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THOMAS THE IMPOSTER
based on the novel by Jean Cocteau
This war began in the greatest of chaos.
The government had just left Paris for Bordeaux,
to plan the victory of the Marne.
Rampant confusion had taken over from the previous calm,
and was leading to extravagance.
I'm very worried.
The news is alarming.
Von Kluck is marching on Paris.
"Parisians, surrender. Our armies are at the gates of your city."
This is the pamphlet the Krauts dropped over Paris last night. Have you seen it?
A message Mr Pesquel-Duport won't be printing in his blindly optimist paper.
Clémence, I beg you, get out of Paris.
My dear Editor-in-Chief, do you publish your newspaper without reading it?
Apparently, the Germans won't get through.
Who should one believe?
- Nice time to start making fun of me. - I'm not making fun of you.
I simply don't want my last ball to be spoiled.
My friends, it seems things are going quite badly out there.
But tonight, I don't want us to talk about it.
Tonight's the Princess de Bormes's ball.
And you're staying because everyone else is leaving?
Staying to be the only one to hear the German pipers
playing Schubert's march on the Champs-Elysees?
I like Schubert!
The war seemed to the Princess like a theatrical war - a theatre for men.
Obsessed with fashion, this widow couldn't imagine living on the margins
of the only show that mattered anymore.
Believe me. It's got to be bad out there,
if they're digging trenches on the Avenue Dubois
and setting up artillery here on Chaillot Hill.
Did you hear her? "I like Schubert!" I'm not saying she's a ***,
but I do wonder exactly where our Polish lady's sympathies lie.
Madam, Poland is not only home to pianists and spies.
You're accusing an admirable woman.
Do you know a single well-bred French woman who could have the idea,
or the courage, to organise a convoy to bring wounded soldiers
back from the front, and treat them in her home?
Don't you find all the women look like Madame Tallien,
with those turbans on their heads?
The "war council" is talking about me.
My dear fool,
why not try to appear reasonable, for once in your life?
Reasonable? Unreasonable?
These words no longer meant anything.
A deathly night was descending on Paris.
A plague-ridden wind blew through the streets.
Each ran to his own hiding place.
It was no wiser to pack one's bags and shut up shop,
than to stand in place.
Since the war began, the Eiffel Tower's hard eye had searched the night sky,
on the lookout for any appearance of that flying Trojan horse,
the Zeppelin.
- My little girl isn't asleep? - I knew you'd come. How was the party?
A ghost of a ball. Everyone's scared to death.
Maybe they're right to be afraid.
They're afraid for you, Mother. And the safety of the convoy.
I didn't have the courage to tell him the news -
that we'll soon have our travel authorisation.
I can't believe it.
It was so difficult to get 11 cars together, including Dr Vernes.
Poor Vernes. I whispered to him that he might be decorated.
Here we are, ready to sacrifice everything.
And I thought everyone would just follow me.
If you could have seen the diplomat!
"Madam, my duty prohibits me from taking any unnecessary risks."
And the minister's daughter: "I have to follow my father".
And yet she's old enough that she doesn't have to take orders.
But I'm a bad mother. I have a sick daughter -
- I don't even have a fever anymore! - A sick daughter...
who's dying of exhaustion and is going to fall asleep any moment now.
Because... I... say... so.
The Princess was a born actress,
and the spectacle she put on each night was her daughter's favourite.
A few days later, the hotel, under Madame de Bormes's control,
looked on one side like a busy factory,
and on the other like a government department.
It's a mess, isn't it?
We can't put my car at the front. Alexis can't drive.
Let's see, you, the tailor...
These are the new recruits I mentioned. Our Nurse-Major, Madame Valiche -
Is she really a Major?
Yes, well, sort of...
I don't know the woman. She's brought with her a Dr Gentil.
Reckons he's a hospital surgeon. I think he's actually a dental surgeon.
But we've no choice.
Yes, this is the Count of Orange speaking.
But that's unacceptable, we made a formal promise to Madame de Bormes -
My dear Clémence, I'm sorry, but I've just heard that no travel authorisation
can be granted to civilians. Those are the orders.
