All language subtitles for Une Femme Coquette (Jean-Luc Godard, 1955)

A Flirtatious Woman
(from Maupassant)

My dear Françoise,

You ask me if I'm happy
since my marriage,

yes, very. Jacques
and I get along very well.

But I'm very unhappy now,
I've just cheated on him.

It wasn't on purpose, but I don't
know if I must confess it to him.

I write to ask for your advice.

I'm cruelly punished
for my thoughtlessness.

Must I laugh or cry?
I don't know anymore.

Don't think that I've taken
a lover, no, not at all.

Well, yes, but what could I do?

Here's exactly what happened:

Like each Friday morning,
while leaving the office,

Jacques went to his parents'
while I went home to cook lunch.

Would there be sun, or rain?
How could I know?

The sun was appearing and
disappearing behind the clouds,

and I thought of
taking the streetcar

when my attention was caught by
a woman I saw at her window.

Almost in front of me,
on the other side of the road.

She was nothing extraordinary

but she intrigued me, because
a smile, very light, very quick

regularly animated her features.

And I wondered

who's the target of this
uninterrupted line of smiles?

Suddenly I understood,

she smiled at every man
that passed under her window.

Old ones, ugly ones, handsome ones,
tall ones, men of all kinds.

As soon as she caught their eye,
she made a signal.

But furtive smiles, so sweet,

that they were erased
as soon as they started.

Both full of prudishness
and infamy.

So discreet and cunning, that they
looked innocent at first glance.

And could mean equally,
what a beautiful day,

or, come up quick sweetie.

She would repeat this
tactful act tirelessly.

Indeed, after a few minutes
I saw a man answer that call.

He entered the building.
I couldn't believe my eyes.

I wanted to be sure. And started
to wait in front of her door.

It wasn't long.

Only 15 minutes, and I saw the man
going out, our mermaid open her window

and start the same game again.

Then I went away
astounded, asking myself

to what kind of act
was I the spectator.

To the bottom of my soul, curiosity and
respect were mixed with my indignation.

I was very concerned
about what I'd seen.

And the more I thought, the less I could
stop myself admiring this woman.

For her skill

as well as her gracious way
of practicing this dreadful job.

Then suddenly,
I had a crazy idea.

So absurd that it
frightened me at first.

The idea of doing the same thing.
To throw at the first man I saw,

me too, a smile.
Just one.

And to see what'd happen next.

Believe what you want,
blame me for flirting.

But I was suddenly anxious
to know if I would succeed.

I couldn't get this
thought out of my head.

It came back each time
more threatening.

I absolutely had to do it.

My heart was pounding.
I was ashamed, I confess.

But I was already forgiving
myself for my recklessness.

Think about the game,
as Jacques said.

Women think that everything
they dare is innocent.

I wasn't paying attention.
I was lost in my thoughts.

They were lost in my soul like
clouds drifting apart by the wind

on a greyish background
where the sun was heading.

I realized that all those reflections
had brought me to the Rousseau park.

I don't know how,
and not far from me, by chance,

and you see that
the devil was with me,

I saw a man reading a newspaper.

He didn't look bad.

It didn't matter, the most important thing
was to defeat my cowardice.

Yes, I thought to myself,
the fate of a coquette is so cruel.

The world sentences her to
a freedom that tests their virtue.

Debauching oneself demands a courage
that our time excused too much

in the name of
prudishness and inattention.

Of love, but never of wisdom.

Acting with flirtatiousness was, to accept
the danger of being taken by surprise.

Confident that this adventure
wasn't that interesting

and to hide from my
favorite husband,

in myself, the fact of
making this rash gesture,

the fear of knowing him,
my inexperience with men,

the wish to test my honesty,

everything contributed to adopt
this frivolous yet inexorable act.

I wondered what kind
of smile should I have,

feminine, Iphigenia?

I sat next to him. I was hesitating.
I was shaking.

And then, bravely, I did it.

I smiled at him,
very quickly, very shyly.

Well, it worked first time.

My stranger came closer
while looking at me.

Then I panicked.

I told him that it was a mistake,
a bet with myself.

And I ran away but he chased me.
He wouldn't hear anything.

He looked like was having lots
of fun while I was terrorized.

Panicked, I ran away to escape him.
But he followed me by car.

My only chance was
to arrive home before him.

Impossible, he came behind me
and wanted to kiss me.

I burst into tears.

I begged him to go away, my husband
is coming home any minute I said.

But he got angry.

Stop fooling around dear, he said,
here's 50 francs, undress.

The only way to get rid of this
fool right away, was to give in.

That's what I did,
what else could I do?

Here I am cruelly punished
of my flirtatiousness.

I write to you my dear Françoise
to convince you of my innocence.

Answer me quickly.

Your friend, Agnès.

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