All language subtitles for Paris Police 1905 S01E02 1080p AMZN WEB-DL DD+5 1 H 264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

Secondary syphilis.

In utero.

If the mother is healthy but the father
is a carrier, the child will be ill.

They'll live for a few hours
or a few months, it depends.

This one...

This one didn't stand a chance.

See the marks on his skin?

It's dangerous
to touch a body that has syphilis.

The germs can spread.

I love my job, but... not every day.

Our officers followed orders, sir.

That prostitute
was arrested next to a church,

during a raid that you requested.

Your officers acted like half-wits.

A child died.
There will be consequences.

It's their word
against that of a prostitute.

Which has been confirmed
by a police inspector

and a sister of Marie Joseph.

They would both be wise
to know their place.

Why fabricate a scandal?

The child was terminally ill.
Syphilis. Thank heavens.

He would have died anyway.

So why all the fuss?

You're dismissed, Fondari.

- The coroner examined your child's body.
- Sylvain.

His name was Sylvain.

He examined Sylvain's body
and found marks

that indicate your son had syphilis.

That's no excuse
for the officers' behaviour.

He would have died anyway.

That's what they'll say.

Yes.

He was ill because his mother's a whore.

It's my fault.

Madame, you registered 12 months ago.

Your health records show you're healthy.

You went to all your check-ups
and have no apparent symptoms.

Did you know you were ill?

I found out when he was born.

Sylvain had marks on him.

I saw.

I brought him here.

I showed him to the sisters.

They have a lot of experience.

They offered to put us both up
at Saint-Lazare.

- You didn't want to.
- I didn't have to.

I wasn't contagious.

Healthy.

Your son
could have been cared for there.

Cared for?

Sylvain didn't have much time.

So why lock him up?

On the outside, I could...

feed him my milk.

I took him for walks.

I showed him the sky.

The stars.

He wouldn't have seen anything
in prison.

Did you know who the father was?

He had a lot of fathers.

I was summoned by the mother superior
about all this.

I wasn't meant to speak to you.

I should have gone to the vice squad.

Don't worry, sister.
We won't ask you to lie.

Just to forget.
What difference does it make?

Jouin?

Guichard, vice squad.

I have a message for you,

from Superintendent Fondari.

Go ahead.

The three half-wits
that arrested that young woman...

You know we can't punish them now.

But we won't forget about them.

In a month, in three months,

one by one,
with no fuss, they'll be fired.

That's a promise.

They deserve more than that.

Yes, I quite agree.

But that's all we can do.

Your report...

mentions
the vice squad officers' behaviour.

They left her in a cell for hours
without taking care of her son.

She said he was ill. They didn't listen.

- The child would have died anyway.
- They didn't know that.

Persist with these accusations,

and all that will come of it
is trouble for me, not the vice squad.

Must I amend my report, sir?

No. That would be illegal.

But don't shout it from the rooftops.

And the mother?

She'll be dealt with
according to procedure.

No more, no less.

Weidmann and Chauvin.

Jeanne, it's me.

Wait, please. Don't hang up.

What do you want?

I have a client for you.

Rosalie Dantremont.

We've had several calls, sir.

Le Figaro, Le Matin, La Croix.

They're all asking for
a comment on the Dantremont affair.

If you keep quiet, it'll blow up.
You should say something soon.

Say what?

That the Prefecture did its duty,
as usual.

The mother is at fault here.

The child was ill
because of her depravity.

She refused the care he was offered
and left him on his own.

Let she who is without sin
cast the first stone.

Should we hold a press conference, sir?

Naturally.

"You are of your father the devil,

"and you want to do
the desires of your father.

"Your mother was in their way.

"They got rid of her.

"Through prayer,
the truth shall be revealed."

Through prayer,

the truth shall be revealed.

I was a friend of your mother's.

You wrote to me.

John, chapter eight, verse 44.

Marguerite Steinheil.

You know her?

They call her the Undertaker.

Do you know why?

She's quite formidable.

She seduces the Commissioner,

the Commissioner is widowed.

Doesn't that surprise you?

I won't deny
that my father knows the Steinheils.

He knows all sorts of people.
It comes with the job.

Actually, madame, you're the one
turning up out of the blue.

The police officers that are with me
will be able to identify you.

A friend of my mother's?

Really?

Mother?

Yes?

I'm never allowed at the private views.

Your father finds them hard, you know.

He has to bear everyone's remarks,
and he never knows what will sell.

Have you seen her shape?

Stop it. She's a child.

You should go for more walks with her.

Men turn to look.

You don't see it,
you think they're looking at you.

She's the one they're looking at.

I saw you.

Filling the till.

I'm allowed to help you, aren't I?

If only we didn't need you to.

You'll get there.

Starting a business takes time.

It's been five years.

You're still working for that bitch.

I'm not working for her.