What orders? I'll go and see whoever's giving these orders!
You'll get nowhere. The army hospital must think very poorly of our convoy.
They don't like civilians showing them up and stepping on their toes.
Dr Vernes, with or without the authorisation, we're still going.
Who are you?
Guillaume Thomas de Fontenoy.
- Like the General? - Yes, I'm his nephew.
Ah! Delighted to meet you! The General is a great man.
And what are you doing in Paris?
My uncle sent me to Les Invalides military hospital. I do what I can.
This man is General de Fontenoy's nephew.
Is he here to help?
Madam, I would be delighted to offer my services, if I can be of any use.
Any use? You're a gift from heaven.
Consider yourself enlisted. I'll be your general!
- Soldier! - Yes, Captain?
What's this get-up? You're wearing a revolver and a Red Cross armband?
But, Captain -
- And that cap. What kind of cap is it? - It's a Cyr cap, Captain.
Are you from Saint-Cyr?
I don't like being mocked. What's your name?
Thomas de Fontenoy, Captain.
De Fontenoy? Are you -
His nephew, Captain.
They say he's driven back the Germans' left flank.
That's correct, Captain.
Listen, between us, I know the uniform can be a little dull,
but don't go wearing an armband and a revolver.
It's one or the other.
Today, you met me, but next time, you could meet an idiot.
The Princess was quite right - the Fontenoy name was a magic word,
the "Open Sesame!" of the war ministry.
And that same night...
My little Thomas, well-done for getting that permit.
You managed in one hour what I've failed to do in eight days.
From now on, you're duty-bound to perform miracles.
She's crazy!
Doesn't that idiot know that her lamp could get us all shot as spies?
Shout to her to turn it off.
You, in the ambulance, turn that light off!
Alexis is terrible! He nearly ran over the bishop!
Do you believe in God, Madam?
Yes, especially when I'm afraid. In trains, for example.
Who goes there?
- Colbert. - Baillard.
Let's go.
They were entering the backstage of the drama.
The stage was getting closer, as they stared out at that solitude,
the night congested with grenades.
They could hear the monotonous racket of the skyline being demolished.
The players are getting into costume.
Captain, can we be of any help to your wounded? We have -
No, Madam. They don't need anything. The wounded must be left alone.
The burden of all these casualties will be what stops us winning this war.
The burden?
Captain, my husband was Colonel Valiche.
I'm sure he would have done the same as you, but, well,
the Princess thinks she's in charge.
She's just like any of us - following orders.
Orders that have also placed in our convoy General de Fontenoy's nephew.
Do you understand me?
Madam, it's a pleasure to help. There's nothing you can do here.
But 20km up the road, there's a lone farm. You can't miss it.
The casualties there are so bad, they'll be glad of anything.
- Thank you, Captain. - Madam.
I'd like to speak to the Chief Surgeon.
That's me, what do you want?
We're from the Red Cross. We can evacuate your wounded to Paris,
where our hospital will admit them.
You civilians are lucky. You still have time for charity.
All our wounded are enemy soldiers. A German ambulance got attacked.
If you can take them, I'll be glad to get rid of this vermin.
We'll take them.
At ease, Madam.
Triage the wounded and bring them into the courtyard. Understand?
These two.
Help him.
Let's go.
Bring the other one.
Wolfgang Worms, 1202.
Don't just stand there, go and see if they all have identity bracelets.
Thomas...
These ones can't use our help.
It's not a pretty sight. They're all ready for Val-de-Grâce Hospital.
If we want any little Frenchies for us, we'll have to kidnap them!
Madam, when there's not a war on, what do you do?
Me? I'm up on horseback every morning, riding with the wind from 5 til 7.
I rant, I take lessons with Romuald, I kick up a fuss on Saturdays
at the Petit Palais, and the Honorary Aviators' Club.
You don't think I always wear this overcoat?
I have my style. I like seductive dresses, and ankle bracelets,
and bouquets of crushed violets, and felt hats with fancy feathers!
- Thomas, where have you been? - At war.
Oh, you are a child!
Please give the seminarist a lift. It'll make a good impression.
- Where to? - The Bishop's residence.
