Farm of Seven Sins, The (1949)

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Who's writing these pamphlets?

Paul-Louis Courier.

Paul-Louis Courier.

- Paul-Louis Courier.

Paul-Louis Courier!

P.-L. Courier! A royalist.

LONG LIVE P.-L. COURIER,

LIVING AT LA CHAVONNTIERE.

Which one's this?

The Woodcutter of Larçay.

He rails

against prejudice and injustice!

A good man!

No!

A fanatical and dangerous sectarian.

Hatred. He sows hatred!

A miser!

And an egoist!

Nobody should judge a man

in two words,

but Courier

sees everyone in that manner.

Circumstances have made my husband

into a political writer.

He doesn't like his role

as a pamphleteer, of public accuser.

If this cap knew what I think,

I'd burn it.

Courier, I'll bust your skull!

I didn't k*ll him!

m*rder*d by subscription.

He was good like the Good Lord

PAUL-LOUIS, YOU HAVE EVERYTHING TO

BE HAPPY FOR, YOUR FATE IS DECIDED.

WATCH OUT!

They're watching for the slightest slip.


- Your overly keen sense of justice.

THIS LOVE YOU HAVE

FOR A WOMAN TOO YOUNG FOR YOU.

Your avarice.

- Your outbursts

IT WON'T TAKE MUCH,

PAUL-LOUIS, BEFORE SUDDENLY...

...misfortune closes upon you

like a trap.

Say nothing about this


to your families.

These are not fairy tales

to tell in front of your children.

Nothing to worry about!

- Someone must be out hunting.

At least one wild boar less.

Did you hear that?!

- Another bad guy

has stolen some of your master's game.

Best not to hang around here.

Another drink! Aren't you ashamed


of how much you've drunk already?

You'd do better to go and see

what's happened to the master.

He's never been this late.

Why? He knows

what time soup is served!

That's right. He could be in the process

of blackening some paper

It must be painful for him


to piss ink.

I don't want to have a dictionary

thrown at me.

Then you'll eat charcoal.

It won't keep any longer,

the ratatouille.

- Yes, he's certainly not early.

Go and see.

Something's not right.

Maybe he's fallen asleep.

Okay, I'll go take a look.

But if he's there or not,


we eat!

Mr. Courier!

Master?

Master?

The master is having a lie down?

- Not returned.

Master?

"Because the Devil has intervened

in my affairs in France."

Twenty gods! Here he is!

By the looks of it,

he put up a fight

He's lost a shoe.

- It must have been a fair fight.

No weapons. It's not a su1c1de.

- Search him.

Let the constabulary do it.

- Why? You still scared of him?

He's not going to bite you!

He wasn't k*lled for a robbery.

Here's his money.

Stay here...

We'll alert the gendarmes.

This will stir up a storm.

He had enemies.

I expected it, to find him

one day lying here, his ear torn off

like a bad dog.

- When dogs go bad, we sh**t them

or we throttle them.

Something bad's happened.

The lord has been m*rder*d.

- What?

The lord. They've found him

in the forest of Larçay.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

He must've taken a full blast

of buckshot.

I hope you don't have any trouble.

- Trouble?

You'd been kicked off the farm.

- Well, so had he!

Yes, but I never badgered the landlady,

didn't take

advantage of her like the others.

Possibly. But

what about the theft?

The gendarmes came to see you.

- Anybody can be under suspicion.

But who's going to defend him?

It could be more complicated

than we know. There's a hatred...

surrounding him. A hatred!

Oh Symphorien, it's awful!

If I'd known...

The gendarmes are here already?

They can smell carrion from afar.

I'd forgotten this mud!

This ocean of mud.

But Symphorien,

he didn't suffer too much?

No danger of that.

He was k*lled on the spot.

Bijou! Here.

Edmond Chancel, the king's prosecutor.

Mrs Paul-Louis Courier, I presume.

It's terrible. I left

la Chavonnière the day before yesterday

To think that in my absence...

- Calm down, dear Madame.

Justice is compassionate.

The personality of the victim

was known to us.

I regret having to keep you here,

but please see in me a friend

who will defend your rights, and

who you must help in his task.

These last two days,

where were you?

My mother was visiting friends

in Tours. I went to see her.

Their names?

Is this necessary?

It is in a m*rder, dear Madame.

The Marquis de Siblas.

He was very close to my husband.

We'll record

your statement later on.

Second question...

What are the names of the servants

and regular visitors to La Chavonnière?

Aside from the Marquis de Siblas,

my husband saw nobody.

And we have 4 servants:

Frémont, the gamekeeper

and my husband's trusted man.