When she calls, you come running.
Or you send your son.

What must he see there?

He sees how the middle-class live.
I doubt he's jealous.

As for me, I'm very happy with my lot.

One day, she'll ask you to do
something you can't do.

That you must not do.

Will you be able to refuse?

You know I will.

Stop.

Watch out.

Mademoiselle is ready
to go out into the world.

Yes, very nice.

- Are you disappointed?
- Not at all.

You look beautiful.

I think I prefer the green one.

Where are you going?

To the woods, to paint.

In this cold?

I've got my gloves, thank you.

Don't wait for me for lunch.
I'm taking a snack.

I'm 44.

I'm in good health generally.

Without meaning to boast,
I'm what they call the robust type.

A little cold every winter.

Why are you scratching your chest?

I don't know.

- It's itchy, and I wanted to ask you--
- Show me.

- How long have you had this rash?
- I don't know.

It comes and goes.

When did you first notice it?

Anywhere on your body.

I can't remember.

I don't need an exact date.

I don't know...

Five or six months, I suppose.

Is it serious?

I'm going to have to ask
a few personal questions.

Go ahead.

Are you married?

- Children?
- A daughter.

Are you financially stable?

Yes...

To a point.

Good.

Have you ever had
any sores on your penis?

Excuse me?

Have you ever had a sore on your penis?

No.

Are you sure?

Not even a little one?
The size of a pinhead?

Well, I may have had, yes.
It didn't bother me.

- It went away.
- It did.

And a few months later,
you got this rash.

That's right.

Before that sore,

had you had sexual relations
with anyone other than your wife?

Your answer won't leave this room.

Yes.

Do you drink?

In moderation.

Very good. Keep it up.

Do you suffer from mood swings?

No more than anyone else.

What is your profession?

I'm a painter.

Has your art changed at all?

Your movements, your... technique.

Yes.

Yes, I...

I've improved.

It's not so much the technique...

But more the inspiration.

Visions...

Emotion beyond appearances.

Can you feel my fingers?

Do you know
what part of the brain I'm touching?

I did once, but...

The cerebellum.

It coordinates or paralyses
the brain and the medulla oblongata.

In layman's terms,

it controls the rest of the brain
and stops it being stupid.

Your cerebellum
is suffering the effects of syphilis.

What will happen to me?

What's already happening to you.

Your perceptions are altered,
so are your movements.

And bit by bit, you'll...

suffer from ataxia.

- Ata-what?
- Ataxia.

Paralysis.

You might even have hallucinations.

Make the most of them,
while you're still able to paint.

How long?

Five years. Twenty years.
Six months.

There's no telling.

How much do I owe you, doctor?

Nothing.

Really. You don't owe me anything.

There's nothing I can do.

However, I will need to see your wife.

No.

My wife is fine, I promise.

Some promises are hard to keep.

I never touch her.

Not even once a year.

You've had no sexual relations
over the past six months?

None.

I wouldn't have gone elsewhere if...

She mustn't know.

I'll put it in writing if I have to.

I, the undersigned,

Adolphe Steinheil,

swear on my honour...

Swear on my honour...

to constrain myself...

to chastity...

To chastity...

until I hear...

otherwise...

from my doctor,

Doctor Verlot.

Signature.

We can't treat the cause,
so let's treat the symptoms.

That rash is a type of eczema.

I'm prescribing a lotion.

It contains arsenic,
but in small quantities.

Oh, and it has a very faint smell.

But it's not unpleasant.

Say you've changed aftershave.

I've changed aftershave.

Syphilis is a dreadful disease.

It takes many forms.

Epilepsy, rickets,

ataxia, insanity...

It doesn't only strike
sinners and the depraved,

but also the innocent people
who mix with them.

Doctor, some numbers.

80,000 adults die each year in France.

70,000 miscarriages.

Over 20,000 children
contaminated at their mothers' breast,

dead within their first year.

Rosalie Dantremont's son
was one such child.

Syphilis and prostitution.

Two wounds to our society and our health
that we cannot cure.

The realistic solution

is to stop them spreading.

The procedure is no secret.

Next!

A vice squad officer
notices the soliciting,

and arrests the culprit,

who is taken to the Prefecture's clinic

where she's given a health check.

The doctors at the clinic,

the vice squad,

and the sisters of Marie Joseph,

carry out their duties
with conscientiousness and dedication.

It's a calumny to pretend otherwise.

Commissioner!

Commissioner!

Mme Bertin,
president of the Bonne Presse committee.

What are you planning on doing
to that creature?

Doctor.

The woman shows no symptoms.

In the absence of sores or cankers,
it's clear that she's not contagious.

You would dare to free her?

Considering
her physical and mental health,

she obviously needs to be
placed under supervision.

The medical wing of Saint-Lazare, with
the help of the sisters of Marie Joseph,

will take care of her.

