Paris Page #2

My brother's coming

from Cameroon soon.

Then there'll be

three adults in the house.

You absolutely must find

those pay slips...

Excuse me, if you want my help...

Without those pay slips,

you can't get any subsidies.

What month was that for?

You're only missing two!

I'm missing two pay slips.

Have you looked everywhere?

All the documents are there.

Yes, but you're missing some.

- What's the problem?

- It's my brother.

He was supposed to arrive a while ago.

She's getting impatient.

Try to be on time

for these meetings!

Sorry.

Before we move on

to general business,

Elise has a personal announcement.

Over the next few months,

I need some time for myself.

So if I could go on half-time

or even 4/5-time,

that would help me out.

Have you spoken to Diedrich?

- Not yet.

- He'll never agree.

- Not now!

- You say time "for you."

What does that mean?

Well, it means...

"for me."

I need to spend time at home.

You okay, there, "Marie-Antoinette"?

Just great!

I'm buying tons of evening gowns

to waltz around the Hall of Mirrors.

Take it easy!

Hearing you say "time for myself..."

I need time for myself, too.

We all do.

- Look at Suzini!

- What, Suzini?

You need time for yourself, too!

- I don't give a damn about myself.

- That's what I meant.

I need some time for myself!

I think I do enough

for everyone else here.

I'm not gonna tell my life story.

I mean,

I'm just asking for a little solidarity

for a short time.

Your life is your life.

Your problems don't interest me.

But I remind you,

you're an elected representative.

Yeah, that I know.

And you wanna leave now,

during negotiations.

I know. It's a drag but...

I can't carry out those responsibilities

during this period.

You just think of yourself!

- I'd love that.

- Thanks.

It's always been like that in Paris.

The common opinion

that there's an old Paris

and a modernity

that's brutally struggling

to destroy and deface it

is completely false.

An ancient city

continually recreates its modernity

out of this conflict

between the old and the new.

I'll be frank with you.

I'm very torn.

The very idea of popularization

depresses me completely.

I'm not sure we do any great service

to history,

or the audience,

by democratizing everything.

It's not some expert's caprice.

When I watch

those educational programs

on the national networks

with my colleagues elucidating

on Louis XVI,

the Commune, the French Revolution,

the history of World War II...

I'm not sure they're of much use.

I understand your reticence.

For a great historian like you...

Don't start! You think,

"He's not buying this sh*t,

I'll butter him up!"

No, not at all. You're mistaken.

Don't wear yourself out.

I'll think it over.

It's in your hands.

Not to "butter you up"

but there aren't many great historians

with a Paris specialty.

Just out of curiosity,

how much do these things pay?

Somewhere in the neighborhood

of 100,000 euros minimum.

Of course, on top of that,

there are points.

All these people

visit the Palais Royal.

Everyone has a curiosity

about our heritage.

Everyone has a right

to your vast knowledge.

Why wouldn't they?

It's appalling

what I'm about to say...

but I'll do it.

French researchers mostly research

how to make ends meet.

Whatever your motivation,

I'd be thrilled.

And not just me. The public, too.

All these people who...

All I know about Paris,

I offer to you,

ladies and gentlemen.

Everything I know shall be yours.

Verneuil...

I have something to tell you.

I'm giving a "Merovingian Update"

at the colloquium.

What I've got on Pepin the Short

and the Carolingians

will bring the house down!

You're coming?

I'm not sure. I have a new job.

Oh! I got hold of some coins

in Angoulme

that completely contradict

the theory of direct taxation

under Dagobert! Yes, sir!

Remember my old professor, Vignard?

The thesis advisor

who liked you so much.

I don't want to become Vignard.

He's become this hideous old fossil,

rambling on about stuff

that interests nobody.

I feel like, if I go on like this,

giving my little courses,

skulking around libraries,

consulting absurd archives,

I'm doomed

to become Vignard - a rat!

A rat!

Maybe it's na?ve, but

I've always thought knowledge

was about opening the mind,

a kind of awakening.

But Vignard scares me.

I'm afraid of his obsession

with historical minutia,

his maniacal, obsessive side.

These days,

everything seems pathetic to me.

You ought to take up squash again!

Your classes going okay?

Yes. They're fine.

The other day in class,

I had a genuine illumination.

Apropos of what we already

know about Haussmann

and his rectilinear layout

of the avenues,

I'd like to touch upon gardens

and the relationship

between the city and nature.

Three students

have prepared presentations

on three spatial approaches,

reflecting three ways of thinking:

French gardens, English gardens,

and Japanese gardens.

Which garden

is your presentation on?

- French gardens.

- Go ahead.

When I saw that magnificent girl,

I thought beauty really is horrible.

Added to youth,

it's completely unfair.

Almost indecent.

I studied her face, her eyebrows,

her eyes, her mouth.

Her face was sublime.

And I thought, why?

Why her? Why is she so beautiful?

And why are all the others so...

not ugly... but, let's say,

banal, invisible?

There's something horrible...

Beauty really is disgusting!

Did you see her after class?

That's not his style.

Well, I almost did.

Really? And?

Obviously, some kid beat me to it.

The idea of waiting on line

was depressing.

Then I overheard what she told him.

What did she say?

Laetitia!

She said,

"0603

"435363."

That telephone number

was engraved in my brain.

Maybe it was its musical quality,

with its repetition of threes.

Or its progressive quality -

Anyway, it was like a magic formula.

So it stayed with me.

Did you approach her?

Did you call her?

Worse.

I sent a text message.

A text message?

A text message.

I followed her after class.

I masked my own cell phone number.

She went for coffee

and I sent her a text.

I pretended to be a young guy.

I know. It's moronic.

- What?

- Why?

Because I'm an old fart!

Trying to see her

seemed out of place.

What did you write?

I wrote, uh...

We R in class 2 gether

U R awesome

I'm 2 hot 4 U

Oh, no. You didn't?

Yeah.

"U R awesome. I'm 2 hot 4 U."

You okay?

We just got here.

We're sleeping over.

Me and the kids.

- Hi, everybody.

- Hi!

Can you say hello?

- Hello.

- How are you?

And you?

- What?

- What did you tell them?

Not much. I'd rather you told them.

It's better if it comes from you.

What did you say?

Well, I said...

we were camping out at your place.

It's fine!

We've gotta be honest

and say I'm gonna croak.

That's not certain.

Then it'll be a nice surprise,

if it's not true.

We're not saying you're gonna croak.

We could say...

you can't work for a while

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