"QUILLS" by Doug Wright IN THE BLACKNESS The hypnotic voice of a master story-teller: THE MARQUIS (V.O.) Dear Reader... I've a naughty tale to tell, plucked from the pages of history. Tarted up, true, but guaranteed to stimulate the senses... FADE UP ON: A STORM-TOSSED SKY Rising into the frame, a YOUNG WOMAN's FACE. Her hair whips about in the wind; her face is brittle... beautiful... and as engimatic as St. Theresa. Is she in ecstasy, or in pain? THE MARQUIS (V.O.) The story of Mademoiselle Renard, a ravishing young aristocrat, whose sexual proclivities ran the gamut from winsome to bestial. Who doesn't dream of indulging every spasm of lust, feeding each depraved hunger? MALE FINGERS appear at MADEMOISELLE RENARD's collarbone; they start to trace the delicate curve of her neck; her decolletage... MADEMOISELLE seems to writhe, to twist... THE MARQUIS Owing to her noble birth, Mademoiselle Renard was granted full immunity to do just that, inflicting pain and pleasure with equal zest, until one day -- Suddenly, ANOTHER FACE enters the frame; a BRUTISH FIGURE WITH A NEANDERTHAL FACE in a roughly sewn leather hood. THE MARQUIS Mademoiselle found herself at the mercy of a man whose skill in the Art of Pain exceeded her own. The WOMAN's eyes flare with fear. There's no question as to her emotion now; she is terrified. The DARK FIGURE forcefully pulls down her dress, revealing the pale skin of her shoulders. ANGLE ON: THE WOMAN'S HANDS. The MAN secures them behind her back, and tightens leather bindings around her arms; they cut into her flesh. He gathers her hair gently in his gloved hands, then -- viciously -- he yanks her head back. ECU: THE WOMAN'S FACE. She gasps, her eyes thrust upward. She's in a courtyard of some kind. And -- in an enormous tower, standing behind a barred window, the SHADOWY FIGURE OF A PRISONER, his hands in irons. TITLE CARD: "Picpus Prison outside Paris. 1794." TIGHT SHOT: The eyes of the PRISONER, watching the grisly proceedings below. THE MARQUIS How easily, dear Reader, one changes from predator to prey! And how swiftly pleasure is taken from some and given to others! ANGLE ON: THE WOMAN as the MASKED MAN -- her executioner -- lowers her head into the grooved block of the guillotine. WOMAN's POV: Rows and rows of faces are stare up at her, the jaunty red caps of the JACOBINS interspersed throughout. The CROWD is eerily silent. They seem to be waiting like vultures, ready to descend once blood is shed. Near-by, the BODIES OF FRESHLY KILLED ARISTOCRATS are tossed -- like refuse -- into a cart. MEN stand among the dead, foraging for stray riches. An OLD HAG wrestles to pull a gold ring off a wayward, stiff hand. CLOSE UP: THE WOMAN'S FACE in shock. A DROP OF BLOOD lands on her cheek from above. The CAMERA sweeps UP, UP, UP, past the looming EXECUTIONER, all the way to the GLINTING BLADE OF THE GUILLOTINE, blood from the previous victim dripping from its edge. TOP SHOT OF THE WOMAN, HER HEAD POISED FOR DECAPITATION The basket waits below; blood seeps through the wicker onto the cobblestones and beneath the FEET of the THRONG. THE PRISON TOWER The PRISONER turns away from the grisly proceedings below. MASTER SHOT: THE GUILLOTINE LOOMS ABOVE THE CROWD ANGLE ON: QUILLS, RIPPLING IN THE BREEZE Through a tiny window, THE PRISONER sits with his back to us, hunched over his desk in a silk dressing gown. A lush wig trails in ringlets down his back. He writes, furiously. ANGLE ON: THE BLADE, TREMBLING, READY TO FALL THE EXECUTIONER jiggles the rope, and -- with a terrible, rumbling gravity -- the blade breaks free -- wobbling wildly -- accelerating in speed -- ANGLE ON: THE PRISONER'S QUILL as he dips it into a crimson ink-well. Issuing from the depths of his soul, an odd sound indeed; a little tune with the sing-song cadences of a children's nursery rhyme: Claire de la Lune. Outside his window, the BLOODTHIRSTY ROAR OF THE MASSES. ANGLE ON: THE GUILLOTINE The blade falls -- down, down, down -- aiming right for the woman -- the tender flesh of her exposed neck -- faster -- faster -- until: THE SCREEN SPLASHES BLOOD RED. A SICKENING CRUNCH, followed by a dull THUD. INT. CORRIDOR - CHARENTON A diagonal patch of red slides open, and we see the EYES OF A YOUNG GIRL, staring straight at us: MADELEINE Your linens, please. CARD: "The Charenton Asylum for the Insane; Years Later." INT. CORRIDOR - CONTINUED MADELEINE, on tip toe, stares through the peephole of a cell door, her laundry basket on her hip. She's a sweet faced naif with a dirt-smudged face and plenty of spirit. A trap in the lower half of the door opens, and through it an unseen hand pushes a bundle of dirty bedsheets. MADELEINE gathers them in her basket and moves to the next cell. MADELEINE Your linens. VALCOUR, the asylum's prefect, leads a bald, effeminate lunatic named PITOU from his cell for a morning "constitutional." MADELEINE skirts past them both. VALCOUR (to MADELEINE) Morning. MADELEINE G'morning. She reaches the last door, and glances anxiously up and down the hallway before sliding open the peephole. MADELEINE'S POV: The PRISONER -- over a decade older -- is still hunched over his desk, composing to his heart's content. His silk robe is tattered, and his wig is thin with age. MADELEINE Pss. 'S me. A bundle of sheets tumbles out the trap. MADELEINE kneels. There's something bulky hidden in the cloth: a manuscript, written in an ornate hand. VOICE OF THE MARQUIS (O.S.) (mellifluous and low) Careful. The ink's still wet. The peephole slides open from inside; a single eye stares out, bloodshot and reptilian. VOICE (O.S.) Now hurry. MADELEINE smiles a mischievous smile, then moves on her way. INT. THE LAUNDRY ROOM - CONTINUOUS She empties the dirty sheets into an enormous pile, then plucks the manuscript from the bottom of the basket, and conceals it under her shawl. Her MOTHER -- an older woman with milky white eyes -- stands over a steaming vat of boiling lye. She stirs a twisted mass of linens with her long, forked laundry pole. Blindness prevents her from seeing MADELEINE, but she hears her nonetheless: MADAME LECLERC That you, Maddy? MADELEINE hoists up a basket of clean, wet laundry. She says with feigned innocence: MADELEINE Yes, Mother. Just taking the bleached ones out to dry. EXT. CHARENTON COURTYARD - MOMENTS LATER Hanging sheets, two chambermaids: MICHETTE and CHARLOTTE, the first as comely as the second is dour. Hastily, MADELEINE drops off her basket of wet linens. CHARLOTTE Aren't you going to lend us a hand, then? But MADELEINE's already disappeared. EXT. CHARENTON--THE TERRACE AND GROUNDS MADELEINE dodges past PATIENTS, basking in the morning light, clutching the hidden manuscript tightly to her breast. PITOU combs imaginary locks with a silver hairbrush; OTHER LUNATICS toss a leather ball in a game of catch. As MADELEINE careens around an enormous hedge, she practically runs into THE EXECUTIONER from the opening sequence: BOUCHON. His grim duties during the Terror have since landed him in the madhouse. MADELEINE can feel the manuscript slipping under her shawl and scrambles to catch it before it drops. When she tries to dodge BOUCHON, he blocks her way. VOICE (O.S.) Bouchon! MADELEINE looks up to see -- sure enough -- the ABBE de COULMIER, the asylum's administrator. He's surprisingly young with lustrous eyes and a handsome face. He calls to the LUNATIC, sternly: COULMIER Remember your manners. BOUCHON offers a shy smile, sans most of his teeth. Then -- with great solemnity -- he bows low for MADELEINE to pass. She mouths "thank-you" to COULMIER, then scurries on. ANGLE ON: THE ABBE DE COULMIER, watching MADELEINE go. HE gazes out at the Elysium spread before him. He can't disguise his satisfaction; Charenton is a good place, a happy place. EXT. A PAVILION ON THE EDGE OF THE GROUNDS - MORNING Out-of-breath, MADELEINE reaches the front gate. She glances nervously to and fro, then slips the manuscript through the bars to a waiting HORSEMAN. MADELEINE Here it is; the last chapter. HORSEMAN Monsieur Masse says he'd like another manuscript, quick as you please. He's got himself three presses, and he can't print 'em fast enough. MADELEINE I'll pass the word on, then. HORSEMAN I'll pay you another visit, with a share of the profits, once its sold. MADELEINE I'll be waiting. HORSEMAN (grinning flirtatiously) Maybe someday you'll tell me your name. MADELEINE coquettishly arches an eyebrow. The HORSEMAN rears his steed, then charges away in a cloud of dust. EXT. ALLEY - DAY CU: A HUGE WOODEN CRATE. A BLACK MARKETEER pries the lid off with a crowbar. Inside, stacks of newly-bound volumes embossed with the title Justine. BLACK MARKETEER This just in; the very latest from the Marquis de Sade! WELL-DRESSED CUSTOMERS snake their way down the grimy street. The MEN hide their faces behind high collars; the WOMEN wear veiled hats. Money changes hands; books fly from the box. Trade is brisk. EXT. FOP STREET - CONTINUOUS A CROWD has secretly gathered: a MILLINER, a BLACKSMITH, a BUTCHER, and a SOCIETY FOP, to name a few. A STREET URCHIN keeps an eye out for passing police. The FOP reads from the book in a loud whisper: FOP "Our story concerns a nymph named Justine, as pretty a maid as ever entered a nunnery, with a body so firm and ripe, it seemed a shame to commit it to God..." INT. THE EMPEROR'S PALACE - DAY CLOSE UP: THE BOOK as THE FOP'S VOICE bleeds into another, more stentorian ONE: VOICE (O.S.) "One morning, the Bishop placed his hand upon her thigh. 