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The Last Days of Immanuel Kant

Does Professor lmmanuel Kant
live here?

Professor Kant?

Yes, that's right.

I imagined you shorter.

I hope my screen is big enough.

Excuse me?

I hope my screen will do.

Of course it will.

But sometimes they have to stoop.

It looks less noble that way.

Good thing
I don't use the old system.

Where shall I set up?

Not here, I suppose.

I thought you might prefer
exercizing your art in the study.

Just fine.
A professor in his study.

How elegant that will be.

This way, please.

Say...

You must be a connoisseur.

Splendid silhouette! Life size!
A Guttman.

It is by Guttman, isn't it?

Excuse me?

Please, sir.

That's perfect!
Now we musn't move!

That's just fine.

How do we get rid
of that cough?

Breathing through the mouth
irritates the trachea

and brings on the cough.

No need for medication.

An immediate mental operation
will do.

We divert our attention.

Concentrate it on any object.

Divert our attention.

Concentrate it.

Divert... Concentrate...

Divert... Concentrate...

At the same time...

we check exhalation,

and thus irritate the trachea,

causing salivation
by this very irritation.

Check exhalation...

irritate the trachea...

cause salivation...

This operation

demands a very great degree
of steadfast resolution

and thus brings about
an even greater good.

Mr Professor, it's time.

Coffee!

Mr Professor, here is the coffee.

Mr Professor,
here is Hartmann's journal.

What? What's that you say?

Haven't I told you before,

not Hartmann's but Hartung's!

Now, repeat after me:

Not Hartmann's but Hartung's!

Not Hartmann's but Hartung's!

Now again.

Once more.

Hilda! Marie-Rose!

It's time to go home. Come on!

All right, fellas. Back to work!

You know what time it is.

Lampe!

Mr Professor?

Is it possible to conceive
a human being

in more perfect health than myself?

No, Mr Professor. Good night.

Discussion proceeds in 3 stages:
First, the account,

second, the argument,
third, the joking,

fourth, news of the day.

That's four... the argument...
Not three... four.

Rules of a dinner in good taste:

There are four...
A topic of general interest...

Well, young man?

Sir, as you're an habitué,
please help me...

There are four stages
and four rules of good taste.

Let's go in.

But I counted three.

Rules of a dinner:
a topic of interest,

no lulls,
no needless change of topic,

no leaping from idea to idea,
no splitting hairs.

Yes, yes, of course.
Relax and come along.

The well-being best suited to man

is a good dinner in good company.

Chesterfield said,
no fewer than the Graces

no more than the number of Muses.

A hundred thousand books?

With some sensation of panic.

Here are 1 00,000 books, I think,

yet 300 is the maximum
a man can read in a year.

And only if he is miserly
with life's temptations.

Not counting long books
or those we reread.

Our 1 0,000
are reduced to what?

Four or five thousand?

And not including past acquisitions.

What a threat to the studious!

The fellow is not moved
by this madness

to such melancholy as you are.

He does not yet know
illness, misery,

the tiny distraction of choice...

A word with you, dear neighbor.

You were going out...

Great philosopher,
the honor of your visit

will serve in advance
to excuse my lateness.

I will come again.

Please, do me this kindness.

Martin, my lad!

Bring us some Franconia wine,
the best.

Now, my dear birdkeeper,
do you see your dovecot?

In point of fact,
I do see a dovecot.

But your simple
and profound remark

spurs in me this sudden thought:

Can l, in a single glance
and impression,

encompass building
and sense of property,

I mean my property?
An interesting problem.

Professor,

can I see my dovecot?

Indeed, indeed. Now if I may...

Every day, every night,
from my study where I work,

every day of my life,

since I chose to conduct my thinking
with guidance from no one,

I have enjoyed looking out
the window at your dovecot.

Oh Professor!
Then you see my dovecot!

Nevertheless, for some time now

your linden blocks my view.

I no longer see your dovecot.

Yet you will notice that from here,

we can see my dovecot.

Yes, Mr Birdkeeper,

but it's no longer pleasing
from my window

and my work suffers for it.

I feel like a gull
flying against the wind.

I beat my wings
but no longer make headway.

Trees move, Mr Birdkeeper,
do you understand?

So, to calm an old man's anxiety,

I have come to ask a favor.

Would you kindly

cut down that tree?

Cut down a tree,

Professor?

Cut down a man, Mr Birdkeeper?

We won't need it tomorrow.

We won't need it,
but we'll take it anyway.

Mr Professor, it's time.

Coffee is coming immediately.

