For those of you who are somehow unaware...
my name is...
Wolfgang Amadeus...
Mozart.
Because you have been a delightful audience...
I think I might open the floor to some requests.
Symphony 25.
No. 2.
No. 4.
Violin Concerto No. 5.
I am quite fond of that one. No. 5 it is.
May I play with you, monsieur?
What?
May I play along with you?
All right. Fine. Come up here.
Come now, who put you up to this?
Myself, monsieur.
Pardon me.
Do you believe you'll be needing...
one of these?
It seems I've left mine in the shop.
In the shop!
Now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you music...
featuring help...
from a dark stranger.
I assume you know this piece?
Yes, monsieur.
Well, I hope this won't be embarrassing for you.
From the allegro.
To my cadenza!
Bravo!
Who the fuck is that?
Welcome to Paris, Joseph.
Your son?
Yes.
What of the mother?
What of your wife?
Hardly any of your concern.
Monsieur, there are better places...
suited for hiding such indiscretions.
Guadeloupe to Paris is not a short journey.
Surely you weren't expecting to just...
dump your negro bastard from the plantation...
in the first academy you laid eyes on.
I can pay.
I'm sure of it.
But I fear this will not be a kind place...
to such a boy.
He's gifted.
Such gifts should not be allowed to languish on a plantation.
I owe him at least that.
Gifts?
Talents.
The boy has many, but one in particular that is exceptional.
That is what you claim to nurture here, is it not...
Monsieur La Boëssière?
Very well.
Joseph, this is your home now.
This place may not be immediately welcoming to you, boy.
But you must be excellent.
Always excellent.
Do not give anyone any reason to tear you down.
Remember...
no one may tear down an excellent Frenchman.
Clumsy monkey.
Hit him! Hit him!
You'll be facing your toughest opponent, so keep your wits about you.
Thrust, parry, thrust, parry.
Very good. Shoulder down.
We challenge La Boëssière's prized pupil to a duel.
So if you have come for a bout, a bout you will get.
Mesdames et messieurs.
Your Majesties.
Good people of France...
our country, our home...
is under siege.
A siege not made of steel or cannons, but a siege...
against the purity of blood.
The purity of our nation. And this enemy...
France's enemy...
is already here, I fear.
The negro.
No longer are they confined to the faraway plantations of the colonies.
They have found their way into our homeland.
Do not fret, for there is hope that can be found in a man that I am proud to present.
A true son of France.
Here to crush the dark pestilence.
France's esteemed champion of Rouen...
Alexandre Picard!
What? What was that?
Ladies and gentlemen...
hear me now.
France is changing, yes.
But so is the world.
Are we to be left behind?
Is our great nation to resist transformation?
Are we to remain stagnant...
clinging to the backward ways of our forbearers...
until this country turns to dust?
Behold...
France's future.
He is both angel and devil.
Warrior and poet.
A true son of France.
My best friend.
Master of the sword.
Maestro of the bow.
You know him well!
Joseph Bologne!
Joseph Bologne.
I'm pleased to finally see firsthand how sensational you are.
Adept at riding and language and poetry.
And you play your instrument as well as you wield your sword.
Your work as director of Le Concert des Amateurs is unmatched.
Gossec and Leclair sing your praises. And your concertos.
Dear me.
Delightful.
And after this most impressive victory...
you have proven yourself to be a true man of France.
I think it is finally time we reward this excellence.
I, Marie Antoinette, Queen of France...
hereby anoint you, Joseph Bologne...
Chevalier de Saint-Georges.
Well, come on. Someone get him a shiny sash or something.
Let's make this festive.
You.
Go on.
Your Majesty.
God, coming here has become as dull as a beggar's knife.
La Guimard. She's really showing her age.
And Francoeur looks like he's been dragged out of a crypt.
Shall I run out and check his pulse?
Sprinkle him with holy water and revoke his invitation?