'Holy Father!,' cried she, 'I've come to confess my sins, not commit them anew!'" PULL BACK TO REVEAL: A CABINET MINISTER -- MONSIEUR DELBENČ -- reads aloud. NAPOLEON listens, surrounded by his retinue: MINISTERS, GUARDS, a PAINTER, a SCULPTOR and TWO GAUNT TAILORS -- mouths rimmed with pins -- who trim his ermine cape. DELBENČ "heedless, the old priest turned her over on his knee and lifted her skirts high above her hips, exposing the pink flesh of her backside. There -- between the orbs of her dimpled ass -- lay a blushing rosebud, begging to be... plucked." DELBEN clears his throat. DELBENČ "Before Justine could wrestle from his grasp, this most ungodly man took a communion wafer -- the body of our Lord Jesus Christ -- and placed it on the girl's twitching orifice -- " (beat) Must I, Your Majesty? The PAINTER, THE SCULPTOR and THE TAILORS are on tenterhooks; NAPOLEON merely arches an eyebrow. DELBENČ "As he loosened his manhood from beneath his robes, The Bishop muttered a Latin prayer. And then -- with a mighty thrust -- drove it into her very entrails --" NAPOLEON (interrupting at last) Enough! THE EMPEROR grabs the book from DELBENČ. NAPOLEON Seize every copy; we'll torch them all on the palace lawn, in full public view. NAPOLEON tosses it into the fireplace. For a blistering moment, we see the book's title: Justine, by Anonymous. It explodes into a ball of flame. NAPOLEON As for the author... shoot him. DELBENČ A word of caution, Sire: we all remember what happened to Robespierre, Danton and Marat. Put the Marquis to death, and history might even regard you as a despot. NAPOLEON But I am history. DELBENČ Of course, Your Highness. Nevertheless... cure the Marquis de Sade... succeed, where countless physicians and priests have failed... NAPOLEON Yes? DELBENČ (sly) No one can fault Napoleon for merely bringing a man to his senses. NAPOLEON gets it; he smiles. This DELBENČ is clever; very clever indeed. DELBEN smiles back; it's a plan. DELBENČ Might I suggest that we order an appraisal of the Charenton Asylum, and the rather notorious inmate in her care. I've the perfect candidate for the job: Doctor Royer-Collard, the distinguished alienist. He's a staunchly moral man of impeccable character and iron resolve -- INT. TREATMENT ROOM AT THE HOTEL DIEU CLOSE UP: A BLITHERING MADMAN with wild eyes and a drooling lower-lip. With a LURCH, he tips backwards. His head is submerged in a pool of icy blue water. He puckers and gasps for air. Reflected in the pool, the face of DR. ROYER-COLLARD, an immaculately groomed gentleman, in his fifties with a square jaw. He looks down at the waterlogged LUNATIC with chilling satisfaction. ROYER-COLLARD My colleagues have called me old fashioned; even barbaric. PULL BACK TO REVEAL: The LUNATIC is strapped into a chair with a collapsible back. When ROYER-COLLARD gives the signal -- an imperious nod -- a POCKMARKED ATTENDANT -- the DOCTOR'S footman, GAILLON -- cranks the lever, and the LUNATIC flips backward into a "calming pool." The effect is anything but. As the MADMAN flounders, ROYER-COLLARD explains to DELBEN: ROYER-COLLARD But here at the Hotel Dieu we favor an... aggressive... course of treatment. DELBENČ Quite. ROYER-COLLARD I don't seek popularity or renown, Monsieur Delbenč. Mine is a higher mission. ROYER-COLLARD gives the signal again. GAILLON raises the lever, and the GOON surges upright, his ribcage heaving. ROYER-COLLARD strides up to the PATIENT and regards him with sanctimony. The MADMAN quivers under his gaze. ROYER-COLLARD To take God's tiny blunders... those He has forsaken... and condition them with the same force... the same rigor... you would employ to train a feral dog or wild stallion. Another nod, another crank, and -- with a scream of protest -- the LUNATIC is again lowered into the pool. ROYER-COLLARD It may not be pretty, but it is mercy just the same. Splashing and gurgling; DELBENČ shouts above the tumult: DELBENČ It's the Emperor's dearest hope that you might bring your expertise -- your proficiency -- to the Charenton asylum -- ROYER-COLLARD tastes the idea for a moment. ROYER-COLLARD Charenton? The administrator there is quite well-loved, is he not? DELBENČ I'm afraid so; he's an idealist. You'll have to be politic. ROYER-COLLARD Do you know how I define "idealism," Monsieur Delbenč? Delben waits for an answer; the DOCTOR's eyes twinkle. ROYER-COLLARD Youth's final luxury. ROYER-COLLARD emits a knowing laugh. Delbenč joins him. EXT. THE SINISTER GATES OF THE HOTEL DIEU - LATER They swing open with a deafening clang, and a DARK CARRIAGE bursts forth. Riding atop it, a pock-marked footman named GAILLON. Its curtains are drawn and it moves at a hell-bent pitch. Strapped to the back, the "calming" chair. INT. CHARENTON CHAPEL - DAY ONE HAND, GENTLY GUIDING ANOTHER over script written on parchment. COULMIER teaches MADELEINE penmanship; together, they copy a page from St. Augustine's City of God. MADELEINE can't help glancing at COULMIER from the corner of her eye: such a virile man dressed in the chaste robes of a monk. An intriguing contradiction. COULMIER Of course, we mustn't just copy the words; it's important that we know what they mean. St. Augustine tells us that angels and demons walk among us on the earth; that sometimes, they jointly inhabit the soul of a single man... MADELEINE can feel his breath on her neck. She turns to him and asks with innocent eyes wide: MADELEINE Then how can we know who is truly good, and who is evil? COULMIER We can't. All we can do is guard against our own corruption. Self-conscious now, COULMIER draws back. COULMIER You'll practice reading tonight on your own? For me? MADELEINE nods. Indeed she will. INT. LAUNDRY ROOM - CHARENTON - NIGHT Lollygagging in straw, FOUR RIPE ADOLESCENTS: GUERIN, the stable boy, his shirt open in the heat from the near-by laundry vats; MICHETTE, the scullery maid, tumbling out of her corset; LOUISON, the groundkeeper's son, in his nightshirt; CHARLOTTE, primly buttoned to the neck; and MADELEINE. As she "practices reading" from a few stray sheets of parchment, the OTHERS listen enrapt: MADELEINE "And so the Professor lifted Colombe's skirt high, above her waist. 'Let me be your Tutor,' said he, 'in the ways of love.' With that, he slid her pantalettes down, down, down over her knees, and there -- nestled between her legs -- as pink as a tulip, as slick as an eel --" CHARLOTTE (interrupting) We oughtn't be reading his nasty stories -- MADELEINE No one's forcing you to listen. The TWO GIRLS lock eyes; CHARLOTTE burns with humiliation. Slowly, she sinks back to her place on the ground. Even she can't resist THE MARQUIS' prose. MADELEINE (with satisfaction) Very well then. MADELEINE re-settles, resuming her story: MADELEINE "...he gazed upon her Venus mound; her flaxen quim; the winking eye of God." GUERIN nuzzles MICHETTE's neck; CHARLOTTE glances at LOUISON hopefully; he ignores her. She pouts, then interrupts again: CHARLOTTE You've been to his quarters, haven't you? MADELEINE Once or twice. CHARLOTTE I hear he's got a whetstone and chisel, and he uses them to sharpen his teeth. MADELEINE He's a writer, not a madman. CHARLOTTE Then what's he doing here? LOUISON Murder. MADELEINE That's not so! LOUISON He writes books so wicked -- so black with evil -- that one man killed his wife, after reading 'em... GUERIN And two young mothers miscarried their babies! LOUISON I'd say that's murder enough. MADELEINE If you're going to slander him, then you don't deserve to hear his stories -- CHARLOTTE (an accusation) I think she's sweet on him, that's what I think. GUERIN -- meanwhile -- has groped beneath MICHETTE's blouse and now fondles her breast. She purrs and glances at MADELEINE with a little half-smile: MICHETTE It's not the Marquis she's sweet on; Is it, Madeleine? MADELEINE gives MICHETTE a playful slap, and the TWO GIRLS burst into giggles. ANGLE ON: THE LINEN PANTRY, A FEW FEET AWAY In the wall, the discernible shape of an old wooden door with wrought-iron hinges. Clearly, it was once a portal, but it was plastered shut long ago. In its knotty, rotting wood -- where the hinge meets the stone -- a tiny gap. Peeping through it -- spying on the FOURSOME -- BOUCHON. A low GRUNT as he pleasures himself in the dark. EXT. A COUNTRY ROAD - NIGHT The HORSES' HOOVES of the DOCTOR's carriage cut into the dirt; mud flies as it barrels on its way. INT. A CORRIDOR IN CHARENTON - THE NEXT MORNING MADELEINE is slipping fresh linen through the traps in each cell door. She reaches the last one. MADELEINE Fresh linens. A HAND reaches out to grab hers. It's heavily powdered, and wears an amber ring with an arachnid trapped in stone. THE MARQUIS (O.S.) I'm hungry for a proper visit. MADELEINE (holding her own) Don't start -- THE MARQUIS (O.S.) Go ahead; you've a key. Slip it through my tiny hole... The HAND lets her go. MADELEINE rises, cautiously looking about. She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a key. She inserts it in the lock; it turns. INT. THE MARQUIS' APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS MADELEINE enters. Upon