"La Michel", his wife. Symphorien

Dubois, the farmhand.

François Sovignant, a simpleton,

who does odd jobs.

Good.

That will be all for now.

Go and take some rest.

This is a great ordeal for you.

Come in!

Well, my dear investigating judge.

How's the inquiry?

A nasty business. A business

that could become dangerous.

Dangerous?

- For the rest of us.

Too many possible culprits.

That man attracted hatreds

as naturally as a lightning conductor.

Republican scum!

- Precisely.

This could be a political crime.

Who said anything

about a political crime?

Forget that idea right now.

The enemies of the king

would like nothing better...

than to magnify this affair.

You yourself said

that there are many suspects.

So what are you talking about?

This is a domestic crime.

A well-conducted interrogation

can't fail to reveal the guilty party.

I've gathered together the witnesses

in the kitchen.

The recorder is in a neighbouring room.

Perfect. Let's commence.

This piece of wadding was in the wound.

From a newspaper.

It doesn't weigh much.

Just the weight to hang someone.

Bring the g*ns from the farm.

And bring in the Frémont woman.

Oh heck! What the... Oh!

Filthy!

Approach!

Your name, first name, age, status.

I am La Michel, judge.

La Michel, wife of Frémont.

We're asking you for your maiden name.

Ah, I'm a Soulasse. We're all natives

of Meung-sur-Loire.

When were you born?

- In '70. At the apples

What? The apples?

In August, I mean. 20th August,

the time of the first apples

Michèle Soulasse, Mrs Frémont,

born 20th August 1770

in Meung-sur-Loire.

- Sit down.

Tell us what you know.

Take care, at the first lie

I will charge you with complicity!

Complicity?! What's he going on about?

Me, an accomplice?!

You know the enemies of your master?

I know nothing about that. But

everyone hated him here!

He was hard on everyone he knew.

Hard and greedy!

You need to look at everyone.

Look... it'll be because of the wood,

you need to look into the wood...

Do you think it's natural,

when you own a forest,

to moan about a log to heat the kettle?

That day, I only had one log.

I was making my way back

with my wood supply

when I thought I heard voices

from the small room where Pierre sleeps.

It's just sugared water.

- You can rely on me

for everything

Take it easy tomorrow,

he won't appear.

Don't leave me.

Not yet.

Does he know you're here?

He's capable of seemingly

knowing nothing

in the hope of

seeing me die here one day,

like an animal!

You won't leave me, will you?

Always spying on us,

that weasel!

This'll end badly, all this.

This'll end badly

Who's he, this one?

- He's looking for work.

A vagabond.

If the master finds him here...

One doesn't refuse a bowl of soup

to a Christian.

It's me who said he could come here.

Give him a bowl.

I'm going back to the forest.

Sons of b*tches from Larçay

have cut down

three trees,

part of their on-going revenge.

When the master sees this...

there's going to be trouble.

However, don't dally all the same.

The master is not very charitable.

He seems tough, your master.

- You don't poach in his woods.

You can't even glean a twig.

And to his servants?...

- A tyrant.

We have moments of respite

when he's in his inkwell.

He writes a great deal?

- He loves his paperwork!

Sometimes, the lamp burns all night.

He won't stop writing

This has already caused

considerable trouble.

He's wrong to be too learned.

What's the point

of all your sciences if it's just

to vomit forth wicked books?

Everyone can read. And wicked ideas

spread fast.

Yes!

And he believes in

neither God nor the Devil.

And he blasphemes as well!

"He who blasphemes against the

Holy Spirit, according to the apostle,

he will never be forgiven..

And woe to the blind bile

that leads the gullible into hell."

Why are you telling me this?

It's written in the Gospels.

Let's leave it there.

And his wife? What's she like?

- You ask a lot of questions.

I let you in and chat with you,

but do I know where you've come from?

Eat up.

The sooner you go, the better.

I've told you to draw a mark

on the chimney when you put

a log on the fire!

You didn't leave me the time.

- You don't obey my orders!

Everyone mocks me

and I'm paying for it all!

Who are you?!

I'm looking for work.

There's none here!

On a farm,

there's usually something needs doing.

I'm not asking much.

I don't like vagabonds!

Your hands are too delicate for a worker

and too clean

to ask

for alms!

You should leave.

Get out!

And quicker than this!

Can't I finish my soup?

Here. Here.

Here it is, your soup!

That scoundrel should be in an asylum!

Is this how you run the farm?!

In the end I'll have to throw you

all out. All of you!

Who'd serve a grouse like you?

No more bacon?

There was a huge chunk!

You've had it.

- Certainly not!

You must've put it all in the soup!

Here! Here! I was sure of it!