Seems that, round here, everything goes through the Bishop.
He handles the requisition orders for petrol.
Do you hear them?
They won't hold on much longer.
It's essential the Princess gets back. And quickly.
Your Eminence, we're transporting wounded soldiers,
and we've run out of petrol. I thought we could -
Yes, I noticed, Madam. You seem to do whatever you feel like,
including crossing my town without due consideration.
And under whose authorisation?
- But I - - I oversee all convoys.
I have absolute authority over the medical service.
And it's not a job for amateurs.
But, Your Eminence, we have legal authorisation.
I can show you our travel permit.
A travel permit is not the same as right-of-way.
I'm not giving you a single drop of petrol.
You've gotten this far without me. So, you can find your own way home.
Come on.
And stop dreaming!
And if I love you, you'd best beware!
Quick, a kiss for the clergy!
It's a miracle!
The Bishop knows Fontenoy. Says the General did him a big favour.
He wants to pay it back.
He gave his secretary the depot key. We can use it whenever we want.
Bravo, General!
Every blow is like torture, and the road is never-ending.
I wonder how many more lives it will cost us to get back.
- Hi, Thomas. - Hi.
- Hello, Henriette. - Hello.
Did Mother send you to meet me? It can't be much fun
for a soldier to wait for a little girl, outside the school gates.
But I don't see the slightest trace of a little girl.
Thank you. It's kind of you not to send me to do my homework.
In any case, we don't have any.
In school now, we're learning to do bandages and injections.
When I get my nurse's diploma, I'll join you on the front lines.
Without Mother here, I worry a lot.
You mustn't. Your mother always says it gives you wrinkles.
I have one, look.
Thomas, do you know anyone as wonderful as the Princess de Bormes?
No, but I know someone who looks just like her.
Answer the questions I ask. Seriously, do you think I look like her?
Let's go and see.
Is it the idea of marriage that turns you off? Or the person asking?
My dear Editor-in-Chief, be patient. Let's all be patient.
I would be lying, if I said I felt true love for you. Or anyone else.
But out of all my men, you're certainly the one I dislike least.
The one you dislike least.
Here we are. I thought I told you to hurry back.
Madam, we came as quickly as possible.
Don't blame Thomas. It was I who came out late.
And thanks to him, we were able to walk through Les Invalides
like it was a public garden.
Madam, you're not in uniform?
Oh, heavens, what am I thinking? Come and help me, my darling.
Mystery of the Orient!
Oh, are you that self-conscious? You go to war, as if it were theatre.
Maybe you think the dead all get up at the end,
and that bombardments are just a fireworks display?
You journalists, always exaggerating.
I'm not going to war, I'm going to a very well-defended town.
And without me, who would evacuate the wounded?
Right, let's go!
Don't look so upset.
Hurry back!
That young man has made your mother even more deranged.
Can't you see how happy she is?
LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT
HOUSE STILL OCCUPIED
How long does it take war to consume a town?
War is a messy eater, nibbling away,
and always leaving the last detail for dessert.
In the cellar of a hotel, the military doctors who had survived
the intense bombardment waited for the storm to pass.
The hospice and hospital were full-up with 300 casualties.
No one could be evacuated, and nobody could be fed.
The wounded were dying from their injuries,
from hunger, thirst, tetanus and gunfire.
I have to tell you that we've no more chloroform.
We need to amputate your leg, all the same.
It's our only chance of saving you.
No one dared venture out under the artillery.
They let the gangrene invade them, like ivy on a statue.
What can I do with a cup of rancid milk and half a sausage, for over 100 men?
We can only help them to die.
Open your mouth, friend.
My fast car can carry two men. I can't possibly take their place.
When the cars are loaded, you must leave and come back tomorrow for another trip.
I'll take care of the casualties here.
I'll stay with Thomas.
Thomas? You really think he cares about the wounded?
Let's go, let's go! Take me away!
To think that I left Henriette alone in Paris.
Pesquel was right, I am a bad mother!
Our military success has brought courage back to these men.
Now that the danger's passed, they've returned.
Each one apologising to those who stayed behind.