first glance, it's less like a hospital room than the apartment of a faded aristocrat. On the walls, sketches of courtesans in erotic poses, culled from Justine and Juliette. On the bookshelf, medical volumes: The History of Madness, Lateau's Illustrated Anatomy, and Diseases of the Bowel. In the corner, a foot-stool carved from human bone. And -- atop an ornate wooden desk, mottled with ink- stains -- an explosion of quills. But no sign of the MARQUIS. MADELEINE Marquis? Where'd you get to, then? Tentatively, MADELEINE proceeds toward the bedroom. INT. THE MARQUIS' APARTMENT/BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS A large canopied bed -- its velvet drapes closed -- beckons to MADELEINE with the ominous allure of an open casket. She extends a trembling hand to part the curtains. ANGLE ON: THE BED. It's empty. But -- rearing up behind MADELEINE -- a SHADOW. VOICE Well....? MADELEINE whirls around to face the MARQUIS. He steps into a halo of light. Given his years of incarceration, he's still dressed in the finery of Louis XIV, though its become frayed and off-color. His wig is immaculately coifed but thin with age. Still, there's something sensual about him; perhaps it's the odor of decadence, which lingers over him like perfume. THE MARQUIS Did I frighten you? MADELEINE You? Frighten me? That's a good one! I'm twice as fast as you are. Who'd have thought such a spent body can still boast such a fertile mind? THE MARQUIS It's the only frontier I have left, plumcake. MADELEINE I suppose you want to know about that silly book of yours. MADELEINE can't restrain herself any longer; she smiles, and pulls a small bag -- heavy with coins -- from her apron pocket. MADELEINE It sold like the devil, 'fore they started burning it. She tosses the bag to THE MARQUIS, who catches it and grins: THE MARQUIS The peril of composing such incendiary prose... MADELEINE I put myself at life and limb. Surely that's worth a few louis. The MARQUIS rummages in the pouch for some money. THE MARQUIS If only these coins purchased your other talents, too. MADELEINE There's something else I want from you. THE MARQUIS You've already stolen my heart, as well as another more prominent organ, south of the Equator... MADELEINE Your publisher says I'm not to leave without a new manuscript. THE MARQUIS I've just the story... inspired by these very surroundings.... The MARQUIS dislodges a stone from the wall, and pulls out a scroll of pages, then blows on them. Dust fills the air. THE MARQUIS The unhappy tale of a virginal laundry lass, the darling of the lower wards, where they entomb the criminally insane. MADELEINE Is it awfully violent? THE MARQUIS Most assuredly. MADELEINE Is it terribly erotic? THE MARQUIS Fiendishly so. MADELEINE squeals with delight. THE MARQUIS But it comes with a price. MADELEINE's face pales a bit. What might that be? THE MARQUIS A kiss for each page. MADELEINE Must I administer them directly, or might I blow them? THE MARQUIS (cooing low in her ear) The price, my coquette, is every bit as firm as I am... MADELEINE (with a nervous giggle) Oh, you. You talk same as you write. She blows a wayward curl from her face, and leans in to kiss THE MARQUIS. A quick peck. He passes her a single page. She takes it, shuts her eyes, and puckers her lips again. This time, THE MARQUIS traces her lower lip with his forefinger. MADELEINE trembles, partly in fear, partly with pleasure. Then he plants a kiss on her lips. He inserts his tongue -- forcefully -- and her eyes pop open in surprise. INT. CORRIDOR - CHARENTON - MEANWHILE As COULMIER makes his rounds, he encounters CLEANTE, "the bird man." CLEANTE carries a tiny cage, complete with a warbling BIRD. CLEANTE gives a little trill. COULMIER smiles. COULMIER What are we today, Cleante? A bullfinch, or a nightengale? CLEANTE There's but one kind of bird in a madhouse, Abbe. COULMIER notices -- at the end of the hall -- the door to the MARQUIS's cell is ajar. Concern flashes across his face. COULMIER Don't tell me: a loon. Sorry. I've heard that one before -- And with that, he heads down the hall to investigate. INT. THE MARQUIS' APARTMENT/BEDROOM - MEANWHILE AN EVER-GROWING PILE OF PAPERS MADELEINE draws back from the MARQUIS; her breasts rise and fall under her blouse. THE MARQUIS' eyes flare with hunger. MADELEINE It's a long story, this one. THE MARQUIS The climax comes at a higher cost; you must sit on my lap. MADELEINE You demand a lot from your readers, you do. She gathers her skirts, and crawls into his lap. As she fidgets to get comfortable, the MARQUIS gives a low, pleasurable moan. He passes her another page. THE MARQUIS The story's thrilling conclusion comes at a premium. MADELEINE What's that then? He grabs her breasts, tight as a vice, and hisses: THE MARQUIS (low and hypnotic:) Your maidenhead. And then you must sew it up as tightly as the day you were born, and come back to me renewed so I can deflower it a second time. MADELEINE wriggles out of his grasp, and SLAPS him, hard. The MARQUIS is stunned, but impressed by her gumption. MADELEINE Some things belong on paper, others in life. It's a blessed fool who can't tell the difference. VOICE (O.S.) Mademoiselle LeClerc. COULMIER stands in the doorway, looking none too pleased. Quickly, MADELEINE shoves the manuscript under her blouse. MADELEINE You're in the nick of time. This old lech forgot himself. He thought I was a character in one of his nasty stories! She heads out the door, clutching the manuscript against her bosom. COULMIER ducks out after her. INT. THE MARQUIS' APARTMENT/DRAWING ROOM - CONTINUOUS He steals a moment alone with her: COULMIER Madeleine -- MADELEINE Yes, Abbe? COULMIER The next time you feel the urge to visit the Marquis, I hope you'll come to confession instead. MADELEINE nods, contrite, and slips out. COULMIER turns to find THE MARQUIS standing right behind him. THE MARQUIS Care for a splash of wine, Abbe? COULMIER It's not even noon -- THE MARQUIS Conversation, like certain portions of the anatomy, always runs more smoothly when it's lubricated. Glug, glug, glug as the MARQUIS pours two glasses of wine. THE MARQUIS It's a rare vintage from an obscure village in Bordeaux. Rather than crush the grape underfoot, they place the fruit on the belly of a bride and reap its juices when the young husband steers his vessel into port. He sniffs his glass rapturously, then passes one to COULMIER: THE MARQUIS A full-bodied flavor with just a hint of wantonness? Bottom's up! COULMIER takes the glass. THE MARQUIS watches; will he gag? Will he spit it out? COULMIER sips. He swallows. Finally: COULMIER It's from our own cellar. I recognize the taste. THE MARQUIS' face falls. THE MARQUIS I should've told you it was the blood of Christ; you'd believe that, wouldn't you? COULMIER We treat you well enough here, don't we Marquis? Your very own featherbed, in lieu of a straw mat. Your antique writing desk, all the way from LaCoste. Enough quills to feather an ostrich -- THE MARQUIS (grumbling) It's true, dear-heart, you've spoiled me pink. COULMIER In exchange, we ask only that you follow the rules. Now you know as well as I do... you're not to entertain visitors in your quarters. THE MARQUIS I'm entertaining you now, aren't I? COULMIER I'm not a beautiful young prospect, ripe for corruption. THE MARQUIS Don't be so sure. COULMIER's amused in spite of himself. THE MARQUIS laughs, too, only with a slightly sinister edge. COULMIER Take your pen in hand, Marquis. Purge these wicked thoughts of yours on paper; maybe they'll govern you less in life. THE MARQUIS (with a smile) I'll fill page after page, I promise. COULMIER raises his glass in a friendly toast: COULMIER Cheers. EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - MEANWHILE The swiftness of the COACH makes the ground quake. INT. CHARENTON - THE ART STUDIO - LATER COULMIER reads from a large parchment scroll with a Royal wax Seal, newly-broken. VALCOUR stands by, anxious. VALCOUR They've got no right, sending someone to sit on your shoulder. I work for you; I won't take orders from a stranger. COULMIER (brightly; hiding concern) You needn't worry, Valcour. It's administrative, nothing more. VALCOUR watches COULMIER, unconvinced, as the ABBE rolls up the scroll, tucks it under his arm, and strolls among the PATIENTS, dressed in smocks and painting at easels. He gently chastises one LUNATIC who's chewing on his brush: COULMIER Please don't eat the paint, Pascal. Next, he steps forward to inspect a painting by DAUPHIN, a cheery fellow with severe burns on much of his face. The canvas depicts a grisly scene; a desperate father shepherds his children out of a burning house, his robes ablaze. COULMIER Bravo, Dauphin. It's far better to paint fires than to set them, isn't it? DAUPHIN grins, happy for COULMIER's approval. A joyous burst of the Papae Marcelli mass. INT. CHARENTON - CHAPEL A ROW OF HAUNTED, RUINED FACES. But -- from deep in their souls -- AN ASTONISHINGLY BEAUTIFUL SOUND, like a choir of angels. COULMIER conducts, jubilant. As the music soars, it seems to transform -- even redeem -- the singers. MADELEINE watches -- admiringly -- from the corner. EXT. CHARENTON TERRACE AND GROUNDS - MEANWHILE The RUMBLE of HOOVES. The DOCTOR's COACH -- with its Gothic accoutrement -- lurches