Where are the marks on this oil bottle?

Everything's been wasted!

Thrown away! Frittered! Run down! Lost!

And the eggs in the basket,

are you the only one

to have counted them?

For the accounts, ask Frémont.

Where is he?

- He was here.

They've cut down three more

of your trees by Larçay.

The bandits! 3 trees?

That's quite a trimming.

They want to ruin me! They'll see

what kind of wood I'm made from!

Yes, yes, on condition that

they leave me at least a little wood.

To hell with expressions already made!

And Pierre is there?

I saw him.

- "Saw him"!

Pierre!

Pierre!

Making me count the eggs, the logs...

I don't know how to count!

Complaining we ate too much,

that miser!

Abominable!

Indecent and abominable.

- Who are you?

The Marquis de Siblas. Your minions

managed to get in before me.

I don't know what's up with

the servants! It's indecent!

That woman speaks of the poor victim

in terms most injurious.

We are investigating, Marquis...

- De Siblas.

Precisely.

I wanted to see for myself.

Please sit down.

You were a close friend

of Mr. Courier.

- He was an exceptional man.

Exceptional men have few close friends.

And they cannot

be understood through the accounts

of a few simple servants.

But their testimonies all agree.

- They portray a mean, miserly

egoist.

- He had to be frugal out of necessity.

A pamphleteer has to be miserly.

But he was devoted to the public good.

The public good is order.

Order is the king.

Let's not forget that.

Mr. Courier lived surrounded by enemies.

Political. Any pamphleteer

has political enemies.

Defending one side

means attacking the other.

I was witness

to his most effective actions.

Interesting.

In what circumstances?

Those in Luynes, in 1816.

Excuse me

for not accompanying you home.

A doctor is always on call.

- No need. The night is peaceful.

It's one night when the gods

have taken a break from tormenting men

and where you can

stand guard against death

I wish I was enough.

And thank you again for the expertise

in the manuscript, Mr. Courier.

These amateurs

that buy these manuscripts!

- He'll attribute it to Paracelsus.

It's a forgery.

- Without it, the doctor would

probably have to rely on the stars

to cure the peasants.

No, the moon mocks our pain.

- Anyway,

your expertise did the trick.

- Since Florence,

I'm wary of manuscripts.

- That whole ink stain saga?

On the precious parchment.

Smearing a writer with ink stains?

It's amusing.

My pamphlets will be soon forgotten.

My stain on the Longus' manuscript

will remain. I can hear from here

the foul tongues of posterity:

"Courier, that writer whose works

have long been forgotten, but who

out of jealousy, defaced the least

manuscript he could get his hands on".

Halt!

- We're on our way home.

Halt!

Open up!

But he's done nothing!

I'm telling you he's done nothing!

Take him away!

I've done nothing!

- Gendarme sir!

Hiding yourself under the bed!

Like a rat!

Open the door!

Oh, the b*tch! She scratched me!

Murderers,

murderers.

Murderers.

Daddy!

Daddy!

Are they going to k*ll them all?

Why are you arresting these people?

Why?!

He won't answer.

- I am squadron commander.

Why are they being arrested?

- I have my orders.

That's not a reason.

- I obey orders

without reason.

This is a disgrace!

- They've done nothing.

We should go to the mayor!

- They'll arrest you.

The mayor is in the pocket of the

ultras, but he won't dare do anything.

What good would it do?

- A question of honour.

Nice government these ultras have!

- Ah, the emperor!

They make a mockery

of individual freedom!

Don't take me away

Don't take me away!

Don't take me away!

Don't take me away!

He won't appear.

- He'll appear!

Traitors don't take responsibility

for their actions.

He's comfortable

hiding under his bed,

he'll appear!

Gentlemen, why the racket?

We want you to tell us!

I was asleep.

- Ah!

Terror reigns in the village,

people are being arrested,

and the mayor was asleep!

- Is your village

a den of brigands?

- Why this as*ault?

This invasion of Luynes

by French uniforms?

I know nothing about it.

- You refuse to speak?

The orders must come

from the prefecture in Tours.

You exaggerate the incident.

To hear you

all Luynes is on fire

and drenched in blood.

All for a few seditious types!

They're guilt of sedition then?!

Of course.

You didn't know? It's just

a few fanatics,

some stroppy Bonapartists, republicans.

- Didn't you take an oath

to Bonaparte when the sun shone

on the Empire? Your opinions evolve

with the governments. Yesterday,

you shouted "Long live the emperor!",

today it's "Long live the King!"

And tomorrow, you'll be shouting

"Long live the Republic!"

Nobody can

enter people's homes at night.

Not even the gendarmes!