Destiny has been as unpredictable and as kind as you, my dear.
But even if Von Kluck didn't make it into Paris,
he entered all the same, in a sense.
In a sense? That's some notion.
Do you mean to say, it isn't proper to believe in our victory?
My dear Pesquel, you'll have to get used to it:
I'm not proper. I lack principles. I wear my hair short.
And I'm prepared to speak to a man face-to-face in my room.
Would you have granted me that, if your hotel hadn't been full with casualties?
Pesquel-Duport, a man of principle, was a strong believer
in the intellectual world; he was from the age of the drawing room.
He wanted his own newspaper, and he got it.
He wanted to be rich, and now he was.
He considered himself a powerful man, and in a fight he was.
But he had a weakness for that profoundly spirited elegance,
so rare in high society, because it was so capricious.
He wanted to marry this still young widow, whose dazzling brilliance
would help his career and sparkle in the intellectual world.
My dear, I think your guests are waiting.
This charity fete wasn't my idea, it was Madame Valiche's.
I'm just providing the grounds, she's decorated them.
Decorated? You'd think Von Kluck actually took this place!
You'll never take Alsace and Lorraine,
No matter what, French we shall remain!
You managed to Germanise the plain,
But our heart, you'll never take!
This way, ladies, this way!
This way, ladies, come and hear the true account of the front line
by two lieutenants who are here on special leave!
It sounds fascinating!
Ladies, you'll learn everything about the hell of life in the trenches.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
...triumph!
1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
...imminent.
We'll take Berlin within one month!
1, 2, 3, 4... 5?
A spade?
Oh! It was the other way round!
They'll be defeated.
People are incredible. They'll make up any excuse to justify disappearing.
Some claim they've already served;
or they have a young daughter to think of; or an old mother.
And you, sir? Why did you leave?
Young man, given my personality,
it was unthinkable that the Germans should take me as a hostage.
I had to leave, for the good of my country.
I was hurt in the shoulder by a piece of shrapnel.
But I was able to drag myself to the next outpost.
Thomas's greatest admirer was Henriette.
She now had two people in her thoughts.
She loved Thomas, but in her mind he was somehow entwined with her mother.
Excuse me.
You never told me about your injury.
Let's not talk about all that. Is that a new dress?
It's not new, it's one of Mother's that I patched up.
Hold it right there, you lovebirds! How about a photograph?
A little smile from the soldier!
Done!
What a ridiculous show.
The show is always ridiculous, even if the intentions are noble.
Did you know that I've been asked to publish a piece
by one of our most illustrious writers?
It starts, "I feel it is my duty to write for those on the front lines".
What a nice gesture.
Some of the language is a little old-fashioned,
but you can see that, even if this fervour doesn't help our cause,
it's doing wonders for our literary heritage.
You know, I don't think I'll be returning to the front line.
I felt quite useless when I was there. And thoroughly out of place.
Thomas, I've come to a decision.
You'll have the use of my car for future convoys. I'm staying in Paris.
That's unthinkable - without you there's no convoy!
It's without you that there's no convoy.
The official service is more organised now,
and thanks to Fontenoy, they'll tolerate our presence.
My place is here, close to Henriette.
It's Thomas I'm worried about.
He's so young and adventurous.
He's like a moth drawn to a flame.
If I'm staying in Paris, it's also to keep him on.
Thomas, Thomas. That's the only name I hear from your lips these days.
You seem highly preoccupied by that schoolboy, my dear.
Is that jealousy I detect?
I'm not jealous of the kid, but of all the attention you're giving him.
This Thomas dropped into your life like a light aircraft.
But where's he from? Where has he appeared from? Who is he?
Surely you know the surname he has?
What proof do you have that it's his?
Do you think I'd leave Henriette in the company of just anyone?
These people have no sense of duty.
The Princess doesn't find the convoy amusing anymore - so, she leaves us.
That little Fontenoy is the same.
Her parade, her orders, all the rest.
It's 6 pm, the convoy needs to be at the Bercy checkpoint by now.
Where the hell are they?
It was 11 am when they went to Les Invalides to get the password.
Turenne Vauban! Turenne Vauban!