into the drive. GAILLON hops off, and opens the door. ROYER-COLLARD disembarks. Emanating from within, the EXHILARATING MUSIC. The DOCTOR and GAILLON exchange a look; have they come to the right place? INT. CHARENTON - CHAPEL - MINUTES LATER As COULMIER conducts, he notices several SINGERS are distracted; they're staring past him, all the way down the nave. He turns to see ROYER-COLLARD, flanked by GAILLON and VALCOUR, in the doorway. VALCOUR shoots COULMIER a look that says "He's here." COULMIER turns, and silences the choir with a smile. COULMIER That's all for today, thank-you. The CHOIR disperses. COULMIER bounds down the aisle, his arm outstretched in welcome. MADELEINE lingers, listening. COULMIER Dr. Royer-Collard? May I be the first to welcome you to Charenton -- ROYER-COLLARD This may feel a tad awkward, my friend, but it needn't be. I've merely come to oversee your work here; understood? COULMIER Of course. ROYER-COLLARD It's a formality; truly. COULMIER You're a man of Science; I'm a man of God. Charenton stands to profit from us both, I'm certain. ROYER-COLLARD I'll need an office on the grounds; someplace to store my things. COULMIER (a hint of anxiety) If you don't mind my asking... why has the Emperor taken such sudden interest in my... our... affairs? ROYER-COLLARD It seems a particular patient of yours has captured his fancy. THE MARQUIS, VIEWED THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE OF HIS CELL DOOR HE RAILS AGAINST THE WORLD: THE MARQUIS Why, why, WHY should this be happening to me?! PULL BACK TO REVEAL: A TRIO OF LUNATICS, REHEARSING A PLAY IN THE MARQUIS' COMPANY THE MARQUIS Once again, gentleman! FRANVAL kneels before PITOU, holding a lady's satin shoe. PITOU -- meanwhile -- is preoccupied with his wig; a flowing cascade of golden curls. Behind them, a tawdry back-drop of the French countryside. FRANVAL wreaks havoc with his lines, reciting them in painfully sing-song fashion: FRANVAL "I'm just a lowly cobbler, and I have been all my life. But with this shoe, I'm asking you to be a cobbler's wife -- THE MARQUIS (interrupting) It's a dreadful play, true! A festering pustule on the face of literature. Why the parchment it's written upon isn't worthy to wipe my ass! BUT YOU NEED NOT MAKE IT WORSE! Say your lines with conviction, ma cherie! Like a true actor! FRANVAL But I'm not an actor; I'm a dyspeptic. THE MARQUIS Seduce her, you goon! INT. THE CORRIDOR - MEANWHILE COULMIER and ROYER-COLLARD confer, en route to THE MARQUIS' CELL. ROYER-COLLARD I understand he practices the very crimes he preaches in his fiction. COULMIER A few indiscretions in his youth. ROYER-COLLARD cocks an eyebrow: ROYER-COLLARD Indiscretions, Abbe? Please. I've read his case history. At sixteen, he violated a serving girl with a crucifix. After six months in the dungeon at Vincennes, he mutilated a prostitute, cutting her flesh with a razor, then cauterizing the wounds with wax -- COULMIER I hope you'll judge him by his progress here, and not his past reputation. THEY reach the cell door. ROYER-COLLARD gazes in at THE MARQUIS as he would a creature at the zoo. COULMIER He's made a great success of our Little Theater; there's seldom an empty seat. Not to mention its therapeutic value. ROYER-COLLARD Playing dress-up with cretins? That sounds like a symptom of madness; not its cure. Suddenly, THE MARQUIS rears up in the peephole to confront ROYER-COLLARD face-to-face. THE MARQUIS Homo perversio, Doctor. A species that thrives in captivity. Their eyes meet; flicker of recognition passes between them. Doppelgangers, meeting for the first time. COULMIER interjects: COULMIER This is Dr. Royer-Collard; he's joining us here in an... He looks to the DOCTOR for help: COULMIER ...advisory capacity. The DOCTOR considers the word "advisory", then nods. THE MARQUIS' eyebrow arches in surprise. THE MARQUIS Welcome to our humble madhouse, Doctor. I trust you'll find yourself at home. And with that, he slams the peephole shut. INT. THE ATRIUM - MOMENTS LATER COULMIER and ROYER-COLLARD make their way through the asylum. High above -- along the railing of the grand staircase -- MADELEINE appears, flanked by MICHETTE and CHARLOTTE. They've come to size up the new DOCTOR. ROYER-COLLARD Why is he in your care, and not a proper prison? COULMIER His wife's influence. ROYER-COLLARD His wife's? COULMIER Better to have an insane spouse than a criminal one. Whispers from the GIRLS above; COULMIER shoots MADELEINE a look that says "behave yourself." She watches the TWO MEN turn the corner. ROYER-COLLARD And he's never once attempted escape? COULMIER A man of his notoriety? He wouldn't last a day on the streets without capture. INT. THE INFIRMARY - CONTINUOUS NUNS tend PATIENTS with various maladies; others mash herbs. A PHRENOLOGIST uses pincers to measure a PATIENT's scalp. COULMIER Besides, every wholesome thing he might desire, he has at Charenton. A library, filled with the world's great books, music lessons, watercolor exercises -- ROYER-COLLARD What is the impact of all these amenities upon his psyche? COULMIER He no longer roars or spits. He no longer taunts the guards or molests his fellow wards -- ROYER-COLLARD And his writing? COULMIER suppresses a tiny smile. COULMIER Oh. That. ROYER-COLLARD Well...? COULMIER It's essential to his recovery; a purgative for the toxins in his mind. ROYER-COLLARD Do you favor its publication? COULMIER For sale? To the general public? Certainly not; it's unprintable. DR. ROYER-COLLARD reaches inside his jacket, and pulls out a copy of Justine. He hands it to the ABBE, who's dumbfounded. COULMIER starts to scan the pages; the unmistakable prose of you-know-who. COULMIER Dear God... He looks up to see that the DOCTOR has moved on, strolling down the hall with authority. He races to catch up. INT. CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS COULMIER You have to believe me, I had no idea -- ROYER-COLLARD All France is aghast at this book, yet you've not heard of it? COULMIER I've taken vows to live my life within these walls; not outside them. ROYER-COLLARD Abbe, I admire you; I do. You've a conviction... an idealism... peculiar to the very young. And so I'll be candid. The Ministry has sent me here with the most explicit... the most severe instructions. COULMIER (nervous now) Yes? INT. CHARENTON - R.C'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS GAILLON, VALCOUR and ORVOLLE appear, bringing in paraphernalia from the DOCTOR's carriage. A few items are particularly menacing; a helmet for trephining; a wire sarcophagus, and the nefarious calming chair. COULMIER stares at these instruments of torture with a mixture of wonder and foreboding. ROYER-COLLARD Unless we set Charenton on a straight and narrow course, she'll be shut down forever by order of the Emperor. COULMIER (disbelieving) Shut down? ROYER-COLLARD In their eyes, the Marquis is the surest barometer of your progress here. COULMIER (his voice rising in protest) But he's one among some two hundred wards -- ROYER-COLLARD Have you tried bleeding him with leeches? The calming chair? Maybe you should flog him at the stake? COULMIER Why? So he'll learn to fear punishment, rather than pursue virtue for its own reward? ROYER-COLLARD You're a sentimental man. COULMIER A practical man, sir. Given the Marquis' unusual tastes, a sound thrashing on bare flesh may not qualify as a deterrent. ROYER-COLLARD You find this amusing, do you? COULMIER rallies passionately on his own behalf: COULMIER On the contrary. Let me take up this matter with the Marquis myself -- ROYER-COLLARD And place my reputation at stake? COULMIER Charenton is my life's work. To have her wrested from beneath me now -- ROYER-COLLARD pauses. His face softens, and he sighs: ROYER-COLLARD I've stringent standards, true, but I've something else the Ministry failed to take into account; a heart. COULMIER almost collapses with relief and gratitude. COULMIER Thank-you, Doctor. I'll effect his contrition; you have my word. INT. A CORRIDOR AT CHARENTON - SHORTLY THEREAFTER COULMIER barrels down the hall, fuming. His head is deep in the pages of the book; he almost bumps headlong into MADELEINE on her morning rounds. She drops her laundry basket and flattens herself against the wall: MADELEINE What is it, Abbe? She starts dogging COULMIER down the hall. COULMIER The Marquis. He's embarrassed us... (with incredulity) ...before Napoleon himself. COULMIER stops. He turns to MADELEINE, disheartened, and confides the full force of THE MARQUIS' betrayal: COULMIER He's been slipping manuscripts to his publisher. MADELEINE feigns surprise and says in a guilty voice: MADELEINE He has? COULMIER nods -- tersely -- and marches toward THE MARQUIS' door. He reaches for the key-chain on his belt. COULMIER I place my trust too carelessly, Madeleine. Unbeknownst to COULMIER, this stings her. He turns the key in the lock and enters, closing the door behind him. MADELEINE opens the peephole to spy on the scene which follows: INT. THE MARQUIS'APARTMENT/DRAWING ROOM - CONTINUOUS COULMIER storms in to find THE MARQUIS in a cloud of white powder; he's dusting some fresh pages to set the ink. COULMIER slams the book down. COULMIER This is a complete... an utter... (his voice falls) ...disappointment. THE MARQUIS fingers the