They've torn up the Constitution!

- If I was in government,

I'd pick up the lot.

- The gendarmes are from the government.

You think you can send this paper

to the constitutionalists

in 12 hours?

- And to our friends in both chambers.

Okay. "Gentlemen, I am from Tours,

and I live in Luynes,

somewhere that was once considerable

but the revoking of the edict of Nantes

reduced to 1000 inhabitants,

and that we'll reduce to none

unless your prudence takes over.

There cannot be in Luynes

10 known crooks,

10 K*llers living.

I affirm that within a 100 leagues

of Paris, in a remote ignored village,

which one can't reach

except by impassable tracks,

there cannot be 10 guilty of sedition,

10 enemies of the state and King."

- What's all this?

A summary of your exploits.

- A report, eh?

Indeed.

Sent up the chain of command.

If it's the chain of command...

"And yet at midnight,

your gendarmes rode in on horseback,

arriving at the gates of Luynes.

Slaughtering the watchmen

they entered. And by all too familiar

measures, they seized

a woman, a barber,

a clog-maker, 4 or 5 labourers,

and the monarchy is safe!

Luynes is half the size

of the royal palace."

In any event they had no reason

to arrest in Luynes

10 people, when in Paris there

are 100,000 guilty of the same thing!

The emergency powers

must be abolished!

Villèle should

dissolve both chambers!

Injustice has driven

these peasants to revolt.

The terror wasn't ended

to put vengeance in its place.

Paul-Louis Courier...

Troops will spread to the whole

of France like a wildfire.

Down with the emergency powers!

Ask for

"Le Constitutionnel"!

Paul-Louis Courier...

Courier, arrest him! Arrest him!

Long live the King!

Read the petition

of Paul-Louis Courier!

Read the petition

of Paul-Louis Courier!

Down with Courier!

Stop there!

All this has very little to do

with the crime.

I'm telling you what I do.

- I'm astonished that

you sing the praises

of this pamphleteer.

The works of your friend

should have been

prosecuted under law.

Did you really mean that, sir?

Paul-Louis Courier has already

been condemned by justice,

but between us, let's talk

like two men of the law without malice.

Do you have a soft spot

for the enemies of the King?

God forbid. But

an enemy who prefers study

to the glory of arms, the solitude

of a village to success in the court,

and translates decadent Greek authors,

seems to me a worthy rival.

- Why would he

take refuge on this isolated farm

if it was not to write

his poisonous works with impunity

and in secret?

His taste in style.

He loved the country language.

In sum, reading Homer

gave him the dignified style

of Mr. Voltaire.

Call Pierre Dubois.

Pierre Dubois!

Pierre!

Pierre!

Pierre. They're calling you.

Re-saddle the horse

of the marquis.

Thank you once again

for these unforgettable hours.

- If I wasn't so pressed,

I'd let you see a Virgil quarto

published in 1460.

Another time. I'd like to find

that this has become a successful dairy.

Will you grant me the honour of a visit?

Impossible.

At the moment, with my work, my

headaches, my time is precious.

Anytime you can...

I noticed your little game!

What game?

- Your little glances,

your provocative airs.

- Are you jealous?

Evidently, he has the time to waste

to dandify himself and to please

women. Against me, with my face

scarred by the w*r

and my being 25 years older than you,

he has an easy conquest,

that gavotte dancer.

Contain yourself

in front of the servants.

I'll never be handsome.

But does my talent mean nothing to you?

What will remain of him

in 100 years? My writings, they...

You'll tell me they'll be forgotten

in 100 years.

For the moment I'm an old bear!

Yes, an old bear.

One against the world,

fighting for liberty,

ripping into those dogs in power!

That counts more than... a nice garb.

How can an ironist lose his sense

of the ridiculous on this point?

He goes too far, the master!

- Yes, but watch out. In the village,

at least, in case

the tongues start wagging about him.

They've started to talk

because of you.

Say, it's not jealousy

that's got you talking like this?

As if I could be jealous

dragging this leg along...

You've never noticed?

Who did I see in the village?

- Go away!

Who did I see in the village?

- Your brother!

I don't have a brother.

- Yes, the one that goes:

hee-haw!

- The donkey is more patient than you.

Now he's a wit!

- Guess who I saw?

Clear off

or I'll boot you in the arse!

I won't tell you I saw Coupeau.

Impossible. What did he tell you?

- I don't know...

Oh yes, he told me about his party.

It's the day after tomorrow.

April 10th.

So what?

He said: "If they push on

to Azay, they'll have

an onion skin."

It's good, onion skin.

It lets you see things

you don't normally see.

That's your news?!

- We go there every Sunday.