Where have you been in such a state?
At Les Invalides. I have a lot of friends over there.
We had some drinks in the mess, to celebrate our future victories.
- Do you have the password? - Turenne Vauban.
Turenne Vauban, Turenne Vauban!
Are you mad?
Shut your mouth!
The tiger shows his stripes.
Let me go, you old fool!
Mark my words, you'll soon be hearing from the Fontenoys!
Hooligan! Hooligan!
Did you hear what he's singing?
That's the password!
He's going to sing it from all the rooftops!
It's treason, I tell you! Treason!
They wanted to strangle me. I can't go back there!
Calm down. I can't understand a word of what you're saying.
How did this story all begin?
Auntie, I told you! They hit me! They insulted my name, my uniform...
I demand to be respected!
You have to go and teach them.
Stop these hysterics. Tomorrow morning, I'll go and speak to this Dr Viernes.
You get your rest, little one.
Here we are, Madam.
Are you Dr Viernes?
Dr Vernes, actually. What's this about, Madam?
It's Miss. I'd like to speak to you in private.
Come in.
I'm listening.
Doctor, I demand an explanation. Yesterday, my nephew came home in tears,
saying that he was insulted and physically assaulted here.
So, you're Thomas's aunt. But he's the one who was out-of-line.
He was a bit tipsy, and started up with an old man.
Anyway, it wasn't anything serious. Excuse me.
Dr Vernes, what is it?
What do you mean impossible? Tell your superior, it's for Fontenoy!
Yes, Fon-te-noy! Yes, I'll hold.
You know Fontenoy?
Who doesn't know such an esteemed name!
Esteemed? It was such a small village, and such a long time ago.
I don't see what the fuss is about.
I'm talking about the General.
- What general? - Thomas's uncle.
But... Guillaume has no family. He's only got me.
- But isn't your name Fontenoy? - Not at all! You're completely wrong.
Guillaume was born in Fontenoy, near Auxerre, but that's all.
Okay, thank you very much, Colonel.
Oh, how could he? How could he?
Yes, Colonel. Understood. De Fontenoy will come by himself to pick it up.
Thank you Colonel. Goodbye.
Calm down, it's okay.
Don't be too *** Thomas. His name is worth having around.
What are you saying?
I'm saying I don't want to hear a thing about this.
I know, you're too modest to let it get out.
But not a word of this conversation to your nephew, okay?
Some very important things depend on it.
Swear on it.
Swear on your prayer book.
I swear.
Do you know who that delightful person was?
It was Thomas's aunt, Miss de Fontenoy.
I'm worried about Thomas. I heard him last night, and normally -
Thomas just had a little altercation with one of our staff.
He went crying to his aunt, and that's why she was here.
Just a bit of childish silliness.
Guillaume Thomas was an impostor.
He was an orphan, and only 16. Half the time, he lived in a dream world.
He was a compulsive liar. He believed he was something he wasn't.
Like any child, or animal, his deceit was without malice.
He was his own fool.
When war was declared, he was enraged.
Finding that his lies could lead him to adventure, Thomas made himself older.
He announced that he was going to fight, and stepped out one day
in a uniform he got from a classmate.
What happened next is what happens to any child who plays games.
He began to believe the game.
He sewed on his own stripes.
He was surprised to learn that he could go to prison.
It never occurred to him to check himself, to think,
"How do I get out", or "I'm cheating",
or "I'm a good-for-nothing", or "I'm a clever man".
He marched ever onwards, tangled up in his fabrications.
It was nothing. Thomas is a live wire, and Mr d'Orange, a little reactionary.
As you know, Thomas has a room here. He's dined with us regularly for months.
When he's not here, I'm so distracted, I think all kinds of things.
Ah, Thomas, here's our boy!
Come in, come in, our prodigal son!
You look a mess.
Is that the appearance of a proper young man?
You're out getting drunk. Causing a scandal.
It's because of you that the convoy is stalled. And the wounded are waiting.
By the way, your aunt came to visit me. A very pious lady - like the General.
Why haven't I met your aunt?
She's a saint. She never leaves home, apart from going to church.
She must have come by, this morning,
because she was going down to St-Honore-des-Lots to burn candles.
Comb your hair.
There's a war on. And I'm stuck here, useless.
You may feel useless, but you'd feel the same stuck in a trench.
No. Out there...
- Thomas. You're not going back. - How can I?
Even if you could... don't.
I'm asking you not to. Out of friendship.
Instead of telling himself that Henriette loved him,
and that he loved Henriette, which didn't fit the script,
Thomas fixated on his game and attributed his unhappiness
to a lack of adventure.
So, we're agreed.
Because you're getting restless here, I'm sending you to one of
the canteens as a front-line reporter.
On condition that you don't tell Madame de Bormes.
I'll just say I received my new orders.
And when you've told the Princess you'll be leaving,
I'll get your news updates by the coincidence that you've been assigned
to a privileged command outpost.
This canteen. Where is it?
Between Koksijde and Nieuwpoort, on the Belgian front.
There are Belgians, Algerian Zouaves, artillery, English, naval infantry...
Thomas, once again lost in layers of fantasy,
thought he could still salvage his dream.
Don't do this, it's crazy!
It's an outpost for disabled soldiers.
Leave me be!
Henriette is just like me. Until now, she had her father's dreadful calmness.
But recently I've found her irrational, like me.
This metamorphosis brings us closer together.
Thomas's departure is making her sick. And I'm happy.
The Belgian front meant the North sea, the Yser river.
Fields. Woods. Sea trenches.
Near St George, the naval infantry watched over territory
gained at huge cost in the battle of the Yser.
The war had transformed the holiday resorts of Belgian bathers
into houses of crime.
The Moroccan Goumiers tirelessly built and rebuilt the defences
on sand and water.
To accommodate Thomas, Pesquel-Duport had revived
the morale-boosting canteen service.
Thomas was taking someone's place that was still warm.
He was assigned to the 40th.
He doesn't love me.
He doesn't care.
Or maybe you love me, and you think I don't love you.
No, you love me. And you're staying away out of consideration.
You don't want Mother to think badly of you.
My dear,
is it a privilege of your canteens, that one is never granted leave?
I've told you before, the canteen was evacuated during the Somme,
and Thomas has been assigned to guard the equipment that remains.
Nothing could be simpler.
He explains it all in his letter:
"I cannot leave the equipment. They would have me executed".
It's a ruse, I'm sure of it.
He must be afraid we'd prevent him from going back.
Pesquel, you've got to find a way.
Clearly, you miss him.
Don't worry, I'll find a way.
I think I may already have. You'll see your soldier boy again soon.
Be kind and do this for us. I mean, for him.
He must be pining out there, our poor Thomas, all alone in the wilderness.
To the health of Guillaume Thomas de Fontenoy!
And all that.
Abandoned by his own at the roadside, taken in and adopted
by us, the Naval Infantry, and worthy of our motto:
"Boredom is a deadly enemy - and I swear to defeat it by any means!"
But that's not all.
Paris is sending us one of their finest performing troupes,
and we Naval Infantrymen will make it our duty
to send a welcome party to meet these actresses.
To the actresses!
Well, then, Sir. Do women have to make the first move now?
You can thank the Editor, dear Thomas. It's thanks to him, we're here.
My paper is organising theatre shows for the army.
I hired Madame de Bormes and her daughter to join the cast.
- I thought you'd be glad to see them. - Thank you, Sir.
Ask him how much he's missed us.
First, I'd like you to meet my colleagues.
Captain Roy, of the Fantomas.
Naval Artilleryman Pagot, of the Sudden Death.
Princess de Bormes, Miss de Bormes, Mr Pesquel.
What are you doing, my dear Maestro?
Looking for enemy planes.
- Shall we go? - We'll take the women!
See you in Koksijde!
- Come with me, Maestro. - Coming.
I'm Miss Monthabor, la-la-la-la
The Drum-Major's daughter, la-la-la-la
I'm Miss Monthabor, la-la-la-la
The Drum-Major's daughter, la-la-la-la
"Horizon Blue":
Goodbye, Garance, there must be a reason
And our hero resigns himself to be exposed
But to clothe you, only the horizon is worthy
You, who are the garrison of our future!