book, disapprovingly: THE MARQUIS Yes! It is! The paper's cheap, the type's too small -- COULMIER What did you do? Bribe one of the guards? THE MARQUIS But you implored me to write! For curative purposes, to stave off my madness -- COULMIER But you've no right to publish! Behind my back, without my sanction! THE MARQUIS Have you truly read the book in question? Or did you run -- straightaway -- to the dog-eared pages? COULMIER Enough to discern its tenor. THE MARQUIS And --? COULMIER It's not even a proper novel! It's nothing but an encyclopedia of perversions! Frankly, it even fails as an exercise in craft. The characters are wooden; the dialogue is inane. Not to mention the endless repetition of words like "nipple" and "pikestaff" -- THE MARQUIS There I was taxed; it's true. COULMIER And such puny scope! Nothing but the very worst in man's nature! THE MARQUIS I write of the great, eternal truths that bind together all mankind! The whole world over, we eat, we shit, we fuck, we kill and we die. COULMIER But we also fall in love; we build cities, we compose symphonies, and we endure. Why not put that in your books as well? THE MARQUIS It's a fiction, not a moral treatise. COULMIER But isn't that the duty of art? To elevate us above the beast? THE MARQUIS I thought that was your duty, Abbe, not mine. COULMIER One more trick like this, and I'll be forced to revoke all your liberties! THE MARQUIS It's that Doctor fellow, isn't it? He's come to usurp your place here, hasn't he? COULMIER (blurting the truth) More than your writing's at stake. The Ministry has threatened us with closure. THE MARQUIS They can't be serious. COULMIER Our future lies in the stroke of your pen. THE MARQUIS (impressed, even flattered) Mightier than the sword indeed. COULMIER Put yourself in my place. I've your fellow patients to consider. If Charenton falls, they've no place to go. No manner in which to clothe or feed themselves -- THE MARQUIS Fuck 'em! They're half-wits and pinheads. Let 'em die on the streets, as Nature intended. COULMIER You among them? This gives THE MARQUIS pause; COULMIER has a point. COULMIER (his most passionate plea yet) If ever I showed you a kind hand, Marquis.... If ever I granted you walking privileges on a Spring day, or slipped an extra pillow beneath your door... if ever I shared your wine, laughed at your vulgarities, or humored you with argument... then you will oblige me now. For your sake, and for all Charenton. THE MARQUIS -- seemingly touched -- says quietly: THE MARQUIS You've a touch of the poet, too; perhaps you should take up the quill. COULMIER (undaunted) Do I have your word? THE MARQUIS catches MADELEINE's reflection in his mirror. In her face, the question: "What on earth are you going to do?" He winks at her. THE MARQUIS Have no fear, Abbe. He turns back to COULMIER. He has the open, honest eyes of a Spaniel, but his words are double-edged: THE MARQUIS I swear; all that Charenton has given me, I'll repay a hundred-fold. MADELEINE's eyes grow wide with wonder at the prospect. COULMIER If you only mean to dupe me again -- THE MARQUIS (indignant now) Honestly! You cut me to the core! What's the point of all your valiant attempts at rehabilitation if -- when I finally succumb -- when at long last, I pledge myself to righteous conduct -- you regard me with nothing but suspicion? Have you no faith in your own medicine? COULMIER smiles; THE MARQUIS has a point. COULMIER (reassured) Thank-you. INT. THE CORRIDOR OUTSIDE THE MARQUIS' CELL - MEANWHILE MADELEINE slides the peephole shut. She hears a sound; staring at her intensely from the opposite end of the hall, ROYER- COLLARD. ROYER-COLLARD My, my. At Charenton, even the walls have eyes. MADELEINE (under her breath) Mmmm... don't they? She scoops up her laundry and barrels on her way. COULMIER leaves the MARQUIS and steps into the hall. He's surprised to see the DOCTOR. ROYER-COLLARD Well? COULMIER I spoke to him with reason and compassion; the tools which serve us best here. ROYER-COLLARD And --? COULMIER He's sworn to obedience. The DOCTOR -- ever doubtful -- mutters "tsk, tsk, tsk," and turns to leave; COULMIER calls after him, insistent: COULMIER He's more than a patient, Doctor; the Marquis is my friend -- ROYER-COLLARD You keep strange company, Abbe. But if you truly have matters in hand here -- COULMIER I have. ROYER-COLLARD -- then I've friends of my own to visit. ANGLE ON: THE MARQUIS, watching, ever-watching, from the hole in his door. EXT. THE COUNTRYSIDE The THUNDER of HOOVES. The DOCTOR's COACH takes a hair-pin turn at a furious pace. EXT. THE PANTHEMONT CONVENT - MOMENTS LATER ROYER-COLLARD stands beneath the convent's trellis, and pounds on the door. It opens, revealing the MOTHER SUPERIOR -- SISTER NOIRCEUIL -- a severe-looking nun in a wimple. SISTER NOIRCEUIL Yes? ROYER-COLLARD I've come for my bride. INT. PANTHEMONT CONVENT/CLOISTERS - CONTINUOUS SISTER NOIRCEUIL leads ROYER-COLLARD down the corridor; a heavy set of keys dangles from the belt around her waist. SISTER NOIRCEUIL We'd not expected you for some time. Simone has not yet come of age. ROYER-COLLARD I've taken a new post at Charenton; I need the succor only a wife can provide. They arrive at the room of the convent's ward, SIMONE. INT. PANTHEMONT CONVENT - SIMONE'S QUARTERS - CONTINUOUS They interrupt the GIRL in prayer before a porcelain figure of the MADONNA; she rises. With her doe-like eyes and cherubic skin, SIMONE could be the DOCTOR's daughter as readily as his wife. SISTER NOIRCEUIL You remember Dr. Royer-Collard. SIMONE blushes, and casts her eyes downward. SIMONE I'd not forget the man to whom I was promised. SISTER NOIRCEUIL He's come to collect you. SIMONE (with alarm:) Today? This minute? ROYER-COLLARD My apologies, Mademoiselle; I'd no time to write. EXT. OUTSIDE THE PANTHEMONT CONVENT - MINUTES LATER SIMONE stands in her traveling cape, clutching her MADONNA, ROYER-COLLARD beside her. A CLUSTER of NUNS has gathered to bid SIMONE adieu; among them, the twins SISTER FLAVIE and SISTER ROSE FATIMA. The MOTHER SUPERIOR hands SIMONE a small valise: SISTER NOIRCEUIL Be grateful, child. It's my experience that most poor girls who are orphaned never wed; They wind up spinsters, or worse still... nuns. She takes SIMONE by the chin; her fingers are talons. SISTER NOIRCEUIL Thank God that Fortune has spared you from such a Fate. SISTER NOIRCEUIL bows her head toward ROYER-COLLARD, giving him permission to go. He extends his arm to SIMONE. Hesitantly, she takes it. He guides her toward the waiting carriage. SISTER NOIRCEUIL is grimly pleased. SISTER FLAVIE and SISTER ROSE FATIMA exchange a look of grave concern. SISTER ROSE FATIMA Good-bye, Simone. SISTER FLAVIE God bless, Simone. EXT. THE COUNTRYSIDE - A SHORT TIME LATER The DOCTOR's carriage lurches down the cobblestone road. INT. THE DOCTOR'S CARRIAGE ROYER-COLLARD sits stiffly by his new bride; she stares out the window. Looming on the horizon, a towering chateau. SIMONE's eyes grow wide with wonder. TWO MEN stand outside, waiting to greet them, with their own carriage and driver standing by. DELBENČ (O.S.) The Emperor wishes to ensure your comfort while at Charenton. EXT. OUTSIDE THE CHATEAU - CONTINUOUS Delbenč accompanies ROYER-COLLARD and SIMONE across the drive toward the chateau. DELBENČ Consider the chateau a gift, provided you're willing to finance the necessary repairs. The DOCTOR assesses his new home up-close; it's fallen into grave disuse. Practically a ruin. Delbenč gestures to MONSIEUR PROUIX, a dimpled young fellow, nattily dressed. DELBENČ Monsieur Prouix is the court's most promising young architect; he's at your disposal. MONSIEUR PROUIX offers a friendly grin; the DOCTOR gives him the cursory once-over. INT. THE CHATEAU - ATRIUM The THREE MEN enter, SIMONE a few paces behind. An opulent space, fallen into desuetude: a marble floor with matching columns, a domed ceiling, and an expansive staircase. ROYER-COLLARD (dryly) It has possibilities, yes. Simone? SIMONE flinches, surprised the DOCTOR is addressing her so publicly. She says in a voice hushed with awe: SIMONE I'm to live here? ROYER-COLLARD moves toward the stairs; something catches his attention. Underfoot, a huge, crimson stain, rimmed in yellow. The DOCTOR gets down on his haunches and runs a hands over it. He glances up at Delbenč, his face a question mark. DELBENČ (coldly) The place hasn't been occupied since the Terror; it belonged to the Duc de Blangis, an avowed monarchist. The Jacobins were most... unforgiving. Lying askance, a moldy old shoe with a cracked heel. Delbenč sidles up to ROYER-COLLARD and says confidentially: DELBENČ His wife was trying to escape; they caught her on the stair, and set upon her with bayonets. (shuddering) "There but for the grace of God"... eh, Doctor? ROYER-COLLARD I don't shed tears over the past, Monsieur Delbenč; I look to the future. ROYER-COLLARD stands and turns to PROUIX: ROYER-COLLARD We'd best quarry fresh marble, don't you think? PROUIX dutifully makes a note. INT. THE CHATEAU - UPPER ATRIUM ROYER-COLLARD coaxes PROUIX aside for a confidential conversation: ROYER-COLLARD You're to humor my wife in all things. If she wants Venetian glass, she's to have it. Italian tile, Dutch velvet; spare no expense. (lowering his voice to a whisper) But