To play cards.

I've something for you, master!

Here!

Here.

The devil with your fooling!

Give it!

What's this about? You know

someone with a shotgun?

Mr. Frémont has a shotgun.

- And?

And you. And Mr. Pierre.

- Pierre Dubois?

A shotgun all shiny.

Madame gave it to him.

50 Louis. A gift of 50 Louis!

I'm asked to foot the bill.

Wait a moment.

I'll offer him a gift,

this arsehole of a Don Juan!

Come with me.

OF WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE THAT

CUCKOLD THEIR SPOUSE WITH A GROOM.

Put this in Madame's bedroom.

Put it in front of her mirror.

Make sure you're not seen.

The necklace from my balls

when I was young.

These balls are supposed to be fun.

You couldn't imagine.

All that joyfulness in the music

all that luxury, all those grandiose

refinements, it was...

like one was in another world.

- Why

did you leave Paris?

Don't interrupt!

He gave me a fright.

I'll box his ears!

He threw a book.

- He's interested in reading?

Oh, what the heck!

Why do you burn it?

Show it to me!

It would be better not to.

- I want to see it! Are you mad?

My husband's writing.

This surpasses all.

One doesn't give gifts like this

to the servants without reasons

that you will explain to me!

How much do I owe for your pains?

40F for this month.

And 160 for the last 4 months.

That makes 200F.

- You have an hour to get out!

Why?

- You are too much the master!

Your behaviour is obnoxious!

- You...!

Here are the invoices

of your overwhelming largesse!

Don't count on me anymore

for gifts to your servants!

Is that clear?! Pack your bags.

- And if I won't let him go!

And if I refuse to go?

- Scoundrel! You dare defy me?

You thr*aten me in my own home?!

I should call the gendarmes!

They should arrest you!

I'll never be in prison!

But you with your writings,

your filth against the King...

you'll know it, prison!

- Idiot!

If you're trying to scare me...

Get out right now!

Right now! Out!

Swine!

Never

will I forgive this!

- He's chasing me out!

I'll k*ll him like a dog.

Like a dog!

There's no need

to embellish the truth, my friend.

Admit you carried out your threats.

Anger is a good excuse for many things.

I threatened him

but I didn't k*ll him!

Dubois, you recognise

Mme Courier's shotgun?

No. I didn't have it

for very long.

You can retire.

Yes, well, this...

this shotgun has been cleaned.

Is this all?

- All? This is Mr. Courier's,

but it's all rusty. That one

belonged to the gamekeeper.

And the shotgun offered to Dubois?

- Yes, indeed.

Stolen.

And where's he living now,

this Pierre Dubois?

Outside the village, at Marshall...

I'm going!

And bring in Frémont.

Frémont!

Frémont.

You recognise this shotgun?

Of course. It's mine.

Yours?

It looks well used.

- Yes, seeing I'm the gamekeeper.

There's no shortage of poachers around

here. I always fire in the air.

I haven't wounded many people yet.

The forest was everything to him.

It was his life.

That branch,

can't ignore it.

Wait, I'm going to have them.

Hey, over there! Have you no shame?

- We're just collecting dead wood.

This is my land.

- But it's just dead wood!

That's what they all say! Have they

bought a licence for f*ggots?

You have your licences?

- 1 écu for dead wood!

No licence, no wood.

- It's ours, this wood.

Oh yes?

- Leave that!

It's not right! The wood

belongs to whoever finds it.

If you did your job,

this wouldn't happen.

Here's Phorien bringing in the hay.

Since I showed that rascal the door,

I see him everywhere.

Watch them.

And if you find him

on the farm,

I trust you won't miss him.

Who you spying on?

I saw your game with the drill.

Just you wait!

I'll tan your hide!

Just you wait!

I'll tan your hide!

I'll keep quiet.

- If you talk,

the master will kick you out

and you'll go back to begging.

All the time you do what you're told,

La Michel will never forget

your plate,

nor the occasional glass of wine.

Don't you like wine?

- Yes, when it's good.

Come along then.

Come on.

Come on!

Should I climb up?

- Yes, climb up.

Be careful. Grab this.

There. Hide it in the vat.

François!

François!

Yes!

You wouldn't have hidden my saddle?

No, mistress.

It's not another one

of your pranks?

No.

Tell the truth!

Maybe, mistress.

Tell me the truth!

Where's my saddle?

This moron's hidden it.

Are you going to say

where you put it?

It'll take some brains...

to get out of him

what he's done with it.

Where's he gone now?

Pass me the grapes.

Ah! Get off me!

Will you get off me?!

What brutes!

- It's me

who will drink!

Mine!