Thank you.

Well, Guichard. Do you recognise her?

The vice squad is a filth factory.

If you get close, you get splashed.

That's a fact,

and no amount of scandal
will change that.

Very well, sir.

Right.

What did you get up to
with that body from the woods?

Inspector Quemener has made a complaint.

He said he saw you raping his corpse.

I took his temperature.

You were trying to upset him.

I took the body's temperature,
not Quemener's.

You don't know how to be in charge.
You're floundering. It's sad to see.

No identity, no lead.
The investigation isn't even open.

Was this man killed or not?

Our experts are yet
to reach an agreement.

It's a murder.

Wrong. Suicide.

Nonsense. I demand a reconstitution.

If you insist.

Tomorrow, 4 p.m.

3 p.m. on the dot.

Buy La Presse. Sir, La Presse!

Gentlemen, La Presse.
Five cents, gentlemen.

Cruel Christmas!
The sin of a mother, the death of a son!

- Buy La Presse.
- La Presse, gentlemen!

Rosalie Dantremont.

We're aware, of course.
But I don't see what we can do.

Getting her out of Saint-Lazare
would be a start.

She's ill.

Her freedom doesn't depend on a court
but a doctor.

Administrative detention,
health reasons...

That's the beauty of the system.

You've spoken to the Commissioner?

Your report is our only means

to accuse those vice squad officers
of criminal neglect.

Giving us a copy of it

would be an infraction.

Accepting to testify
would be an act of treason.

Do you like your job?

He won't testify.

We know that.

I don't care about those scoundrels.
I just want her to get help.

Why her instead of another?

I thought your firm
defended certain causes.

They say your associate
is a notorious abolitionist.

- I must be mistaken.
- We occasionally represent prostitutes.

From time to time,
we try and get a girl delisted,

so she can have a normal life.

- How many pending requests?
- Thirty-seven.

- How many were accepted last year?
- Two.

You can still see her.

And we shall, Inspector,

we shall.

Ms Chauvin visits Saint-Lazare weekly.

She'll add her to her list.

Good day.

Nice hat.

You're late.

Father Fleury is here.

- What for?
- The christening.

- Good evening.
- Good evening, Father.

Sit down.

We were thinking of February 21st.

That's perfect.

- Cécile was telling me you--
- Mme Jouin, if you don't mind.

- Father Fleury knew me as a child.
- You're not a child now.

Of course.

My apologies for being overfamiliar.

Mme Jouin told me
you were brought up Catholic?

I grew up in a Catholic orphanage.
We had no say over our religion.

- So you're baptised?
- I am.

And I took my first communion.

But you're not confirmed?

Saint Joseph's congregation was expelled
from the orphanage in 1884. I was nine.

I see.

The children
were placed with foster families.

I went to a teacher, Monsieur Giroud.

The secular type. A priest-eater.

- Antoine!
- It's fine, Céci-- It's fine.

I've heard worse.

I gather you don't go to church?

But you believe
in our Lord Jesus Christ?

I suppose I must say yes
to get our daughter christened?

You can answer however you like.

Yes, no, some days more than others...

Some days more than others.

It's normal to have doubts.

In my opinion, there's more faith
in an honest doubt than in any dogma.

You're a good priest.

If I must baptise my daughter,
I'm glad you're doing it.

Good evening.

Well, that went well.

Have you been sketching?

- Can I see?
- No!

No, uh...

I'd like to improve them
before showing you.

I'm not very happy with them.

Deadlines,

lack of time...

It's no way to work.

I like this one.

It's just a dead tree.

No, it's not.

It's a doorway.

Leading where?

To a kingdom.

I don't think I'll sell it.

It's too sad.

Good.

We can keep it.

Is that new aftershave?

It is.

It's something new.

Do you like it?

I wish I could be there on Wednesday.

Next time.

I promise.

Goodnight.

It's 3:05 p.m.

This is an official reconstruction

to determine the cause of death
of an unidentified man

found on December 24th, 1904,
in the Bois de Boulogne.

Here present are Superintendent
Cochefert, Inspector Jouin,

Boucard,
the examining magistrate, and...

We must be realistic.
The horse is dead! Killed by science.

It's Darwin's law.

As well as the famous
Professor Bertillon.

Anyway,

I wouldn't start selling oats now.

May we begin?

- Please, go ahead.
- I have a question.

Was he a pederast?

His anal mucous membrane
leaves us in no doubt as to that.

Carry on, carry on.

Our verdict is suicide.

First bullet wound:

in the temple.

He hesitates,
raises the barrel at the last minute.

Note the blood in the ear.

Burst eardrum. Disorientation.

He tries again, aiming lower down.

Too low. His jaw. His teeth.

He falls to his knees.

He can't believe he's still alive.

He hasn't managed from the side,

so he tries from the front,
but he still can't do it.