in her bedchamber, see to it that the door locks from the outside. And on her windows... an iron grate. PROUIX Bars, sir? ROYER-COLLARD In the convent, Simone was spared the world's temptations. I won't have her falling prey to them now. ROYER-COLLARD glances over the railing, down below; SIMONE stands, overwhelmed, in the enormous atrium. Over her head, the beating of wings. ROYER-COLLARD She's a rare bird; I intend to keep her caged. SIMONE'S POV: TRAPPED WHITE DOVES flap their feathers madly, trying to get through the glass above. CUT TO: EXT. THE PANTHEMONT CONVENT - AFTERNOON LOUISON and GUERIN have come to exchange alms for candles from the nuns who make them, SISTER ROSE FATIMA and SISTER FLAVIE. The BOYS load boxes onto the asylum cart. They gossip: GUERIN No! SISTER ROSE FATIMA It's a scandal, truly. Him, pretending to be a God-fearing man! SISTER FLAVIE And that's not all; he's far too old to marry, and she's far too young -- LOUISON and GUERIN exchange a grin. INT. LAUNDRY - LATER GUERIN whispers the tale to a gloriously naked MICHETTE, as he makes love to her in the straw. His words are interspersed with gasps and moans. MICHETTE No! GUERIN -- I say -- the comely little thing -- is barely sixteen -- MICHETTE giggles, and turns to her left. There -- surprise -- lies LOUISON, pleasuring her from the other side. LOUISON -- I say -- ah! -- she's even younger -- INT. THE SERVANT'S QUARTERS - LATER MICHETTE -- in her knickers -- now relays the story to MADELEINE. CHARLOTTE glowers, always the odd one out. MADELEINE No! MICHETTE -- from a convent, no less; she was meant to be a nun -- INT. THE CORRIDOR OUTSIDE THE MARQUIS' CELL - THAT NIGHT MADELEINE stands on her overturned basket, whispering to THE MARQUIS through the peephole. Her lips are luscious rubies in his ear: MADELEINE -- he's old enough to have fathered her twice over -- THE MARQUIS' eyes spark with inspiration. THE MARQUIS Why, the hypocrite. It has all the makings of a farce, hasn't it? Run straightaway, and tell Franval to cancel rehearsal... CLOSE UP: A MAGNIFICENT WHITE QUILL PEN. As he blithely hums "Claire de la Lune," THE MARQUIS dips the quill into his ink well; the liquid shoots up the feather's shaft, turning it a deep purple color. On his PARCHMENT, in calligraphic script, the words "The Crimes of Love: A Play in Several Lascivious Acts..." THE MARQUIS' little tune rises all the way to symphonic tones, and we fade up to... EXT. CHARENTON TERRACE - EVENING Tonight the place looks less like a madhouse and more like the Comčdie Francaise. Mingling on the steps, bejeweled DOWAGERS and GENTLEMEN in frock-coats. Flanking COULMIER, two GRAND DAMES: MADAME BOUGIVAL and MADEMOISELLE CLAIRWIL, who's never without her small LAPDOG, even at the theater. They bill and coo around the comely priest like magpies. MADEMOISELLE CLAIRWIL Abbe de Coulmier! You rascal! Your comedies have become quite the rage; I had to claw my way to a ticket. COULMIER I can hardly take credit -- MADAME BOUGIVAL (interrupting the ABBE) And so expertly acted! That charming young man in last week's comedy... (sotto voce) ...I'd no idea he was an imbecile! COULMIER Everyone has talents, if we look for them. MADAME BOUGIVAL (appraising the ABBE) Mmm. Yes. I'm sure. COULMIER notices ROYER-COLLARD mounting the steps with SIMONE. In her finery, SIMONE looks less like a society bride, and more like a child playing dress-up. COULMIER gives the DOCTOR a cordial wave. ROYER-COLLARD nods, curtly. MADAME BOUGIVAL Is that the new Doctor? You must be thrilled. Such a renowned expert, right here, at Charenton! COULMIER (evasively) Ah! Curtain time. MADEMOISELLE CLAIRWIL I'll say one thing for him; he has a beautiful daughter. ANGLE ON: A CARRIAGE, PULLING UP TO THE STEPS. A MYSTERIOUS WOMAN disembarks. She's in her middle years, with a dark bonnet to disguise her identity. She ascends the steps to CHARENTON. CLOSE UP: A PLACARD FOR "THE HAPPY SHOEMAKER" A hand crumples it; tears it up. FRAME WIDENS and we see it's THE MARQUIS. He's in the linen pantry, which has been jerry-rigged as a BACKSTAGE AREA for the evening's Little Theater Peformance, which will take place in the laundry. Poised near him, the Stage Manager for the evening, MADELEINE. They exchange a conspiratorial glance; tonight's performance is going to go splendidly! THE MARQUIS surveys the LUNATIC CAST spread out before him, readying their night of glory. THE MARQUIS Remember, gentlemen! Inside each of your delicate minds... your distinctive bodies... ART is waiting to be born. So let's give the Doctor a performance I hope he'll remember forever... The CAST gives a rallying cry; THE MARQUIS turns and peers out the tattered velvet curtains. MARQUIS' POV: The catacombs have been converted into a make- shift theater-in-the-round. The place has a slightly sinister feel; one of Dante's lower circles. A primitive platform stage has been erected in the spot customarily held by MADAME LECLERC's vat. The SOCIETY FOLK sit on benches alongside the FEEBLE and the DAMNED. THE LUNATIC QUARTET plays its bizarre instruments: 18th century curled horns, and home-made strings. A grinning DAUPHIN lights the torches that will illuminate the stage. From the AUDIENCE, excited twitters. A grand night for slumming among the loons! A bacchanal! He sees RENEE PELAGIE take her seat, and lower her hood, craning her neck for a sight of the man she loves. Next, he marks ROYER-COLLARD, sitting on a newly-erected dais next to his lovely wife SIMONE. COULMIER sits at the DOCTOR's shoulder, pointing out various notables in the crowd: COULMIER Madame Bougival; Mademoiselle Clairwil -- and of course -- the Marquis' wife -- ROYER-COLLARD (evincing interest) Oh indeed? Meanwhile -- backstage -- FRANVAL nervously taps the MARQUIS on the shoulder: FRANVAL Begging your pardon; it's time to begin. THE MARQUIS drops the curtain, and reminds FRANVAL: THE MARQUIS The dedication, word for word; it's every bit as crucial as the play which follows -- FRANVAL nods and takes a deep breath. He bounds onto the stage. FRANVAL (his voice quavering) Madames and Messieurs, there's been a change in tonight's program. ANGLE ON: COULMIER, who stiffens with apprehension. This is an unexpected development. FRANVAL We will not be performing The Happy Shoemaker. From the AUDIENCE, stirs and murmurs. Perhaps a few disappointed sighs. From the wings, THE MARQUIS gestures for FRANVAL to take a few significant steps forward, toward the DOCTOR. FRANVAL Instead, we'd like to premiere a new play in honor of the newly-appointed Dr. Royer-Collard and his lovely bride, married nary a week today -- ANGLE ON: ROYER-COLLARD AND HIS WIFE. The DOCTOR smiles at SIMONE, and touches her hand, fondly. A polite smattering of applause. ANGLE ON: FRANVAL FRANVAL -- a comedy entitled... He dries up. From backstage, THE MARQUIS hisses: THE MARQUIS The Crimes of Love! FRANVAL ...The Crimes of Love, written by one of Charenton's very own wards! FRANVAL glances back at THE MARQUIS. THE AUDIENCE follows suit. The moment they see SADE, they break into even louder applause than they gave ROYER-COLLARD. The asylum's most notorious inmate! Right here, before their very eyes! In a show of false modesty, THE MARQUIS blushes, steps out from behind the curtain, and gives a cursory little bow. ROYER-COLLARD glances back at COULMIER as if to say "What's this?" COULMIER starts fingering his rosary in nervous anticipation. RENEE PELAGIE just closes her eyes. ANGLE ON: THE STAGE AS THE BAND PLAYS A LUNATIC dressed as an ANGEL sits high atop one ladder, and a DEVIL on another. Together, the TWO start pummeling the stage with artificial snow. BOUCHON stands in the wings, heaving a giant set of bellows, creating the North Wind. INT. BACKSTAGE MADELEINE rushes to ready the cast; DAUPHIN is dressed as a MOTHER SUPERIOR; he looks markedly like Sister Noirceuil of the Panthemont Convent. Behind him, PITOU is the FEMALE INGENUE; a veritable Simone. He cries out for his bonnet: PITOU My hat, my hat! MADELEINE afixes his hat, hands PITOU and DAUPHIN each a hobby horse, and pushes them toward the STAGE. ANGLE: ONSTAGE DAUPHIN and PITOU ride down the ramp which leads from the linen pantry onto the wooden stage... INGENUE Oh Sister Saint-Fond, whither do we go? Passing o'er rivers, canyons and snow? MOTHER SUPERIOR Hurry, Eugenie, for we must not tarry; I deliver you now to the man you shall marry! ANGLE ON: SIMONE Her girlish face alive with pleasure, charmed by the spectacle before her. MOTHER SUPERIOR Once you have rested, at your leisure -- he'll coach you in the ways of pleasure. A RIPPLE through the AUDIENCE; tonight's performance is saucier than usual. As DAUPHIN and PITOU move offstage, BOUCHON collects their hobby horses. TWO LUNATICS enter, covered in ornate vines. They form an ARCHWAY. With a drum roll and a thunder-clap, CLEANTE rises from the AUDIENCE -- just a few seats away from ROYER-COLLARD -- and hops onstage to assume the role of THE LIBERTINE. GASPS of SURPRISE from the crowd. He wears a coat and hat that match the DOCTOR's. PITOU and DAUPHIN re-enter from the wings. LIBERTINE At last she arrives, my hard-won bride! Hurry, my child, and scurry inside. There you'll find such treasures await you; Marzipan and meringue to sate you! INGENUE Such gallantry in