Keep your yobbishness for the girls

at the inn!

After the g*nsh*t,

I went to see

if he wasn't prostrate

behind the wall. But

he'd long since fled.

At the time of the crime,

where were you?

At Coupeau's,

with Pierre and Symphorien Dubois.

We were playing cards

like every Sunday.

- You have witnesses?

Yes. Coupeau for a start.

He must remember it clearly

because that Sunday,

it was his party.

And some peasants

must have seen us pass by.

Very good.

You were also at Coupeau's?

- As you say.

We go there every Sunday.

That day, it was...

Coupeau's party. I'm sure of it.

- So who do you think

had a motive to m*rder your master?

Who wanted to k*ll him?

How can I put it?

Lots of people didn't like him,

that's true. But enough to slay him?...

You didn't like

your master.

Why was that?

He was against the emperor.

And with all due respect,

prosecutor sir, that's enough reason

for me,

being against the emperor. It's not

that we're more proud than anyone else,

but when you pay for it personally...

I'll always remember

Saint Vincent's Sunday.

When Madame Courier

was on the way to the church at Azay.

Here we are.

Don't forget me in your prayers.

- You'll go drinking

with who knows who.

You'll confess

to who knows what.

He leaves her to enter alone.

Yet it costs nothing to pray.

To have one of our own arrested,

do you know what the prosecutor

wrote to the gendarmerie?

He wrote, admire the politeness,

commander, please have arrested

and put in prison

such-and-such of such place!"

- We are not more courteous.

Please, it's like the saying goes

'make me your friend, do me

this service, before anything else

I am your servant.'

The king's prosecutor serves the

gendarme who if needs be

will be his.

That Paul-Louis has guts!

- The king's prosecutor surely writes

to the executioner:

"Executioner, be so kind

as to cut off the head of such-and-such

and I am your servant.

About taxes: That the People pay

is the axiom of all times

and of all government.

- Shout that in the square

and the gendarmes will stop you.

- The French people pride themselves

in nurturing those

who take care of their own business.

Therefore, it is never lacking.

The people are made to pay.

- Mr. Courier!

I was reading your articles.

- Hello, my friends.

Without you, nobody would protest.

- Who's going to chastise the ultras?

A pitcher!

- Thanks.

It amazes me to see all France

impassioned

by our peasant stories.

- Parisians care

about the arrest of some poor bugger?

- Is an arbitrary act

more tolerable in Veretz

or Larçay than in Paris?

The idea of a petty injustice

is as absurd

as the idea of a petty crime.

- Look out, here's the mayor.

I've given the order

to close this cabaret on Sundays!

Is this the letter? I wanted

to show it to Mr. Courier.

Mr. Courier can change nothing.

My decree has the force of law.

Is it approved by the prefecture?

- No. It doesn't have to be.

A mayor has the duty to maintain order

in his commune.

By arresting half the population

to reassure the other half.

I don't want a hotbed

of revolution in front of the church.

And Sunday is a day of rest.

- We're resting. As you can well see.

You think I don't know what's going on

here? You're plotting

against the government and the state.

You organise

political meetings!

- At what number

does it become a meeting?

- At more than one.

You're making fun of me!

This cabaret will remain closed!

If you won't leave, I'll call

the gendarmes to intervene!

- Well, I'm staying!

You're like the rest...

- Don't get het up.

You're right. Going to the cabaret

on Saint Vincent's day

is shameful.

- That's what I was trying to tell you.

But let's be reasonable, please.

Saint Vincent loved winemakers

since he's their patron. He must love

the vine and the wine

and thus the cabaret. How could he find

it bad

to go to the cabaret

on his feast day?

Landlord, a bottle. Let's drink

to the health of Saint Vincent.

This will come back to haunt you!

- This afternoon, mayor,

at the dance!

There won't be any dance! And

this cabaret remains closed Sundays!

I forbid the cabaret...

and I forbid the dance!

Choose your knight.

Dance, your age should.

Mr. Courier.

Will our village Caesar...

dare ban the dance?

Phorien, won't you dance?

With my wooden leg?

Piedmont girls danced well.

The emperor gave us drinks.

You gave him your leg!

I lost my leg at Marengo.

And I'm proud of it!

If he came marching back...

- You'd offer him the other one.

Truly,

tyrants have all the fun!

I'm saying nothing, but there was

no chance he'd lose his leg, him.

But he was an officer.

- He tore off his stripes.

You know what that means, do you?

Notice: the mayor informs

his citizens that the dance has been

banned, a report

will be made against offenders.

It's illegal! Such orders

must come from the préfecture!

Go home!

- We won't let this happen!

