your father's.

Do you mind?

I'll go anywhere you say.

I've a taxi waiting.

Oh yes, you're rich.

Here he is.

Fernand, you're dangerous.

I know
you're going to insult me...

and I'm sure you're right.

All right!

But there's no time for that now.

I've a feeling
there's a family scene brewing.

You'll find me outside
on the terrace.

Hello Father.

Yes, it's a family scene...
the first and the last.

I want to vindicate myself.

If that's possible, Marius...

no one will be happier than me.

Why did this boy,
when he wanted to meet his father...

have to come in secret,
like a spy?

- I wasn't sure how you'd react.
- You expected a bad lot.

Or, at least, a cad.

Why did he believe Fernand?

You'd led him to expect trouble.

He feared the worst.

So Fernand fed him
all those ridiculous stories.

And he believed them. Why?

Because you'd brought him up
to despise his father.

That's a crime, a real crime.

Never!

I never said a word
against you, never.

But he knew César had a son.

A son who never visited.

No one ever talked about you to him.

One day a long time ago,

Monsieur Brun
said to my godfather...

"What's this I hear about Marius?
Is he playing the fool?"

You put your finger to your lips
and took him into the kitchen.

Another time I asked mother,
"What does godfather's son do?"

Tearfully she said,

"He's a sailor, far away on the sea".

I wondered who this man could be...

that everyone spoke of
in hushed tones...

and who never came back.

Marius, if you had
always behaved honestly...

When was I dishonest?

One day a man came into this bar.

He was drunk and laughing to himself.

He said, "I know your son well."

"We were in prison together".

He said it in front of Monsieur Brun
and Escartefigue.

I didn't dare speak.
I came into the kitchen...

and I wept.

What was he like?

The fellow's name was Padovani.

He spoke the truth!

When we were in the navy,
we spent a fortnight in the cells.

We were crewmen together.

After a spree one night,
we hassled a petty officer.

Padovani has come a long way
since then.

He's even been decorated.

What about the smuggling?

That was foolishness, not a crime.
I was with some friends.

You landed up in court.

So did your brother, Emile.

My family seems to keep the law busy.

But Uncle Emile was different.

What did Emile do? Burglary, theft?

Shut up!

He's making good use
of his education: Very witty.

What did Emile do?

One day, in the country...

he set some traps to catch birds.

He was caught and charged
with three crimes.

Poaching with a snare...

trapping a bird that shouldn't
be killed, out of season.

And he was brought before the judge!

That proves my point.

I was only twenty.
I was led astray by my friends.

You chose them.

I was alone in Toulon,
I didn't know a soul!

What do you expect?
I found my friends in bars.

Not in high society!

Besides, I had no job.

Hunger makes you do silly things.

You were hungry?

I've been hungry. And cold.

- You could have said so.
- To whom? You?

Last time you threw me out!

Out?

- You threw me out. You were drunk!
- So were you!

You hit me. I protected myself
and you made a great drama of it.

I would have died
rather than ask you for anything.

A fine excuse.

As good as yours.

You might at least have sent me
a postcard or telephoned!

You never even asked after me!

Who says I didn't?

How could you?

Ange kept me informed.

Every time he came to Marseilles,
he drank in the bar and watched you.

Ange?

Is he the fellow
with a blue birthmark on his face?

Yes.

Is that why he watched me
all the time?

When he came back, I'd ask him
how many people you'd shouted at.

He'd say two, three or four.
It always made me laugh.

Though it shows a lack of respect,
I'm glad to hear it.

And now,
suppose we talk about that woman?

What woman?

You mean the one I "sold"?

Listen Fanny, I was sick.

Sick of being alone,
of having no job.

She lived across the corridor.
That's how I knew her.

She looked after me for four months
when I was ill with a fever.

Don't you think I would have too?

You weren't there and she fed me.

So I kept her for five years.

Where is she now?

She left long ago, taking my savings.

Fortunately, I didn't have much.

That's the woman whom,
according to my son, I sold.

That's all there is to it.

That's the extent of my crimes.

Except for the sentence
that started it all.