Will you drive a hairpin through my heart...
so that I can bleed out and we can leave sooner?
I shall have to revive this place...
or else those bastards in the music committee will come for my throat.
Who's that with him?
Christoph Gluck.
Yes, he's just hopped over from Vienna. He's putting on a concert for someone.
Someone without ears or taste, probably.
Joseph. So cruel.
Oh, good. It's over.
Lord be praised.
Joseph, do you hear? They're playing your music.
Well, of course they are.
I must say hello.
La Guimard.
Majesty.
Wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful.
There he is.
Chevalier.
Good to see you.
Handsome in person too.
I told you he'd come.
The Chevalier is here.
There he is.
Chevalier.
Good evening, Chevalier.
Same with everything. It's all made up. Like me.
There he is. Philippe.
Joseph.
Are you going to introduce me?
Come, this is Claire... No.
This is Claire. And this is... I'm sorry, what's your name?
-Philomène. -Might I steal him?
Chevalier.
Great performance tonight, Guimard.
Thank you.
There's no finer voice in opera.
You're right.
I was thinking...
you must come and visit me sometime at Pantin.
I've built a little theater in my house.
I could give you a private show.
I would not want to make any of your many suitors jealous.
I think men ought to be jealous from time to time.
It's good for them. Don't you think?
For example...
they are all extremely jealous...
of your very large...
talent.
I think it's time we collaborated.
Meet me in my carriage, and we could have...
a little rehearsal.
You are a beautiful performer, Guimard.
I hope we do one day collaborate.
As professionals.
I think you'll find I usually get my way.
Enjoy your evening.
Well, now. This is embarrassing.
Pardon?
Usually I am the most impressive person at these parties...
but it seems you have stolen focus.
Is that right?
I'm afraid so.
And who might you be?
Well, I am the Chevalier de Saint-Georges.
Well, congratulations to you...
and all of your many accomplishments...
whatever they are.
I'm Marie-Joséphine.
There you are, my dear.
I've been arguing with that damned doorman for over an hour.
Did I miss your song? I missed it.
She's captivating, is she not?
My cousin.
We were just getting acquainted.
Joseph, I promised her husband I would bring her home unscathed.
You attack my character, Madame Genlis.
We were only talking.
Yes, and your silver tongue leads women straight to a pallet.
-Come along, dear. -Oh! Okay.
Joseph, look!
Sent to me from the Orient.
It's charming, no?
Careful.
What will you do now that the world is yours, Chevalier?
Travel the country?
Lock yourself in your quarters and luxuriate in your brilliance?
I want to lead the Paris Opera.
Enough.
You are serious?
Surely you are more content playing private venues.
They bore me.
What about fencing?
You'll have no time for bouts if you were to receive such an appointment.
I have defeated all worthy opponents.
Put your insatiable ambition aside. You're a Chevalier now!
Well, there are countless men with titles in France...
but there is only one head of the Paris Opera.
There is no greater post, and I want it.
I can do it.
I can fill that theater every night. I will put it on the map.
All of Europe will be clamoring to visit the Palais Royal...
and the whole world...
will have you to thank.
The whole world?
Appoint me.
I will return it to its former glory. You know that I can.
Of course I know it. It's just...
these things can be tricky.
What's tricky?
You called me France's own virtuoso only hours ago...
and now I'm not fit...
to head the Paris Opera?
You lead to bold conclusions.
I only mean leading the Opera despite its current troubles...
is still a highly competitive position.
So that's really why he's here?
Gluck.
He's not even French.
The committee makes these choices, and the committee loves Gluck.
All of Europe does.
A composer of his repute will fill seats.
If you want to lead the Paris Opera, Joseph...
I'm afraid you'll have to prove you are the better man for the job.
Joseph.
Monsieur Gluck! An honor.
France is delighted to welcome you.
Pardon me?
Forgive me.
I have let my admiration get the best of me.
I'm Joseph Bologne...
Chevalier de Saint-Georges.
Also a composer. Perhaps you've heard of me.
-Yes. -Yes.
The show-off who spoiled Mozart's concert.
Spoiled?
Improved, I think.
He didn't seem to think so.
I hear he is writing you into his new opera.
As the villain.
Dark-skinned and evil.
Tell us! I hear you have come to take over the Opera.
There is talk of it.
Well, I would hate to dash any hopes...
but I fear I am the better man for the job.
You're very sure of yourself.
Quite.
Pay him no mind, dear Gluck.
He is really only fit to tune your violin.
You are quite a changeable woman, aren't you?
Perhaps we should settle this right now. Get a couple of violins.
You're not seriously suggesting some sort of competition?
Yes!
A contest.
Who doesn't love a little contest, hmm?
Forgive me, Your Majesty.
A contest?
Yes.
For the head of the Paris Opera.
And how would that work exactly?
Simply. Each of you...
will compose an opera for the music committee...
and I shall have them select a victor based on the quality of the production.
The winner shall be rewarded the role.
And...
his opera shall premiere at the Palais Royal for all of Paris.
I have never lost a bout.
Opera is not fencing.
Joseph.
Letter came for you.
Yes, read it to me.
"Dear Monsieur Bologne. I trust this message finds you well...
"though I fear my news is not happy.
"After 22 days of fever and distress...
"your father died peacefully in his sleep in Guadeloupe.
"You should know that he had all of his affairs in order.
"Due to the fact that you are illegitimate...
"the fruit of adultery...
"George Bologne has left you none of his estate."
Let me see it.
There's something else.
"We further inform you that your mother...
"Nanon...
"formerly the enslaved property of your father...
"George Bologne...
"is hereby to be freed...
"and reunited with you.
"Joseph Bologne.
"Her only son."
Yes, I like that one.
French is the preferred language here.
Of course.
Make two. One in green and one in yellow.
The dresses will be ready in a few days.
Thank you.
All that money you paid for those dresses could have bought food for the whole city.
Well, you deserve beautiful clothing.
You live here all alone?
Hired help.
But as you can see, they all resigned upon learning that my father passed.
He talked about you. Your father.
I would overhear.
He always was so loud when he was drunk. Remember?
Loud.
"The boy is the most impressive pupil in his whole academy.
"The boy speaks many languages and can fight with a sword."
At first, I did not believe these tales.
Not my son.
Not the unruly child who could not sit still for even a moment.
And then I heard tales of your music.
"He plays the violin.
"He composes.
"He plays songs for the finest people in Paris."
I said, ah.
Well, that is my son.
My son was born with music in his heart...
just like his mother.
I missed you.
So much.
When he took you from me, I...
Let us not dwell on that unpleasantness.
We are here now.
Let the past be.
Excuse me. I have business to attend to.
You are very persistent.
It has been ages, years since I have produced an opera.
And still no one has better taste or better contacts than you.
I find writing to be much more rewarding.
To fund opera is difficult.
Rehearsals, the costumes, the theater, the ego.
Christ. It's not a cheap or leisured venture.
Precisely why I am here to see you.
I need the support of a seasoned professional...
if I am to win the approval of the committee.
Seasoned. I am not a boiled rabbit.
I think you will have better luck elsewhere.
You know investors...
and you have a seemingly intimate relationship...
with the singer I want to make my lead.
Produce my opera.
My production will not disappoint...
and everyone will know you had a hand in its success.
I'm finishing a new novel...
The Anonymous Lover.
It is notably more mature than the children's stories I am known for.
Love triangles, widows, that sort of thing.
So...
I will produce your opera on one condition.
That when we defeat Gluck and rub his nose in all that greasy smarm...
that you will adapt my novel and put it on stage at the Palais Royal.
It would be my honor to do so, madame.
Really?
Yes.
Right.
Well, then I shall schedule some meetings with investors.
We need a venue, an orchestra, designers, painters.
And a lead.
I would like to start with the lead.
If you are serious about Marie-Joséphine, you will need to speak with her husband.
He's often occupied...
but I believe my familial relationship may be helpful there.
Right. Much to do. Off I go.
Someone ready my carriage.
Shit!
You'll have to pay for that, I'm afraid.
The Chevalier de Saint-Georges. Welcome.
So you remember who I am.
Yes. The man with all the fancy accomplishments.
I'm here to sit down with you and your husband.
Is he about?
He'll be along shortly.
My curiosity overflows.
What brings you here? My cousin would not say.
I am in need of a singer.
The lead.
You see, I am to compete for the position of director of the Paris Opera.
Yes, I know. All of Paris is speaking of it.
But surely there are talents better suited for your performance.
You've only heard me sing once. I could be...
terrible.
You aren't.
Fine. Let us assume I'm an excellent singer and a world-class actress.
Convince me.
-Of? -Your opera.
Sell it to me. You cannot expect a performer of my talents...
to just attach herself to any silly old thing, can you?
Well, it is called Ernestine.
And that would be me?
Yes.
-Tell me about her. -She's an orphan.
-Tragic. -It is.
She is a brilliant artist...
who earns a scant living teaching art in her small town.
A handsome soldier romances her...
moves her to Paris, but then must leave to go off to war.
The soldier's penniless when he returns.
He overlooks Ernestine altogether and proposes to a rich heiress.
He uproots her and deserts her.
-The bastard. -Indeed he is.
Soon the soldier is despondent.
He misses Ernestine.
He realizes her art...
her talent...
her tender soul...
will make him happier than fortune ever could.
And Ernestine accepts the soldier even though...
he's stupid and penniless?
Yes.
Why?
Because he truly loves her.
And despite his wrongs...
she knows she deserves to be loved.
Truly...
and fully loved.
And of course, the music will be spectacular.
Bold!
Forgive my tardiness.
Chevalier, this is the Marquis de Montalembert. My husband.
Famed mulatto of La Boëssière's Academy.
A welcome guest to be sure.
I like your toys.
Replicas.
Come, Chevalier, please.
I would like to show you some of my bigger toys.
I understand the Queen keeps your calendar busy.
Indeed.
I fought for this country in the Rhine, in Italy, in Bohemia.
It is my God-given purpose...
to defend this country from all its enemies.
Even from enemies at home.
You mean spies?
Traitors.
Agitators from within this country, born of this nation...
who would like to see our queen burn.
Their lot's more terrifying than any Bohemian or Italian.
Surely they're not a genuine threat.
If only that were so.
I have designed many a fortress.
It is a precise science, keeping your enemies out.
But what does one do when the enemy is not found outside the fortress?
What to do when the enemy was within the fortress all along?
France is the greatest nation in the world.
In any other country...
a man of your color...
would not be wearing such fine clothes...
or be so boldly...
propositioning a man's wife in his own drawing room.
Excuse me, Marquis...
but I only wish for your wife to sing in my opera.
It is a charming libretto, if I may...
I have no affection for art.
I have no interest in sitting for hours at the opera...
or staring at paintings of ponds or flowers.
Let me be clear.
The very idea of Marie-Joséphine parading around a stage...
is more than unsavory.
A woman of the theater...
invites the hungry and lustful eyes of men night after night.
I do not wish my dove...
to become a whore.
Can I stop you?
Try to be more delicate.
Imagine you are a flower.
A soft, quiet flower.
Once more?
More passion.
Less, less passion. Please.
Thank you, miss. Thank you!
Thank you!
Marquise?
To what do I owe the pleasure?
Well...
it turns out I quite despise being spoken for.
The truth is I would very much like to perform in your opera.
Unless you have already found your Ernestine, of course.
Have you persuaded your husband to change his heart?
He'll be away the rest of the year. He does not need to know how I spend my days.
This opera is hardly a secret. Surely someone would tell him.
I'll manage him.
I will. It'll be my burden to bear, not yours.
Well, I'd hate for my little opera to stir a spat between lovers.
How naive of you to think...
that love and marriage have anything to do with one another.
Seems like you're more than adequately taken care of.
Seem.
It's a curious word, isn't it?
I'm sure I seem a great many things.
Although I am a woman of the stage. That is part of the job, isn't it?
To seem.
I can play the dutiful housewife.
I can pretend to enjoy all the parlors and court and mind-numbing chit-chat.
I can pretend...
to not be at all troubled by my lack of autonomy.
But only for so long.
Perhaps when you marry, you will better understand such things.
I fear marriage is not in the cards for me.
Why?
Too much fun bedding admirers from your concerts night after night?
It is illegal for someone of my complexion to marry someone of my class.
Why not marry a negro woman? That is perfectly legal.
Unless, of course, you do not prefer them.
What a thing to say.
I do not mean to offend.
Why did you not marry a negro?
Perhaps a better question is why would I be...
legally forced to give up my title for marrying a negro woman?
I will be punished no matter who I marry.
You have my apologies. Please, forgive my ignorance.
Rehearsal begins at 8:00 tomorrow.
Good night, Marquise.
Good night.
You've improved since the last time I saw you.
You remember the song I used to sing to you when you were a boy?
You remember it?
You can play something like that in your opera.
No.
Why not?
There are standards that must be honored.
She's brilliant, isn't she?
She understands the music. She...
Joseph, Joseph.
Of all the singers in Paris. Have you lost your mind?
You do know who she is? You do know who she's married to?
That lunatic.
Bash in skulls first, ask questions later.
He arrested a man for begging for bread.
He could have bought 20 meals for the man, but he arrested him.
They're bullies. They're tyrants.
She's not her husband.
She's not...
Right. Come, we'll be late if we don't walk quickly.
Told you. I don't want to go.
I think you might find the arguments compelling.
Feels treasonous.
Well, treason is a loaded word.
You're a member of the royal family openly criticizing the King and the Queen.
Smells like treason.
We are simply an assembly of men sharing ideas that some may find to be...
Radical!
Progressive.
What's radical?
Marquise de Montalembert, Marie-Joséphine. This is Philippe d'Orléans.
Of course. Where are you going?
A meeting.
What sort of meeting?
A secret meeting.
-A secret meeting? -Secret meeting.
Well, not really, but I doubt it will be of interest to you.
You have no idea what interests me.
Of course, I revere the King, the Queen. They are family.
But listen, I am talking about social contracts.
-Yeah, yeah. -Yes.
There's already talk of rebellion in the streets...
if the monarchy does not honor the universal rights of man.
Their authority is improper if the people do not empower it.
You!
The people. Égalité!
Égalité! Égalité! Égalité!
I care for all men.
For if all classes of men join together...
we could more clearly see the injustices done to us all.
What about women?
Yeah. What about women?
Are we invited to join you to fight injustice?
Are we to be freed in your ideal view of the world?
As equals?
Yes. Yeah.
I personally believe the idea...
that women are inferior to men was created by a man.
But I was created by a woman...
so there my honor lies.
-Well done. -Well said.
What are they saying?
Nothing.
What?
They say you look like a white boy.
Very funny.
It is only jest.
A new composition?
No. Just something...
to help quiet the mind.
And what is on your mind?
Victory.
Were you always so competitive, even as a child?
No.
When I was very young...
my father took me from the only home I knew.
He took me from my mother.
"Always be excellent.
"No one may tear down an excellent Frenchman."
That's what my father said.
And when no one came for me, I thought it was because...
I wasn't good enough to be reclaimed.
You know something?
My father was right.
The more I excelled...
the more people loved me.
The more I excelled, the less I was alone.