You should talk to them,

Mr. Courier.

Don't go! Nobody has the right

to chase you out of this place!

The mayor is abusing his power.

Many of you have come not

to dance but to talk shop,

to sell

what you couldn't sell at the fair.

In banning this dance,

they act against the public interest

and against everyone!

Bravo!

Resume the dance and

let the mayor foot the bill.

What's so wrong about

dancing in front of the church?

Our fathers used to do it. The sainted

King David danced in front of the ark

and "the Lord was put at ease",

say the scriptures.

If you accept this,

they'll soon come, with drums,

to prevent you singing and laughing.

You will fast by edict

of the mayor.

Bravo!

MUSIC! MUSIC! MUSIC.

MUSIC!

1, 2, 3...

# On the village green

where a good time can be heard, #

# on the village green,

dance to villanelles. #

# Not the priest nor the mayor #

# can stop it. #

# Go on, spin girls!

Go on, spin guys! #

# On the village green,

dance to villanelles #

# to the sound of

the wind in the branches #

# and to the sound of

the wind through the wheat. #

# Not the priest nor the mayor

can stop you. #

# Go on, spin girls!

Go on, spin guys! #

Him, stirring up rebellion,

he's always there.

That man is dangerous.

- He spends his time writing

pamphlets, manisfestoes.

- Anonymous writings, eh?

He favours corruption.

- If I could...

Between us, he forces his wife to read

such things... I couldn't tell you what.

Impossible?!

- You can see the result.

What do you expect?

When someone's for liberty...

# Not the priest nor the mayor

can stop you. #

No! No!

I don't want to be interrogated!

I don't want...

Is this really necessary?

Any detail could be important.

Why are you so afraid?

We mean you no harm.

What were you doing

in the forest at the time of the crime?

The forest is mine!

I always hide there

in the forest. They don't care about me,

in the village.

But in the forest, it's me

that can frighten others

It's me that can hunt

the animals in their burrows.

There, I can eat

without needing permission,

scare hedgehogs

so that they roll up into a ball

or whistle

lizards,

birds...

squirrels...

and all the little creatures.

Efface in the lake

my ugly mug.

Often, the small need me

to defend them against attackers.

Stop!

It wasn't me!

- It was him!

We were just playing.

He said he was going to take me

to his big house.

And that nobody

would beat me anymore.

So, he took me by the hand

to show me.

It seemed to me

that even the shadows were singing.

I was so happy, so carefree!

I would have danced

on a ray of the sun.

It seemed to me

that the two of us walked

on a path of light

to his palace.

Were you treated well,

at La Chavonnière?

Oh, very well, you know.

Master, master.

He's beating me again!

François,

I don't like to be disturbed.

But they beat me!

They don't like my being here.

They say that you should never

have taken me in.

They'll k*ll us both.

- Who wants to k*ll us?

All of them, master.

Frémont, Saphorien, La Michel,

the man in the Grey hat,

Dubois, the Marquis de Siblas.

Come on. Calm down, François.

There's only one dangerous enemy:

the unknown fanatic.

Who's the unknown fanatic?

- Against him, there's no defense.

He kills kings.

- But I'm not a king.

He has no reason to k*ll you then!

You'll pay for that,

old skinflint!

Old skinflint!

Old skinflint!

Old skinflint!

Old skinflint!

Help!

Departing thus this poor world!

He couldn't take it with him!

If the master disappeared,

we'd be much happier.

If only the master disappeared...

If only the master disappeared...

If he disappeared...

If he disappeared...

- If he disappeared...

If he disappeared...

- If he disappeared...

If he disappeared...

If he disappeared...

- If he disappeared...

IF THE MASTER DISAPPEARED!

IF THE MASTER DISAPPEARED!

Fire!

Master!

Master! Master!

Come on...

I see you

well loved him, your master.

I won't ask you any more.

Come in.

I've finally got that g*n!

There's still some burnt powder

in the barrel!

The other is loaded.

- With this evidence

we have the k*ller.

Well, aren't I right?

- Let's hope so.

But Mrs. Courier

may have something to tell us

on the subject of this w*apon.

Ask her to come here.

Call Mrs. Courier!

- Frémont! Call Madame!

Madame!

Madame!

Madame!

Madame!

It's a sad affair.

And a bit more serious for you,

I think, than it first appeared.

Please.

Your husband was receiving

an important correspondence.

Was he not?

Certainly.

He was very well known. Especially

in political circles.

This is not the issue.

Did he receive lots of printed material,

manifestoes, gazettes, or newspapers?

Newspapers?

No, I didn't see any.

He only subscribed to the "Feuilleton"

among political newspapers.