What sentence?

I've been banished.

Since when?

You sentenced me
eighteen years ago.

You refused to let me stay here,
the only town where I wasn't alone.

You knew that if I'd had a family...

things would have been
quite different for me.

I always knew that, Marius.

We did it for the boy's sake.

Why did you accept that?

You knew that if I'd had a son
bearing my name, I'd have come back.

Marius, Honorine was in tears.

Fanny wanted to drown herself.

And Panisse ensured the boy's future.

That's it exactly.

You were stupid enough
to think he needed money

and Panisse had plenty.

You were ten months old
when I came back.

I asked for my wife and child.

You used him as the reason
to send me away.

You'd taken my place.

Theirs was a ferocious love.
I was a threat to the child's security.

When you're scared, you easily
believe evil of your enemy.

It suited you
to believe I'd gone bad.

It saved you feeling remorse.

Remorse for what?

For years they've painted me as
the villain and themselves as saints.

Especially Panisse.

Saint Honoré.

He'd given the child a name.

But I'd given him a son!

I'm not criticising him.
He was very kind.

But, I ask you, where was
this great sacrifice he made?

At fifty, he took on a young,
beautiful woman.

If that's a sacrifice, I know plenty
who'd do the same any day.

And you were happy to see me go.

If I'd married Fanny,
I'd have had authority...

over the family and the boy.

Whereas you could have
your way with Honoré.

As for you, Fanny...

You're going to say I was happy.

I know you were miserable
some of the time,

especially at night.

You sacrificed yourself
but you became a lady.

You don't sell shellfish now.
You eat them.

You sacrificed yourself
surrounded by servants...

sitting in an armchair
beside a warm fire.

You had a good meal every day...

and you brought a good appetite
to your sacrifice.

I know. I often thought about it.

Should I have rejected
the few advantages I had?

You did right to enjoy them.
Never refuse a drink if it's offered.

Your mother saw only three things:
Saving the family honour...

lying in bed late
and listening to the radio.

Everyone gained something
except me!

You painted me as the villain
but I was the victim!

A fine victim,
coming back to shout at us.

It's my right!

You think so?

- There's duty too.
- Shut up. Your father's talking.

He's just found his son
and he's already shouting at him.

Naturally, that shocks you.

Why are you blaming everybody?

I've every right!

Your stupid solution
didn't save her honour.

Nobody said Fanny had done wrong
but they thought...

Fanny has her head screwed on.
Her child will be rich.

And look at the result.

My son hasn't my name.

My wife is a widow...

and my poor father
is a grandfather in secret.

And none of us has a place
that is really a home.

Yes, it's a real mess.

That was fine idea of yours...

sailing off
on your oceanographic measurings.

Don't cry, Fanny.

That won't help.

I've not come here to make you
unhappier than you have been already.

I only brought these things up
because of him.

Our story only has relative importance,
now that we're parents.

But I felt I had to tell him...

he's the son of an honest man.

You're old enough
to make up your own mind.

You've seen me working.
You know what I do.

I do my best.

I'm no great thinker...

By the way, when you made me talk
on the boat...

I realise now you were putting me
through my paces.

Maybe my theories on motors
were fa r-fetched.

But, when you've teachers,
it's easy.

They're knowledgeable and
they can communicate that knowledge.

You only have to take it in.

But I studied alone, at night.

The little I know wasn't given to me.

I took it.

I took it!

You know where to find me now.

Maybe we could
go fishing again sometime.

Garage Marius Ollivier...

in Toulon.

You'll find my name in the directory.

Where are you going?

Back home.

Well, what serves me as home.

Hello, Marius.

Hello.

You came in that car?

I'm running it in for a customer.

The Torpedo is yours?

They're good cars, very robust.

Does the boy know you're here?

He left for Paris last night,
to join the army.

As a soldier or officer?

In the ranks for a year.

That will do the spoilt brat good.

I nearly didn't come.
I was scared.

And I was right.

Scared of what?

I still love you, Fanny.

Just as I always did.

Even more than before.

But it's no longer possible.

Why not? I'm free now.