men is -- sadly -- a rarity; How lucky I am to receive his charity! The INGENUE ducks through the HUMAN ARCHWAY into the imagined CHATEAU. The LIBERTINE passes the MOTHER SUPERIOR a comically large purse. LIBERTINE Thank you, dear Sister, for abetting me so; Bringing her here to this secluded Chateau! Little does she know the terrors in store; when I tutor her in -- He leans into ROYER-COLLARD for this last bit: LIBERTINE ...les crimes de l'amour! ANGLE ON: ROYER-COLLARD. He glances all the way past the play, through the AUDIENCE seated in the opposite bank. There -- looming in the back row against the wall -- THE MARQUIS, who grins; the poison arrow has hit his mark. The DOCTOR -- ever composed, grins back. An even-handed challenge that says "I know what you're up to; you're only dooming yourself." Slyly, THE MARQUIS slips behind a column, disappearing from view. ROYER-COLLARD whispers to SIMONE: ROYER-COLLARD Leave at once -- SIMONE But it's just begun -- ROYER-COLLARD Do as I say. A forlorn SIMONE exits; GAILLON escorts her toward the door. ANGLE ON: THE DOOR As SIMONE and GAILLON slip toward the exit, THE MARQUIS stands waiting for them. He casts a knowing glance at SIMONE, then wisecracks to GAILLON: THE MARQUIS Leaving so soon? Oh, but of course! You've seen it before. GAILLON just glares and hurries SIMONE up the stairs. ANGLE: ONSTAGE The play continues, full-throttle: BOUCHON pushes a bed onstage. The INGENUE cowers on the mattress; the LIBERTINE leaps upon her. LIBERTINE Quickly, my suckling, out of your clothes! My scepter awaits; how solid it grows! INGENUE Stop, I beg you! Have pity, I say! You're not my lover; you're a monstrous rouč! The LIBERTINE yanks up the INGENUE's legs and dives beneath her skirts. From beneath the fabric, a host of VULGAR SOUNDS. LIBERTINE Do as I say! Stick your legs in the air! It's true, I'm a pig and you've truffles down there -- This is all COULMIER can bear; he rises from his seat, in pursuit of THE MARQUIS. He aims for the door, but THE MARQUIS has already disappeared. COULMIER starts scanning the crowd, hoping to find him in the sea of faces. ANGLE ON: RENEE PELAGIE She turns, aware of her husband's presence somewhere behind her. MADAME BOUGIVAL says loudly to MADEMOISELLE CLAIRWIL: MADAME BOUGIVAL Who do you suppose is to blame? The author... or his Muse? RENEE's face falls, stricken. MADAME BOUGIVAL and MADEMOISELLE CLAIRWIL titter behind their fans. ANGLE: ONSTAGE THE LIBERTINE continues to pleasure THE INGENUE with his mouth: INGENUE (her tone changing) Good heavens, what's this? Such a wicked sensation! A feeling somewhere between shame and elation! Yes! That's the way; use your tongue like a wand in much the same manner as Sister Saint-Fond! INT. BACKSTAGE MADELEINE scurries about, readying the LUNATIC CAST for the Second Act: A FAUX NAPOLEON, A MALE NUN, FRANVAL, DAUPHIN and a LOON DRESSED AS JESUS CHRIST. MADELEINE Quickly; the second act! They exit onto the stage. MADELEINE is alone now backstage. Or so it seems, until BOUCHON looms up behind her in the darkness. BOUCHON's POV: MADELEINE peer through the curtains at the performance. He admires the nape of her neck; her soft shoulders. Meanwhile -- onstage -- the play moves apace: THE LIBERTINE I had a suspicion the Sister was Sapphic! THE INGENUE I'd tell you more, but it's simply too graphic. Suffice it to say, she's a preference for lasses! Even at Vespers, she always made passes -- ANGLE ON: MADELEINE Suddenly, BOUCHON's hands appears around the base of her neck; his finger flicker across her cheek. Her face fills with shock, and she disappears behind the curtain. LIBERTINE My darling, Eugenie, dainty morsel! Get on your back! Let's try it dorsal! INGENUE Was ever a man more risquč? He wants to take me every way! ANGLE: BACKSTAGE BOUCHON yanks MADELEINE behind a curtain, and pushes her -- hard -- against a stone wall. With a visceral grunt, he gropes her beneath her petticoat. She gives a sharp yelp, and reaches for an iron, still red-hot from the day's work. She presses it -- hard -- against BOUCHON's cheek. His flesh sizzles. BOUCHON Ahhhhhggggg... ANGLE: ONSTAGE The obscene pantomime gets wilder by the minute: ANGLE ON: THE AUDIENCE COULMIER hears BOUCHON's tortured cry, and lurches from the dais, marching directly across the stage. VALCOUR leaps up from his own aisle seat, and follows the PRIEST. The rollicking play continues onstage: LIBERTINE I'll plunder every lovely pore until you're week and cry "no more!" INGENUE I tremble with fear! You're bound to pound the quivering lips of my Venus mound! LIBERTINE And then -- to prove your truly mine -- I'll plunder you, darling, from behind! INGENUE What of my lips, will you soil them too? When you've broken every other taboo? LIBERTINE I'll fill every slippery hollow; if you're obliging, then you'll swallow! COULMIER rips aside the backstage curtain, revealing MADELEINE -- still out of breath -- and BOUCHON, grabbing his face in pain. The AUDIENCE -- giddy and oblivious -- starts to peal with pleasure; they're certainly getting their money's worth tonight! VALCOUR seizes BOUCHON roughly. COULMIER Take him to the infirmary for a plaster, and an ice bath. That'll cool him. VALCOUR drags a quivering BOUCHON away. COULMIER Has he hurt you? MADELEINE (bravely) His stinking breath caused my eyes to run, that's all. COULMIER kisses her on the forehead. She clutches him in a hug, and dissolves into tears. COULMIER looks up to see THE MARQUIS standing nearby. The TWO MEN lock eyes for an instant; a flicker of jealousy passes between them. COULMIER You mean to take us all down with you? THE MARQUIS (with mock innocence) Don't be absurd; it's only a play. COULMIER glances past THE MARQUIS to see ROYER-COLLARD rise from his seat, and -- imperiously -- gather his hat and coat. Their eyes meet for an instant; ROYER-COLLARD shoots daggers. THE MARQUIS (to the audience now, expansively) It's only a play! The AUDIENCE is on its feet now; some cry "Bravo!" Others hurl insults at the stage. Frantic, FRANVAL gestures to the STAGE HANDS to bring the curtain down. EXT. CHARENTON - TERRACE - MINUTES LATER The DOCTOR flings open the door of his carriage, where SIMONE waits for him. COULMIER It was fiction, of course. ROYER-COLLARD (brusquely) Of course. COULMIER It was not inspired by circumstance. ROYER-COLLARD No. It most certainly was not. He boards, slamming the door shut with finality: ROYER-COLLARD You ought to be ashamed, Abbe. Exploiting those drooling, pathetic cretins for financial gain -- COULMIER That's not our intent -- ROYER-COLLARD -- a veritable freak show for tourists and curiosity seekers. Charenton is a sanatorium; she is not a circus. The theater is henceforth closed. As for your avowed friend -- playwright emeritus of the madhouse -- COULMIER swallows; he knows what's coming. COULMIER I'll do everything in my power -- ROYER-COLLARD (cutting him off abruptly) Do more. Otherwise, I'll be forced to report to the Ministry that the inmates are indeed running the asylum. The carriage screeches away, leaving Coulmier alone in the night air. CUT TO: INT. THE MARQUIS' APARTMENT - SHORTLY THEREAFTER COULMIER bursts into the MARQUIS's quarters to find him enjoying a late-night snack of fricandeau, a napkin tied around his neck. COULMIER I hope you're satisfied; he's shut down the theater. THE MARQUIS plucks the napkin from around his neck, and tosses it haughtily onto his plate. THE MARQUIS He can't do that to me. COULMIER How can one man possibly be so selfish? THE MARQUIS We held a mirror up to the Doctor, and -- apparently -- he didn't like what he saw. COULMIER charges to THE MARQUIS' desk and plucks a handfull of quills from the ink stand. THE MARQUIS (dropping his fork) What the devil -- COULMIER If you won't be true to your word, then you've left me no choice. COULMIER grabs quills off the window-sill, the side-board and the secretary. THE MARQUIS realizes COULMIER means business; he lunges for the ink stand. It spills, sending ink all over his desk. THE MARQUIS But I kept my promise! I didn't publish -- COULMIER shoots a glare that says "Oh, please." COULMIER Perhaps -- in time -- you'll earn them back through good behavior -- THE MARQUIS You can't --! You mustn't --! I've all the demons of hell in my head; my only salvation is to vent them on paper -- COULMIER Try reading, for a change. The writer who produces more than he reads? The sure mark of an amateur. He snares a Bible off the shelf, tossing it to THE MARQUIS. COULMIER Start with the Bible; it's cheerier, and more artfully written. THE MARQUIS (spitting on its cover) That monstrous God of yours? He strung up his very own son like a side of veal; I shudder to think what He'd do to me. COULMIER You know what sacrilege is, don't you? The last refuge of the failed provocateur. COULMIER yanks open the desk drawer. In it, bottles of ink. He starts to fill his pockets. THE MARQUIS (truly frightened now) I'll die of loneliness! I've no company but the characters I create -- COULMIER Whores and pederasts? You're better off without them. The MARQUIS abruptly switches gears; he has a new idea. THE MARQUIS I have a proposition. COULMIER You always do. THE MARQUIS Madeleine. She's besotted with me; she'd do anything I ask. She could pay you a midnight