Now that's an interesting work..

He had a subscription?

Yes.

Okay.

When he was keeping his journal,

was he in the habit of keeping in it

certain annotated articles,

that he had cut out

or something similar?

- No. I gave the old newspapers

to the kitchen.

For lighting the fire.

From time to time, didn't you

give them to the servants?

To Pierre Dubois, for example.

- Pierre Dubois?

What a strange idea.

No, I don't remember doing so.

Okay, okay.

And this shotgun,

that was used to k*ll your husband,

couldn't it have been stuffed...

with pieces of that paper?

How awful.

How could I know?

They might

have been stolen from the kitchen.

You are not imagining

that I k*lled my husband?

Bring back Pierre Dubois.

Pierre Dubois, you recognise

this w*apon?

Of course.

It's the shotgun

that Madame Courier gave me.

The master took it back from me

immediately.

You recognise this newspaper?

Yes. Mrs. Courier

lent them to me to read "L'ermite

en liberté".

The serial novel

by Benjamin Constant.

Yes. Some numbers were missing

and I never found out how it ended.

Liar.

Me?

You had every number!

The ones you're missing, you used them

as wadding for this shotgun!

Your shotgun!

- But I never had it!

Why was it at your house?

At my house?! No! You're entrapping me!

If I'd committed m*rder with it,

I wouldn't have kept the g*n!

You can tell that to the court.

You had emotional motives

to commit this crime.

Jealousy and greed,

here's the moral evidence.

- It's untrue!

The material evidence: this shotgun

and the paper in the barrel.

It's false!

- I'm charging you with the

premeditated m*rder

of P.-L. Courier.

No, I didn't k*ll him!

He's right, sir.

He wasn't the k*ller.

- How do you know?

I was there...

Then you're leaving?

This departure is final?

- You said it.

Have you thought through

the consequences?

Anything's better than this life

tucked away between your jealousy

and your avarice. I didn't imagine,

when I married you,

I would become a farm girl.

I didn't imagine it either!

Listen my love,

I have a confession to make.

My financial situation,

since I resigned from the army...

The thing is... this farm

is our only asset.

Sell it.

- So you can take a slice?

How would we live, afterwards?

- Regardless, I'm leaving.

It's up to you if you join me.

Allow me to

reflect on it.

I've nothing

left to reflect on.

Here I am! Hey, excuse me.

Excuse me!

Tell the postmaster to forward my mail

to my mother's.

- Madame intends to go on horseback

to Paris?

- No. I'll push on to Tours

to greet some old friends.

- The stagecoach hasn't been through.

Madame won't arrive

before nightfall.

Goodbye.

Mistress! Stop!

Stop!

Mistress, stop!

Stop!

Mistress, stop!

Don't go, mistress!

They want to k*ll the master!

More of your gibberish.

They're going to k*ll the master!

- Who's "they"?

Them at La Chavonnière

and the prowler with the Grey cap!

We must go!

They're going to k*ll him!

Where?

- There, in the woods!

In Larçay?

At 5pm, he's due to show Frémont

the new logging.

If this is true...

Bring me, mistress!

I want to come!

Mistress!

Mistress!

Mistress!

Let's give him

something he won't forget!

I'm a doomed man!

Wretches, what have you done?!

- He's dead all right.

He'll do no more harm.

Come on, little lady,

you've nothing to complain about.

- You'll have a peaceful life now.

Shut up, drunkard! Clear off quick!

You probably don't know, Madame,

all the harm your husband did.

He was an enemy of the monarchy,

like before he was that of the Empire.

Agitators of this sort often come

to sticky ends... strange sticky ends.

You were going to Tours, I believe.

Go on, and don't talk to anyone

about this.

There they all go. Case closed.

All except the man in the Grey hat,

surely the instigator of the crime.

You believe in this man

with the Grey hat? Who saw him?

An idiot, a crotchety old woman.

-And Mrs. Courier.

Oh, Mrs. Courier. She is highly

impressionable, Mrs. Courier...

Her nerves were put under such a strain

that on this point,

we can hardly

take her account seriously.

However...

- Forget about it!

We've caught four murderers.

- Farm servants.

The servants were the actors, and

the setting, the farm of the seven sins.

A political plot would give

amm*nit*on to the enemies of the King.

You have progressive ideas

but even so...

I had the impression

that they were all lying

and that it really was a

political assassination.

Like the victim,

it needs to be buried.

All right, but then it will be necessary

to also bury his books,

his journals, his manifestoes.

And all the man's ideas.

However an idea, one thinks it's under

control and it gets away from you.

One gets forgotten

another gets rediscovered.

And it takes flight

in eternity.

Master!