Defending our future, in the horizon's robes
Oh! That smart uniform and its noble orders!
This blue is a sign, by which you will defeat
Their cavern greys and prison browns!
Because they've chosen shades of earth
I think it's good, and just, and right
That we grow to confuse you with blue;
And the world will, too, for Berlin and Vienna
Can barely mobilise one wall
So, may our army be the horizon to come!
Edmond Rostand.
Come, children of the Homeland, The day of glory has arrived!
Against us, tyranny's Bloody banner is raised,
Do you hear in the countryside Those ferocious soldiers roaring?
They come up to our arms to slit The throats of our sons and wives!
- What's that? - No idea.
To arms, citizens,
Form your battalions,
Let's march, let's march!
May an impure blood
Water our furrows!
After the show, we'll take you to see the lines.
We'll go in secret because the General has forbidden civilians from going near.
They won't recognise you, anyway.
I don't know what's come over me.
I feel very nervous.
Don't be afraid. The enemy's sleeping. Stay down, though.
Excuse me, Miss.
Have you seen my little girl?
A girl like you, but much less solemn. Much less sad.
Henriette!
Oh, Mother! Thomas is going to get himself killed because of me.
He loves me, Mother. And he thinks I don't love him.
You love him? That's marvellous! Why didn't you say so before?
I don't know. But now I'm scared.
Are you sure you're right? Did he tell you something?
No. But I know.
- And are you sure about how you feel? - Mother! How can you -
Then, you mustn't leave him in doubt - write to him!
And stop crying. You'll get puffy eyelids.
I don't know how to start this letter.
I want to make it a short one because...
I... am... not...
a good writer.
I... love you... too.
I truly love you.
WARNING - POISON GAS CLOUDS
Say, for someone who gets his leave tomorrow, you do look miserable!
I wish I was already gone.
- Look! Isn't leave a beautiful thing? - Cool it, turn that light off.
Don't worry, you'll see your sweetheart again!
Turn it off, damn it!
It was a stray bullet.
I killed him.
The rhythm of the Nouba echoed in Roy's empty heart.
Its funeral dirge accompanied his mourning.
Any news?
No, sector's quiet.
- Bye. - Bye.
Want to play?
It's starting up like the other day.
It's the listening post.
They've nothing better to do
than give away their position by firing off rounds.
This time they've gone too far. I'll teach them.
Hey!
You're keeping everyone awake! You want us to reply?
Stop shooting, for pity's sake!
Here's a story no one will believe.
Command has no idea the French and German lines almost touch.
And that our listening post is only 12 metres from the enemy's.
The Germans respect it, and rightly so.
If we can't sleep during the ceasefires...
Yes, it's me. I can't hear you.
Hello? What? Impossible, I'm alone.
Yes. He's here.
I can't hear a thing. I'm hanging up.
The only thing I got. It was Post F.
They have a message for us and no one can bring it down.
And I've got no one to go and get it.
The trenches are all collapsed from the torpedoes, the other day.
The whole path is exposed.
I'm not risking a kid's life for a message.
My idiot men have no sense of danger.
You can't go out there whistling, making dog sounds,
showing off a few metres away from the Germans.
I don't whistle, I don't bark. I'll even crawl, if necessary.
I'll just take a longer way round.
No. It's too dangerous.
Not the long way round. You said it yourself.
Fontenoy, be careful. That's an order. Losing Pagot was bad enough.
There's also a letter for you from Paris.
I didn't want to tell you, but since you're going for the message...
A final curtain rises.
The child and the spectacle become one.
Halt! Who goes there?!
Fontenoy!
Who goes there?
Guillaume de -
One bullet. It's over. I'm not pretending. I'm dead.
But inside him, fiction and reality were one and the same.
Guillaume Thomas was dead.
Miss de Bormes couldn't handle the shock.
She died of a non-fatal nervous illness.
The truth is that, despite precautions, she poisoned herself.
In Nieuwpoort, the naval cemetery is a rudderless sailboat.
An eternal repose, with an overflowing crew.