Madame Bovary Page #8

---

sitting on a high, stupid stool|that I'll never get off till the day I die.

Now you can laugh.

All my success.

I failed in Yonville. I failed in Paris.

Now I can't even succeed at pretending|that I am what I'm not.

I thought you'd hate me.

Did you see the master in Rouen?

He went in last night.|He went looking for you.

- Has he come back yet?|- No.

Why, isn't it proper for me to forgive you?|Surely other women have forgiven you.

- Or isn't that fair?|- It's fair enough.

I just don't happen to remember you|in terms of other women.

- How was Italy?|- Can't you guess? Without you?

I'm sure you found other amusements.

Why should I deny it?

Emma, why did you come here to see me?

Why, I came to tell you that I forgive you.

You're pale.

Those lines around your eyes,|I don't remember them.

I'm sure there's a great deal|you don't remember.

Would you offer me some brandy?

Oh, Rodolphe, forgive me.

Being here again, seeing you again,|I suppose in a way I still love you.

To the happiest of memories|and the saddest.

- Why didn't you take me with you?|- Don't, Emma.

If you loved me,|why didn't you take me with you?

I'm a fairly courageous man, Emma,|but I was afraid of you.

No.

Oh, I ask for too much, I know it.|I expected too much of you...

You asked for something|that consumes while it burns,

that destroys everything it touches.|I didn't want to be destroyed.

Rodolphe. Rodolphe, if I promised...

Oh, I was childish. I confess it.

We all have to grow up, you know.

Supposing I promised|never to expect too much of you again.

Oh, well, don't look so gloomy.

Really, I swear it,|I'd never ask too much of you.

Oh, Emma.

Well, you can at least look at me,|can't you?

I'm not that unattractive, am I?|I'm not that pale.

My eyes, they aren't that ugly, are they?|Oh, here.

Here.

I need money.

- Money.|-15,000 francs.

Why didn't I know it was money?

- Oh, I love you. I do love you, I swear it.|- Oh, get up, Emma. I can't stand it.

Only 15,000 francs.|I'll do anything you ask.

- I'll never ask too much of you, believe me.|- I believe you. I pity you.

- And I don't have it.|- You don't...

Why should I share your humiliation?|Go home. You're destroyed.

I said, I'm afraid of you.|I said, I don't have it.

You don't have it?

You don't have it?

I'd have given my life for you.|I'd have begged on the highroads.

I'd have stolen for you.|I'd have worked on my hands and knees.

I said I don't have it.

The bell? At this hour of the night?|Who can that be?

Well, well, just don't stand there.|Go see who it is.

No! No!

Don't, don't!

If you say one word,

if you make one sound, I shall say|that you gave it to me by mistake.

Say one word, Justin, make one sound...

Justin. Who was it? Justin.

You've seen this?

I said have you seen this?

Come to your senses.

I'm not going to ask you|where you've been.

I know where you've been.

I'm not going to ask you|where you were in Rouen.

I can guess where you were in Rouen.

Don't hate me, Charles.|Don't hate me now.

What's the matter with you?

Emma?

What is it?

Arsenic. Arsenic.

Don't let go.

Don't let go, Emma. There'll be|another doctor here by morning.

No. No.

I hurt, Charles. I hurt inside.

- You're crying.|- No, Emma.

Always trying to save me.

Why are you always trying to save me?

I love you, Emma.

You came in out of the rain,|and you were so wet,

and you'd come so far.

Please. Please, please, please...

Where are we, Charles?

- Is this our house?|- Yes, this is our house.

I'm going to make you|the most beautiful home,

like... Like pictures in magazines

when I was a child.

There's not something wrong|with things being beautiful, is there?

No, Emma, there...

What did I do?

Hold me, Charles. Hold me.

Through this holy unction

and through his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon|all the sins that you have committed

through the sense of hearing. Amen.

Through this holy unction|and through his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon|all the sins that you have committed

through the sense of sight. Amen.

Through this holy unction and through|his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon|all the sins that you have committed

by the sense of taste and of speech. Amen.

Through this holy unction|and through his divine mercy,

may the Lord pardon|all the sins that you have committed

through the sense of touch.

Amen.

And so it was.

A woman had been born into this world|and had died young.

She had touched on numerous lives

some lightly,

some not so lightly.

Some despised her.

Some mourned her a little.

Some profited by her.

And then, of course,|there were those she had ruined,

who would never cease to love her.

Now there are those|who are offended by her

and who see in Emma Bovary's life|an attack upon public morality.

Gentlemen of the court,|I maintain that there is truth in her story,

and that a morality which has within it|no room for truth, is no morality at all.

Men may dislike truth.

Men may find truth offensive|and inconvenient.

Men may persecute the truth, subvert it,|try by law to suppress it,

but to maintain that men|have the final power over truth

is blasphemy and the last illusion.

Truth lives forever, men do not.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes