The Green Mare (La Jument verte)

THE GREEN MARE

Run!

The green mare!

The green mare!

- Hey! - What's wrong?

Come and see. The green mare.

It is the green mare!

The green mare!

The green mare!

In Claquebue, under Napoleon III, one day a

green mare was born to Jules Haudouin, farmer and horse dealer.

This miracle brought father Haudouin fame and wealth.

People flocked to see the green mare, from all over the country. Naturally.

They even came from Paris. That says it all.

Hey! Sir!

- Do you know where the green mare is? - Ah, you too? Are you going to repaint her?

- Is she less green? - Certainly not!

So green that it is scandalous. That beast is going to die.

Let her die, along with her owner. Look, she lives there.

Thank you very much.

Rotten beast! Why aren't you blue?

Nice idea. It would be nice to have her portrait.

I want to paint her in a green meadow.

- Green on green, then you can't see anything. - Yes you can, I'll paint her red.

But she is green. How do you recognize her then?

- Fine, green then. But the meadow becomes red. - Then you can see her even better.

- Aline! - Yes, boss. I'm coming.

Take this gentleman, a painter, to the mare.

- Let him do as he pleases there. - This way, sir.

Why are you wasting your time?

I waste my time, so that takes time.

She's beautiful, isn't she?

- Do you also paint nudes? - Always, after all I paint animals.

Don't you want to paint a woman?

Yes, but look, it is your portrait.

Your mouth, eyes and neck, right?

She would talk and laugh like you.

- How do I laugh? - Listen.

Oh no! Oh no! Let me go!

Be quiet now!

Be quiet.

- That pervert, that's the limit! - I was just taking a break.

Lazy bastard! Get out, and quickly!

- Your maid... - I take care of the maids.

Get rid of all this junk.

- I'll keep it. - No.

I'll keep that as payment for the room. Go away or I'll call the gendarmes.

You're a good one after all. This didn't cost me a cent.

But the green mare died at the age of ten,

and left Jules Haudouin, his wife and two sons devastated.

Only her portrait remained,

but even that aroused jealousy among the neighbours, because she had become a legend.

Honoré! The hammer.

Poor beast.

Why did you become a veterinarian if you couldn't cure her?

At school you learn nothing about diseases of green mares!

Come on, come on!

- She died suddenly. - Come on.

Sometimes it seems as if she is going to speak.

What are you laughing at?

For no reason.

There you are hanging in the place of honour, beauty.

Next to the Emperor. Try to do better than him.

Oh, Jules!

That fool threatens to plunge us into war!

Unfortunately, Jules Haudouin never got over the death of his favourite mare.

And died a few months later.

That's it then...

- You came. - Of course.

We are grateful to you.

We were there for his mother too.

We blame you for nothing. That was all that was missing.

That does affect you, doesn't it?

She was quite something. And he was lucky.

I wish you the same.

Thank you, Zèphe.

Of course it doesn't happen every day that a green mare falls from the sky.

Luck goes to those who deserve it.

Luck comes to those who have luck.

Say, what are you doing?

Look, it was just a joke.

- Bastard! Thief! - Keep him.

You can keep this one. And that one!

- Did you see that? - Mom, come on!

Excuse me.

- Look. - Honoré! Well done, boy.

A Maloret, imagine that. You want her for your veterinary practice.

- Yes. "At the green mare." - No, she would get bored.

- Thank you. - Here, instead

I give you this cheerful fellow instead. You suit each other well.

Better than your Republic.

- Just like you. - Mom...

Come on! Is it finally over, boys?

Jules died just in time; his fear proved justified,

war came. The Emperor had arranged it well.

I'm sorry, madam, but war is war. We need horses.

Requisition all horses, and quickly.

If your brother had been there.

Here he was less dangerous than in the forest.

Shut up.

Franc-tireurs! Murderers who shoot people in the back.

If you want to kill soldiers, you dress like a soldier.

- Honoré is hot-tempered. - If he fires a shot,

we're all done for, Mom, executed by firing squad.

Shut up. There he is.

Is that your son, madam?

Yes, sir, officer. At your service.

Good. I'll take him as a hostage.

- Hey, Toucheur. Are you all right? - No.

- We shouldn't have come. - But we're here.

- No reason to stay. - That's right.

We hear their music.

The wind comes from there.

So they're trying to surround us.

So retreat. Give me your rifle, get out of here.

Wait for the order, damn it!

Wait for me!

Wait for me!

Wait for me, damn it!

Wait for me!

Stop! Stop!

No, not that way! Not that way!

Not at my house! Not at my house, you bastard!

- Have you seen Toucheur? - Yes, he ran away too.

- He went inside with you. - Damn it!

Do you need two? You're a tough guy.

- Here, take one. - Hey, now!

- What did you do with Honoré? - Here he is.

Are you crazy? A franc-tireur here?

- And you? - I don't hide among others.

We'll come back after the war. Oh! There are the straw-eaters.

- My God! - What do we do?

To my room, under the bed. Quickly!

- Look, there it is. - Thank you.

Let's go!

What is it?

- We have been betrayed. - No, really?

- Yes, Zèphe betrayed us. - Oh, that bastard... That bastard...

Bastard, you can say that. Don't tremble so much, control yourself.

I can't help it.

There are franc-tireurs in the house.

- What are they doing here? - No idea. Search everything!

Let them search. There are no franc-tireurs here.

- Where is the bedroom? - There is nobody in the bedroom.

- Then we'll go upstairs. - There is nobody anyway.

Then we will go upstairs anyway.

If I'm going to die anyway, then not down here.

Oh no! Not that!

Oh! Not after all!

No! That can't be.

This time I won't tremble.

We found nothing, sergeant.

Sergeant?

- And? - Nothing found.

- Ah! You are old. - Well...

It doesn't matter. After all, it's war.

Don't look like that. What have I done wrong?

- If you ever tell anyone... - Tell anyone what?

A woman who sacrificed herself for us.

I don't know what you mean.

- Are they gone? - Yes, they are gone.

Well, here we are. We were in the attic.

- They didn't go upstairs. - No.

Why don't you make an omelet or something like that.

We're both hungry. Aren't you?

Yes, me too.

The mother had no regrets; she did nothing wrong, she was forced.

Yet she went to confession. "Did you enjoy it?" asked the priest.

"Certainly," she answered. The priest said:

"That changes everything if you enjoyed it."

So she had to atone bitterly.

So much that the poor woman died within six months.

At her funeral, old Maloret appeared.

Zèphe was there too.

With his wife Anaïs.

Yet Zèphe caused her early death.

But he regretted nothing.

But a year later, in turn, Zèphe Maloret had to bury his father.

The Haudouin brothers and their whole family paid a courtesy visit.

The families did not fight, but they could not stand each other.

And then 20 years passed. But what are 20 years in a family feud?

Hey, Parisienne, are you coming here to rest?

I didn't see you. Turn around, Honoré. Excuse me.

No excuses. A visit from a pretty girl is always welcome.

This is not a posture to receive compliments in.

Rather for something else. Look.

What if I made you pay for the right of way?

I would resist. You could be my father.

Exactly. If I were your father, you wouldn't resist, they say.

- If you believe what people say. - Indeed. The Malorets are all like that.

From father to son.

Rather from father to daughter, I'd say.

What are you doing? Why are you scrubbing the kitchen?

- Your brother is coming Sunday. - He doesn't eat off the floor.

The vet likes his house clean.

"His house"?

Didn't you sell it?

Not really sold, he bought me out.

Because apparently I owed him money.

He handles his affairs well. Not like someone I know.