Third bullet wound, the left eye socket.

He's blind in one eye and deaf,
but still not dead.

Last chance:

he puts the gun in his mouth.

The fourth bullet
goes through the palate

and out the back of the head,
destroying the cerebellum.

That does it.

Nonsense!

I know just what you're up to.

Claim it's suicide, disregarding
the evidence, and close the case.

I'll show you.

Bournazel, come here!

Come along.

Move aside, please.
You're in the way. There.

Right.

You're the victim. I'm the killer.

Let's walk.

See, like this,
in the Bois de Boulogne, in the evening.

And we're just chatting
about one thing and another.

And then, I pull out my gun!
It's a surprise attack.

But... You deflect the shot!

Deflect the shot.

- Which hand?
- It doesn't matter! Come on.

Bang! The first shot is a miss.

So we fight.

We fight, Bournazel! We fight.

I shoot again. Crack!

In the jaw. So you fall.

I fall too.

But you're still fighting.

Come on, fight.

Come on! Just fight, will you?

Steady now, you're injured!

And the third!
Crack! In the eye.

You fall to the ground.

I've got you this time.

I use my bodyweight

to immobilise you,

I bring my gun closer...

Here comes the fatal shot.

Open your mouth.

Open your mouth. Open up...

There. Now, shout. Shout!

Bang!

Got you, you bastard.

There.

According to
Professor Bertillon's reconstruction,

both men touched the gun.

Stop quibbling. You're judge and jury.

Dactyloscopy of the gun?

One set of fingerprints. The victim's.

Suicide.

Case closed.

We frequently see failed attempts.

It's fifty-fifty.

What's not as common
is such perseverance.

He hesitated.

He was afraid to die.

But he tried again and again, as if...

As if he had no choice.

He was under duress.

There's no trace of a fight,
and he was holding the gun.

Anyway, he was a pederast.

He realised he was a monster
and came to the obvious conclusion.

It's really no mystery.

Move aside, gentlemen. Move aside!

Out of the way!

- Professor! I've got you.
- Help me.

It's okay.

Call my wife and tell her I love her.

Someone finish him off.
He's clearly suffering.

I'm talking about the horse.

Does anyone have a gun?

I have a knife I could lend you.

There's a rifle in the guards' lodge.

Go and fetch it.

Oh no, not him. I want a real doctor.

- Hold on...
- Don't touch me! I'm not dead!

Charlatan! Imposter!

You will not have my body!

I saw it all. It was him and
his infernal machine. It's his fault.

He almost ran over my bike, and bang!
He wasn't looking and hit the carriage.

- Come on. You need medical attention.
- No!

- Come with me, sir.
- No!

Don't look, children.

Look out! Excuse me!

I'm a guard, let me through.
Here we are.

- You do it.
- No, not me.

No!

Stop that noise!

The horse is dead.

Killed by science.

This carriage
belonged to the Montalemberts,

who own the Montalembert shops.

Their children loved that horse.

The Prefecture will have to pay damages.

The family also called for
Inspector Jouin to be suspended.

I refused.

You bring bad luck,

Jouin.

- What can I do about that?
- Nothing.

How is Mme Jouin?

She'd like me to change department.

Good idea. I can send you
to the vice squad to visit brothels.

She was thinking
of a police station, sir.

A steady job in a nice neighbourhood.

Are you actually considering it?

Rotting in some suburb? Why not
the provinces, while you're at it?

I'll tell her you can't do without me.

Do it if you want to.

Hide yourself away, Jouin.
The police will survive.

In the meantime, the case is closed and
the judge is waiting for your report.

Don't we want to know who he is?
He might have a family.

It's sad, indeed.

- Are you serious?
- Yes.

You want me, Joseph Fiersi,
to be your daughter's godfather?

If you accept.

- You don't have many friends, do you?
- No.

What's her name?

I'm teasing.

Angèle?

Angèle...

Will Cochefert be there?

I certainly hope so.

So do I.

It's an honour.

Anyway, how's work?

Not much going on.

A fairy in the Bois de Boulogne.

Tell me.

What did he want?

For me to be his daughter's godfather.

Good evening, Hector.

Good evening, sir.

16, Impasse Ronsin, please.

Marguerite Steinheil.

I hear you have
some paintings to show me.

Yes. Yes, of course.

It's a winter series,

very melancholy.
You'll really like it.

The private view is tomorrow night.

I can't make it.

But I could come by the next day.

If you haven't sold everything,
of course.

Don't worry.
We should have a few pieces left.

Will Monsieur Steinheil be there?

No, alas.

My husband is always exhausted
after a private view.

He likes to get out to the countryside,
to get some rest.

I look forward to it.

As do I.

Are you okay?

Translation: Rosie Zenzen

Subtitling: Hiventy by TransPerfect