visit -- COULMIER I don't know who you insult more; her or me. THE MARQUIS "Part the gates of heaven," as it were -- COULMIER (sharply) That's enough. THE MARQUIS You're tense, darling. You could use a long, slow screw. COULMIER Good day, Marquis. THE MARQUIS THEN BUGGER ME! COULMIER exits, locking the door behind him. THE MARQUIS GOD DAMN YOU, ABBE! HAVE YOU NO TRUE SENSE OF MY CONDITION? OF ITS GRAVITY? My writing is involuntary, like the beating of my heart! My constant erection! I can't help it! INT. CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS From inside his cell, the MARQUIS pounds on the door. THE MARQUIS (O.S.) MAGGOT! COULMIER pauses. He hears the sliding of the peep-hole in the door. He turns back to see the MARQUIS staring at him through the tiny slit. THE MARQUIS Where there's a will, there's a way. And a maniac is matchless for invention. The peephole slams shut. FADE TO: INT. THE MARQUIS' APARTMENT - SOMETIME LATER VALCOUR admits the MYSTERIOUS WOMAN from the theater, THE MARQUIS' WIFE, RENEE PELAGIE. The MARQUIS stares out his cell window without acknowledging her. RENEE PELAGIE I've done just as you bade me; I've paid a visit to the woodcarver. He laughed and called me a whore, but took my money just the same. She sets a satchel down on his desk, and unwraps it. Inside, two wooden prods, each about nine inches long. One is ebony; the other rosewood. RENEE PELAGIE I don't know which gives you greater pleasure; the objects themselves, or the humiliation I endure procuring them on your behalf. Next, she proffers a small box tied with a gold bow: RENEE PELAGIE And -- last but not least -- I've brought you aniseed drops and some chocolate pastilles. This gets his attention; he turns. THE MARQUIS Did you now, Madame? His face softens, and he says with a suggestive lilt: THE MARQUIS They're filled with cream, yes? You know I shan't touch them, unless they're positively bursting -- erupting -- with cream. RENEE PELAGIE blushes happily, delighted that she's pleased him. THE MARQUIS crosses to her; en route, he notices VALCOUR, spying through the peephole. He snaps it shut. THE MARQUIS What else have you brought that I might nibble upon? He presses her against the wall, cupping her breast, and kissing the tip of her nose. She offers faint protest: RENEE PELAGIE Oh, Donatien... you mustn't... He licks the rim of her ear as he whispers: THE MARQUIS Hm? Tell me. What other treats? RENEE PELAGIE (helpless with giggles) ....shame on you, truly... Suddenly -- savagely -- he slaps her; she reels, stunned. THE MARQUIS For fuck's sake, woman! BONBONS? I'm to sit here, gorging myself on useless trifles, sucking down your little sweetmeats, when what I truly need -- what I truly require -- are a few quill pens? Perhaps a pot of ink? RENEE PELAGIE Forgive me, I beg you -- He pulls the drawers from his desk, and hurls them to the ground; they splinter. THE MARQUIS Don't you see? I've been raped! Far more egregiously than any of my wretched characters -- RENEE PELAGIE breaks away from him, and says in a voice cracked with emotion: RENEE PELAGIE How was I to know, my darling? THE MARQUIS How was I to tell you? By writing a letter? WITH WHAT, MY ASININE BRIDE? RENEE PELAGIE backs herself into a corner, a safe distance from her husband, and implores: RENEE PELAGIE I beg you, Donatien... as your wife... your only ally... you must stop making such a monstrous spectacle of yourself. THE MARQUIS (incredulous) You've come to lecture me? RENEE PELAGIE To flaunt your deviance in public? Upon a stage? THE MARQUIS They've put you up to this, haven't they? RENEE PELAGIE You ought to court the Doctor's favor, not his contempt. THE MARQUIS tears open the box of candy, and pops one into his mouth. He chews: THE MARQUIS I ought to carve my name into his backside, and fill the wounds with salt -- RENEE PELAGIE's eyes well; she dabs them with a handkerchief. RENEE PELAGIE You're here -- safe -- surrounded by brick and mortar; but my prison is far crueler. It has no walls. She starts speaking in a mad rush, tripping over her own words, frantic to spill it all out before he cuts her off: RENEE PELAGIE Everywhere I go, they point and whisper! At the opera, they hiss at me when I take my box. When I went to church... the priest refused to even hear my confession; he said I was already damned! Why must I suffer for your sins? THE MARQUIS It's the way of all martyrs, isn't it? RENEE PELAGIE Give me back my anonymity, that's all I ask! Let me be invisible again! THE MARQUIS explodes now, his eyes spinning with rage. THE MARQUIS Tell me; have you done anything to secure my release? NO! Have you petitioned the court? NEVER! Sought audience with the Emperor -- RENEE PELAGIE He refuses to be seen in my company! He blanches at the mention of your name -- THE MARQUIS It's a convenience, isn't it, having your husband locked away! You no longer have to hold your tongue, or hoist your skirts! Or crack your mouth, so I can put it to its one pleasurable use! YOU'RE NOT MY WIFE, NO! YOU'RE ONE AMONG MY MANY JAILERS, AREN'T YOU? RENEE PELAGIE starts to sob, convulsively. VALCOUR -- hearing the commotion -- re-enters the cell. VALCOUR What in the name a' God -- THE MARQUIS Take this cow away; I can't look at her. VALCOUR escorts a fragile RENEE PELAGIE from the room. THE MARQUIS Perhaps you'll find a place for her in the West Wing, eh? AMONG THE HYSTERICS? As they lumber out, THE MARQUIS bellows after them: THE MARQUIS LOCK HER UP AS WELL, SO SHE KNOWS HOW IT FEELS! THE GORGON! THE SOW! INT. ROYER-COLLARD'S CHATEAU - SHORTLY THEREAFTER In the rear of her carriage, RENEE PELAGIE. She's dried her tears, and now bears a look of fierce resolve: a woman imbued with a mission. INT. CHATEAU - THE ATRIUM - CONTINUOUS CRAFTSMEN buzz about the place like flies, carrying gilded mirrors, uncrating sculpture, fitting wall sconces, etc. GAILLON stands by at the door. ROYER-COLLARD AND MONSIEUR PROUIX are at one end of the room, in rapt consultation. Swatches, marble samples, and blueprints litter their table. MONSIEUR PROUIX For a woman of humble origin, your wife certainly has refined tastes! When I suggest granite for the foyer, she's quick to counter with Peruvian marble. Peruvian marble! It costs a fortune to import! SIMONE wafts past on the balcony above; she glances down at them, smiles. ROYER-COLLARD assumes the smile is meant for him; he offers a tiny wave. ROYER-COLLARD (beaming) Whatever her heart desires, Monsieur Prouix. MONSIEUR PROUIX assumes the smile is his; he offer his own toothsome grin. MONSIEUR PROUIX I'd like nothing better, sir, than to grant her every wish. (sotto voce, to the DOCTOR) But on the modest sum you've accorded me -- I'm an architect, not a magician -- RENEE PELAGIE brushes past GAILLON with gale force: RENEE PELAGIE I must see the Doctor at once. It's a matter of dire urgency... ROYER-COLLARD spies her instantly; their eyes lock. ROYER-COLLARD It is customary to write first, and request an appointment -- RENEE PELAGIE Desperation has driven me past etiquette, all the way to frenzy. ROYER-COLLARD My schedule is not subject to the whims of lunatics. RENEE PELAGIE removes her hat, indicating her intention to stay. RENEE PELAGIE I beg to differ, Doctor. You work in a madhouse. Your every waking moment is governed by the insane. ROYER-COLLARD (with a sigh) I pray you: be succinct. RENEE PELAGIE You're new to Charenton, yes? Perhaps you're not yet familiar with my husband, and his unusual case. ROYER-COLLARD With all due respect, Madame, all France is familiar with your husband. (to MONSIEUR PROUIX) Grant us a moment alone, won't you, Monsieur Prouix? MONSIEUR PROUIX Happily, sir. Your servant, sir. He gestures for the CRAFTSMEN to follow him out. The room -- a veritable hive of activity -- is now silent. DR. ROYER- COLLARD offers RENEE PELAGIE a seat. ROYER-COLLARD Madame, please. RENEE sits. ROYER-COLLARD I assume you've come to plead for clemency on your husband's behalf. RENEE PELAGIE Oh you do, do you? It is my dearest hope, Doctor, that he remain entombed forever, and that when at last he perishes in the dank bowels of your institution, he be left as carrion for the rodents and the worms. The DOCTOR's somewhat taken aback: ROYER-COLLARD I stand corrected, Madame. Now that she's alone in the DOCTOR's company, the full force of RENEE PELAGIE's despair issues forth: RENEE PELAGIE If you can't cure him -- truly cure him -- then -- at least -- I beg you -- harness the beast that rages in his soul. The wheels in ROYER-COLLARD'S brain begin to turn; he idly fingers a swatch of fabric. ROYER-COLLARD It's not so easily done, Madame. He rises, circling RENEE PELAGIE. ROYER-COLLARD You're aware, are you not, that it costs a great deal to house your husband at Charenton... RENEE PELAGIE I pay his stipend every month, far more dutifully than I should. ROYER-COLLARD That barely covers the cost of his room. There's nary a penny left over for appropriate treatments. Opiates to quell his temper. Restraints to chasten him when he misbehaves. RENEE PELAGIE can sense the direction of the conversation; she blushes, and stares at her hands in her lap. ROYER-COLLARD Perhaps if you were to buttress your entreaties with the means to oblige them... RENEE PELAGIE I am not a wealthy woman.