Angelique et le roy

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At the behest of Louis XIV,

Joffrey of Peyrac, the Count of Toulouse,

was burnt at the stake for witchcraft,

Angelique survived.

Hounded by the King's men,

she took refuge in the Cour des Miracles.

She built up a new fortune,

joining the bourgeoisie.

She finally decided

to win back a place at Court

by marrying her cousin,

Philippe of Plessis-Belliere.

Fascinated by Angelique's beauty,

the King grudgingly gave his blessing.

Soon the Flanders War

took his friend from him,

but opened the way to

an otherwise doomed love.

I am dying, Sire.

You are raving.

It's because of the fever.

No, Sire.

Life is leaving my body,

but my wits remain.

- The King loves my wife.

- What?

Yes.

The King of France

wants the only possession

I am unable to relinquish,

my wife.

But, Sire,

I too love Angelique.

And since

I cherish my King more than my own life,

existence had become

too heavy a burden to bear.

My friend.

I pray Your Majesty will forgive me

for being so brutally forthright.

The only excuse

is my present situation.

ANGELIQUE AND THE KING

Don't stiffen up, Monsieur Cantor.

Look at your brother.

- Swim, darling!

- I'm afraid.

Monsieur, the men of our family

are never afraid!

You will uphold that tradition.

Why are you so hard on the boy?

In this day and age,

only the strong survive.

I love my sons too much

to mollycoddle them.

Madame, I find you as splendid as ever.

Desgrez. A man of Court now?

Monsieur of Reynie and myself

are at present lighting up Paris.

A lantern at each crossroads.

Our capital, the City of Light!

- What brings you here?

- The King.

- What does he want?

- You.

A joke?

The truth! With your mourning over,

he would like to see you at Court.

I refuse!

That is rather delicate.

For the King's wishes are our commands.

I shall not go!

I do not wish to see the King.

Twice he took my happiness.

First with Joffrey, and then with Philippe.

It was the war that took

Plessis-Belliere, not the King.

The war didn't kill him,

he let himself be killed.

As you well know.

In that case...

The King has a diplomatic mission for you.

A mission?

Of the highest importance.

Well, he could give it to another.

You will remain here,

and your sons will know

neither glory nor honors.

By their birth they deserve regiments.

Instead of that, they'll be country squires,

wielding swords while wearing clogs!

What is the nature of this mission?

It's enormous!

Economic, political, strategic and military.

It would have been a unique opportunity

to scale with ease

the higher rungs of glory.

- You're mocking me.

- No.

The feat you could accomplish

would eclipse the name

of Madame of Montespan,

the King's favorite.

- Explain.

- I cannot. I am but the messenger.

You know what you are, Desgrez?

A corrupter!

Hardly!

So be it! I shall go to Court

and endure the King...

Unless it is he who has to endure me!

- What is it?

- It's Bontemps, Sire.

Enter!

The person is here, Sire.

Louis!

- What's going on?

- Work, Madame. Always work.

Sleep now.

And you, Sire, will you not sleep?

Affairs of state

must come before sleep, Madame.

Sire, I...

Stand up.

The Court has missed you.

The King, too.

Time has changed nothing, Madame.

Quite the contrary,

as regards my feelings for your person.

Forgive me, Your Majesty,

but Monsieur Desgrez spoke of a mission.

I see that your inflexibility, too,

remains unchanged.

If my character displeases you,

I shall try not to let it show.

It does not displease me.

It amuses and enchants me.

Wounds me, too, on occasion.

The kingdom of Persia.

The Russians have proposed an alliance.

Were this to be ratified,

all Christendom would be in peril.

The Persians must be allied to us,

not to the Muscovites.

Lord above, Sire! What can I do?

See to it that the alliance treaty is signed.

- You wish me to go to Persia?

- No.

His Excellency Bachtiary Bey,

the Shah's Ambassador, is in Paris.

I know nothing of diplomacy.

- We are not of that opinion.

- I don't speak Persian.

Your eyes, your smile, your posture

and even your hair speak Persian.

You will have Saint-Amon as interpreter.

Saint-Amon? He doesn't have all his wits!

But he has his tongue.

Of all my diplomats,

only he speaks Persian.

May I know what exactly

Your Majesty expects of me?

Make the Bey laugh,

tell him of our customs.

In short, tempt him to Versailles.

So far, Saint-Amon's blunders

have kept him away.

Sire, this is a mission

for a courtesan, not a diplomat!

Good God! So much wrath!

I simply thought that

where a mediocre man had failed,

a woman such as yourself

could easily succeed.

What kind of woman is that, Sire?

You do not entrust this mission

to the Marquise of Plessis-Belliere,

but to the widow of the sorcerer of Peyrac!

At times you go too far!

You paint me blacker than I am.

And I shall prove it to you.

Monsieur Colbert!

Yes, Madame, my best minister

sleeps but four hours a night.

Exactly according

to Your Majesty's wishes, Sire.

Thank you, Monsieur Colbert.

The restitution order

for the Hotel de Beautreillis,

the property of your first husband,

Joffrey of Peyrac, the Count of Toulouse.

Thank you, Sire.

Will you see the Persian Ambassador?

Will Your Majesty permit me

to think it over?

We feel ready to permit you anything.

Sire, I would not like to think

that you consider this

the price of my acceptance.

Madame!

You are quite impossible.

But, whatever you do, never change.

Men!

Sire, forgive me for intruding,

but I thought Your Majesty should know

that Madame

the Marquise of Montespan is awake.

- Very awake?

- Prodigiously so, Sire.

Bontemps, you are able

to express so much in a single word!

Wait for me here.

It can't be!

Who are you?

- And who are you?

- This is my home.

Who are you?

My name is Savary. I'm an apothecary.

- How did you get in?

- Secretly.

After the bailiffs took the Count of Peyrac's

furniture and treasures,

I tidied the place up as best I could,

and moved in.

Why?

I was the humble disciple

of the greatest philosopher ever.

The Count knew about everything, Madame.

- Come.

- The Count knew about everything.

He knew about metals buried

under mountains, Oriental perfumes,

Venetian poisons and medicines unknown

to the Sorbonne.

He was close to the great secret,

the chemical process by means of which

man could control a force

capable of overturning the world!

Such a man could not have died

at the stake.

Alas! From the day he was arrested,

I never again saw the Count of Peyrac.

And that?

I lit it, for my work.

Come.

And this?

Whose shirt is this, all stained with blood?

It was your husband's, Madame.

I bought it off the executioner

immediately afterwards.

Tell me he isn't dead! Tell me he's alive!

Madame, you must not entertain

unreasonable hopes.

I was right there.

I saw the flames lick his legs,

reach his chest,

blacken his head and totally consume him.

It's you.

Your disappointment

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