Yes, and the next hour
is coming immediately as well.

And that is how long
I will have waited for it.

Well, one can die after all.

It is but dying,

and in the next world
there is no drinking of coffee,

and consequently no waiting for it.

Mr Professor, it's time.

No surrender now
to panics of darkness.

No surrender now
to panics of darkness.

Lampe!

Mr Professor,
the coffee will be coming shortly.

Will be! Will be!

There's the rub: "will be."

Mr Professor, here is the coffee.

Man never is,
but always to be blessed.

Thank you, ladies.

I've fallen into a second childhood,

and I'm ashamed to oblige
such gracious people

to serve as a mother
to an old man who vegetates.

Oh, Professor.

I can walk, I can sleep, I can eat.

I haven't the health
of a studious man,

but that of a man who vegetates.

That was Professor lmmanuel Kant!

I thought he was younger.

Clouds are coming from Riga,
General.

The weather changes,

but the atmosphere does not.

The migraine epidemic?

It continues.

What peculiar atmospheric conditions,
and lasting so long.

A meteorological revolution
is what would end my pains.

Come now, gentlemen!

I received a letter from Jachmann.

He sends his respects.

Complains of great fatigue.
He works too much.

Not at all! It's sheer imprudence!

I've told him as much.
You see, he works,

and intensely so, after lunch,

and evenings as well.

A regimen that saps the forces,

especially
if one is not an athlete.

Fifteen years ago
I stopped that whimsical routine.

Let him rise early!
Work during the morning!

Let him devote his afternoons
to light reading,

and random thoughts!
Prepare for the night!

His health will return.

To each his own method
for good health.

The essential is to find it.

Have you read the morning journals?

Yes. What excitement in France!

Bonaparte has returned from Egypt.

With his scholars,
but no philosophers.

- He left them there?
- He never took any along.

He's called the Philosopher General.

That's the vogue.

Philosopher King, Philosopher Prince.
You may be

the Philosopher Philosopher.

That's Sièyes,

who gave him an exposé
on your system.

System! But I am not done yet!

His interest is political.

Sieyès was ambassador in Berlin.

Since then he's had
only one thought:

"Prussianize" France.
Make it look Protestant.

And thus end the religious problem.

He's asked a German philosopher
about it.

Well, it was not l. As you know.

Besides, I am not German.

But that book:

Professor Kant's Response
to Sieyès.

But he never asked me a thing!

A false professor... A false Kant...

I just read a strange anecdote.

While in Geneva,
this general, Bonaparte,

was visited by some obscure scholar.

This sounds interesting.

Who tried to convert him
to your philosophy.

Convert?

Yes, convert. To no avail.

In Lausanne, out of annoyance,

he visited a local philosopher,

to get a Swiss consensus
regarding Kantian philosophy.

What use was all this to him?

"We don't understand it, General"
said the Swiss.

Bonaparte turned to his
aide-de-camp,

"Hear that, Berthier?

"Even here they don't
understand Kant."

I can see him at the Sphinx...

"Even here,
they don't understand."

Flattering to be an enigma
to that enigmatic general.

You find him enigmatic?

Why go off to Egypt?

Nothing enigmatic about that.

You can't still claim that he went

to mask his plan to annex Portugal.

"Even here they don't understand."

See the pyramids

to deprive the English of port.

You exaggerate, Motherby.

This general should visit you.

You could swap enigmas.

Yes... but let him come alone!

I knew a man, in town,

so terrified by suicide,

he couldn't bear the sight
of a child biting his nails.

In town...

In March the spring shower

Ieaves us drenched and dour.

And those April Fool jokes

Only amuse the dumbest folks.

We can do as we like in May,

But then there's hell to pay.

Bright June days are dire,

Make a move and you perspire.

July is for revolution.

You bathe in blood, not in the sun.

And August's a dog-day farce!

You don't know where to put
your arse!

September's a harbinger of ill,

Of winter and its gloomy chill.

October is hunter's delight,

All but suicidals stay out of sight.

November brings the heavy rains,

Bad colds and arthritic pains.

Saint Nick is December's curse,

He makes a hole in your purse.

In January we rise and embrace,

Hoping to grab the other's place.

Hurray for February, be it blessed,

The shortest month still
is the best.

You're the month we most adore.

O February,

We love you more.

That's from the Professor's study.
Let's go!

Leave him in peace.

I am so light,

that I cannot hurt myself.

Come in!

Well, Professor, what happened?

Nothing, Lampe. I'm so light...

Farther! Farther!

No matter where, but farther...

Distance! Distance!

Sit beside me.