' You Suggest I marry you?
Why not?

That really would be dishonourable.

Putting on a dead man's shoes
when they're still warm.

I'd take Honoré's wife,
shop, and his money...

and goodbye poverty!

No, Fanny, it can't be done.

I helped earn that money.

If I only kept my share,
would you have me?

No, I wouldn't.

I want you with nothing.

That's to say,
as you were when I first knew you.

That's easy.
We can get rid of the money.

But the other day in Dad's kitchen...

you didn't seem the same girl.

You don't speak like you used to.

You have another look about you.

You've been with educated people.

I'm just a worker.
You might say an artisan.

I don't pare my nails with a knife...

but if I were lucky enough
to live with you...

perhaps I'd make jokes
you wouldn't think at all funny.

Perhaps when I tried to please you,
I'd only shock you.

I'd displease you.

You, Marius?

You, displease me?

Yes, I feel awkward
in your presence.

I don't dare look at you.

In bed, I'd feel I was sleeping
with the boss's wife.

Maybe I'm too old.

Too old? Of course not!

You could be your son's sister.
No, it's not that.

I'll tell you.

I think you're too beautiful for me.

You have your hair done in a salon,
you paint your nails.

Not that I object.

If I'd the money to give you
what you're used to...

the house, the servants,
the couturier clothes.

You've had that money.

It's marked you.

On the contrary!

The money protected me.

Listen to me.

To you, I can tell everything.

I wasn't a good wife to Honoré.

I did all I could
to make him happy...

but very often
I had the vilest thoughts.

I often thought...

He's thirty years older than I am.

If life is anything to go by,
he'll die thirty years before me.

If Marius is still free then...

You thought that?

I know it was horrible of me.

Not that I wished he were dead.

I nursed him like a daughter.

And I mourned him genuinely.

But he had to die one day.

My great fear was...

I'd only be free when I was old.

Money helped me protect myself.

Marius, if you want me,
your love is all I desire.

I'll do all your accounts.
I'll do the housework.

I'll bring you your coffee.

Marius, don't refuse me.

Our son is grown up now.
He's a man.

He'll soon find a girl and marry.

I'm alone, Marius.

I only have you.

I feel it would be dishonest
to accept such a sacrifice.

Give me a few days.
I must decide what we do.

And also if we have the right to do it.

Forgive me. I long to kiss you.

I'll telephone you tomorrow.

He's so stupid.

You were listening!

I wasn't listening, but I heard.

- Who told you we were here?
- Someone heard you phone Marius.

And once again you interfered.

If you and my mother hadn't meddled,
I'd have been happy long ago.

Even now you want
to put a spanner in the works.

Don't shout at me, Fanny.
I don't mean any harm.

I've always thought of you
as a daughter.

I came with a message
for you and Marius.

He's gone.

No, he hasn't.
I think he has trouble with his car.

Who sent you?

Follow me and you'll see.

What are you doing here?

I came to be shouted at for a change.

What's wrong?

She won't start.

And you're a mechanic?

Even so...

Even so,
I think it might start with this.

What's that?

It's a piece you take out
of the motor so a boat won't start.

Where did you find it?

There.

To keep you here longer.

You usually want me to go.

Children,
I heard some of what you were saying.

You talk too much - or not enough.

Marius, you're stupid to say
Fanny will despise you.

You're afraid of your son...

and of what he'd say.

I know what he'd say. He's said it.

When?

The other night. It was he
who heard you on the telephone.

To his mind,
there are only three solutions.

"Either mother will live alone..."

and, if I marry,
she'll make my wife's life hell.

"Or she'll see your son in secret..."

meeting him in squalid hotel bedrooms.

"Or else they'll marry.

"I'd prefer that they married".

He said that?

In his ceremonial hat.

Now I've delivered my message,
I'll leave you...

so you can start your discussion
all over again.

I'll run you home.

I'll take the bus.

Come on, I'll drive you.

Didn't I say I was taking the bus?

Father.

If we marry, will you be pleased?

No. I'll be furious.

Césariot will never have our name.

No, he won't.

But others will.