La Collectionneuse

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SIX MORAL TALES

1ST PROLOGUE - HAYDEE

2ND PROLOGUE - DANIEL

We must all realize our full potential.

Those who don't are like the people in Versailles,

who surround those who do.

Those who do are inevitably surrounded and aggressive.

For example, this is perfect.

It couldn't be better.

It's painting.

It's thought encircled...

by razor blades.

I'm bleeding.

That is to say...

it's unique...

taking nothing as its cause.

Encircled by its own thought, as if by razor blades.

Impossible to hold.

My finger is proof.

It was done on purpose.

Not your cut. But that was done on purpose.

I'd like other people to get cut, not you.

You want people to cut themselves on art?

Other people, yes. But not you.

You're sharp. You shouldn't get cut. That bothers me.

I don't mind getting cut.

Doesn't it hurt?

I surround myself with dangerous people.

You remind me of elegant people in the 18th century

who were very concerned with their appearance

and the effect they had on others.

That was already a creation, the beginning of the Revolution.

The distance, established by elegance,

from those who aren't elegant is crucial.

It creates a kind of void around the person,

and it's that void around the person

that you create, with your objects too.

But you could just as well do without your objects.

You yourself are the can of paint surrounded by razor blades,

as was Saint-Just.

The razor blades are words...

or perhaps silence...

or possibly elegance...

a certain yellow.

3RD PROLOGUE - ADRIEN

Perhaps style is more important than beauty.

But in love, the notion of beauty is essential.

We love someone because we find him handsome.

No, we find him handsome because we love him.

Yes, a man may be ugly yet have immense charm.

If he's loved, his ugliness is transformed into beauty.

For me an ugly man has no charm.

Nothing's possible. It's over immediately.

What's over?

Anything. Even the most superficial relationship.

Even a quick drink together. I can't. If he's ugly, I leave.

Can you be friends with someone you find ugly?

Ugliness and beauty don't enter into my friendships.

I don't see my friends as either ugly or handsome.

But friendship doesn't happen in five minutes.

It takes several encounters.

How do you manage that with someone you find ugly?

I run. It's impossible.

It's not a question of ugliness.

Among crowds of beautiful people,

I'm only interested in those

who possess something more than beauty.

Someone of absolute beauty would bore me.

I'm not talking about Greek beauty.

Absolute beauty doesn't exist.

For me to find someone handsome,

sometimes the tiniest thing is enough.

Perhaps something between the nose and mouth.

So anyone has a chance of appealing to you.

At least a chance.

No, that's the problem. I find very few people handsome.

And it really hampers my relationships terribly,

because if I'm repelled, I never see that person again.

And since many people repel me -

- You never change your mind? - No.

The first thing I inquire if I'm asked to dinner

isn't "What does he do?" but "Is he handsome?"

And ugly ones are always doomed? To the ovens with them?

Yes, they deserve it.

Ugliness is an insult to others.

One's responsible for one's looks.

For instance, a nose moves or ages

according to how one thinks or speaks.

Besides, I'm not talking about static beauty.

One's movements, expressions, gait -

all that counts, doesn't it?

How long will you stay in London?

At least five weeks.

Your modeling won't take up all that time.

No, but I have lots of friends to see.

And I love London in July.

Come down to the Riviera instead.

Rodolphe is lending me his villa.

I have lots of things to do.

Earlier you said you didn't. Come for a few days at least.

It's not worth it. Why don't you come to London?

What would I do there?

What will you do all alone on the Riviera?

I have business meetings.

What business? I've never really believed in this business of yours.

I have to go to a sale, track down a silent partner,

a collector of Chinese antiques.

He's financing a gallery for me.

Don't you think you'd make better contacts in London?

I see only serious people and do only serious things.

Come along, you'll see.

- No, I'm not coming. - Why not?

Because from time to time,

one of us has to do something serious.

But I am serious.

Why do you always dash off when we could be together?

I'd like you to come.

I'd like it very much.

Why don't you come to London?

I told you: I can't.

Fine. In that case...

END OF PROLOGUES

No sooner had I arrived than Daniel told me the bad news:

A girl was staying here at Rodolphe's invitation.

She would surely disturb us.

Maité?

Haydée.

Doesn't ring a bell.

Besides, all those girls leave me cold.

Well, it's only for 24 days.

What type?

Silly goose. Round face.

Short hair. Charming.

She lives here?

In principle, yes.

She panhandles here and there. Brings guys here sometimes.

That's just like Rodolphe.

He surrounds himself with the plainest people.

Anyway, if they bother us,

we'll kick them all out, including her.

I wanted to be by myself,

but Daniel's presence was no problem.

Since I lived all year without fixed hours or dates,

I decided to set some rules for myself.

The monastic feel of my room helped.

First, I'd get up early.

I'd always backed into the dawn after having stayed up all night.

Now I'd experience mornings in the right order...

and associate them, as most people do,

with the idea of awakening and beginning.

The thought was both invigorating and oppressive.

I had to shift my schedule back a third of a day

so that by evening I'd be too tired to be tempted to go out.

What did I intend to do?

Precisely nothing.

For once I'd take a real vacation,

because my real work had always begun when others ' stopped:

at parties, on weekends, at the beach, in the mountains.

But this year one thing alone interested me: my art gallery.

Nothing else mattered.

And since all preparations had been completed,

all I could do was wait.

Having nothing to do for the first time in 10 years,

I undertook to really do nothing,

to take inactivity to a level I'd never before reached.

I even tried not to think.

I was alone face-to-face with the sea,

far from cruises and beaches,

fulfilling a childhood dream

put off year after year.

I wanted my gaze of the sea to be as empty as possible,

void of any painterly or botanical curiosity.

For if I'd followed earlier inclinations,

I might have been an art collector or botanist.

I lost myself completely

in the play of shadow and light,

sinking into a lethargy heightened by the water.

That state of passivity, of complete availability,

promised to last much longer than the euphoria

of one's first summer dip in the ocean.

I could easily see myself spending a whole month this way.

That's why I couldn't bear the idea of seeing anyone but Daniel.

The only woman I'd have liked to have with me was far away.

I'd resigned myself to it

and dismissed without much difficulty -

forever, I suspected - the thought of her.

But I wasn't ready to tolerate another,

especially not one of Rodolphe's pathetic little protégées.

The early bird catches the worm.

I intend to swim every morning at sunrise.

And I at noon.

- Are you reading this? - No, you can take it.

In that quest for nothing, for emptiness,

Daniel had his own way,

more direct and brutal than mine.

I almost considered him my mentor in that regard.

- Nothing? - Nothing.

Nothing at all?

Absolutely, positively nothing.