Sister.

You miss out on everything
on this endless trip.

"The three summer months
are June, July and August."

"No surrender now
to panics of darkness."

"The absence of life
that follows life

"is death."

"The warbler on the Pyrenee range."

"The warbler above the Pyrenees."

"Music is an odor,

which we inhale against our will."

Come on! Come on!

America!

The port, the bridge,
the sea, the world!

Quickly, my sister, quickly!

You there, boy, with the food!

You there! You!

Yes, you!

"Great Kant,

"Great Kant,

"l invoke your name
as a believer would his God

"when imploring aid and comfort

"or knowledge of the hour
of his death.

"The arguments you expound
in your works seem

"too far removed from
our daily existence,

"and that is why
I seek refuge with you.

"l find nothing in this life

"to replace the good I have lost,

"for I loved an object who,
in my eyes,

"contained all within him,

"and from whom I drew
my sole reason to live.

"With him, all else seemed futile,

"and all men,
real as they may have been,

"were nothing but gibberish
without content.

"But I offended this object,

"with a great lie
I have just revealed to him.

"Yet there was nothing in this lie

"to betray a fault of my character.

"For in all my days,

"l have never had a vice to conceal.

"But the lie alone sufficed,

"and his love vanished.

"As a man of honor
he will not refuse me

"his friendship and fidelity,

"but nothing remains now

"of this intimate feeling

"which so spontaneously
drew us toward one another.

"My heart is broken
in a thousand pieces!

"Had I not read your work
so thoroughly,

"l certainly would have taken
my life.

"But the conclusions I drew
from your theories held me back.

"l musn't die,

"on account of the torments
I suffer from life,

"but on the contrary I must live

"on account of my existence.

"Put yourself in my position
or condemn me!

"l have read your

"metaphysic of morals

"and your categorical imperative,
but to no avail.

"l am losing my reason

"just when I have most need of it.

"l beg of you,

"answer me,

"or else you yourself
are unable to act

"according to the imperative
you have set."

Will you answer her?

Kaufmann, get up!

Mr Professor, it's time.

Mr Professor, here is the coffee.

Mr Professor, here is the coffee.

No, that won't do.

He's uneasy these days.

He can't bear anyone
behind his back.

So stand here.

Yes, there. Very good.

Let's see...

Shall we try it again?

You?

Is it that late?

Lampe!

That animal has forgotten
to wake me.

Why no...

Lampe is gone.

He is gone.

Yes, dear Professor, Lampe is gone,

and to assist your
new footman, Kaufmann,

I took the liberty
of coming by early this morning.

Thank you, dear Wasianski.

The coffee is coming, Professor.

Are things as you wish, Professor?

Mr Professor, the Hartung's gazette.

The first time I saw you,
you had just been born.

Time passes, Madame.

So they say.

Things pass.

But as for time...

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

Young man,

do you know
the mystery of Königsberg?

Then, I shall tell you.

Königsberg, my boy,
has seven bridges, has it not?

And it is impossible
to cross them all

without crossing one of them
at least twice.

Try it!

Good evening, Professor.

Good evening, Lampe.

Professor,
I've come back for a certificate.

A certificate? What for?

I've decided to go to America
with my young wife.

A certificate helps for employment.

In America!

But, Lampe, I cannot give you
a certificate...for America!

Why not, Professor?

If America is populated
by illiterate drunkards

who marry without my consent,
against my will,

who change their coats
for no reason,

you won't need a certificate
to set up there.

I can see America...
its history and its geography...

Lampe, do you really need help

from a man you despised?

Sit down, Lampe.

How long were you in my service?

Thirty years, Professor.

Lampe served me long...

and faithfully... But...

did not display
those particular qualities...

which fitted him
for serving a man,

old...

and infirm...Iike myself.

There you are, Lampe.

Make good use of it.

Remember no more

the name of Lampe.

Mr Professor, it's time.

"Young students..."

"Come now, gentlemen!"

There is a small lake tribe
in Africa,

the Kikuyus, I believe,

whose king lives seated,
bound to a chair,

in a forest you crawl through.

And this king sleeps seated.

If he lies down, the wind drops
and navigation stops.

And if he gets up...

Sheer pretence!

Did you know that among the Tunguses

mothers suck the snot

from their child's nostrils,

for fear the spirits will escape?

Tunguses, not at all!

Back home,
we call simpletons "snot noses."

Sheer pretence!

There!

Deeper, Kaufmann.
No one must be hurt.

Subtitles:
David Aronson - Lenny Borger

Subtitling: C.M.C. - Paris