My mother was my closest friend.
There was not a kinder woman.
She loved when I sang. Adored it.
We would stay up late and perform little plays.
She didn't care if I had lessons in the morning...
there was always time for one more song.
She died...
not long ago.
My father...
waited only a month before he married my music tutor.
He shed not one tear for my mother.
He recast her like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Like there were hundreds of women who could replace her in an instant.
Well, and then he married me off.
Like a dog to be bred.
You're much cuter than a dog.
Do you think so?
But a dancer you are not.
Down with Antoinette!
Feed your people!
Down with Antoinette!
Feed your people!
Down with Antoinette!
What?
Just trying to memorize you before you become too famous for even me.
That might be the most humble thing you've ever said to me.
I'm here! I'm here.
I have the most spectacular news.
Spectacular!
They loved it.
Joseph, they loved it.
We should hear very soon.
And I have a very good feeling.
A very good feeling indeed.
-Oh, my. -Congratulations!
A drink.
To my dear, dear friend.
Soon to be awarded the most prestigious post.
I've not won anything yet.
The committee is still deliberating.
I can't wait.
Well, then cheers to a brilliant performance.
You really should have seen it.
It was wonderful.
I was wonderful.
I can see his celebrated modesty has rubbed off on you.
We need more champagne.
Really?
What?
How long have you been sleeping with her?
You are playing a dangerous game, friend.
You have never respected anyone's marriage.
Touché.
Listen...
I'm planning a visit to England soon.
It'll be a great meeting of the minds.
Brissot, Paine, Equiano.
Artists and abolitionists. Philosophers.
Come with me.
We can learn more of their ways...
and perhaps bring their philosophies back to France.
Sounds like it is you playing a dangerous game, friend.
I believe our friends in England would love hearing from a man as skilled as you.
You wish me to be a political mascot?
That is not what I mean at all.
I mean you are marvelous, Joseph.
You could be more influential than you know.
Leverage it.
The world needs changing.
Do you not agree?
Excuse me.
"The tenderest love expressed with all warmth.
"The mind does not speak the same language as the soul."
Do you hate yourself for this?
No.
Do you?
No.
What will we do?
We can leave.
Can we? To where?
Anywhere.
We'll find a deserted island.
Start a new country.
We can perform operas...
to fish...
and crab.
Yeah. So, you will read Molière to the gulls.
Precisely. There is so much I would like to do.
So much to see.
Perhaps we can see it.
Together.
It sounds like heaven, does it not?
Whatever pleases you sounds like heaven.
I see the girl you sneak in and out of here.
You are too trusting of them.
Forgive my bluntness...
but you know nothing of my world.
Your world?
You are a tourist in theirs.
Is that all I am?
I have not heard or seen you in years...
and you show up here with all the answers.
I only worry about you.
You worry about me?
There's no need.
I have managed just fine without you or anyone else...
since the day I was abandoned here.
Spare me your worries and your concerns.
They are too late.
Your Majesty!
What an unexpected surprise.
Beautiful day, isn't it?
What could this possibly be?
"The three divas of the opera...
"La Guimard, La Arnould, and La Levasseur...
"have penned this petition...
"in order to prevent...
"the appointment of the Chevalier de Saint-Georges...
"as music director of the Paris Opera."
What is this?
"We implore our queen to recognize...
"that our honor and our delicate conscience...
"could never allow ourselves to submit to the orders of a mulatto.
"He belongs to a sub-human race and such a man should not be allowed...
"the honor of holding the highest musical position in France.
"We implore our queen to revoke the upcoming nomination."
Is this some sort of prank?
La Guimard submitted this petition to the music committee.
I'm afraid she has swayed their minds.
The appointment will go to Gluck.
Well, you are the Queen.
You will dismiss this petition, surely.
These are delicate matters, Joseph, even for a queen.
So you will not defend me?
Your friend?
I cannot afford to make any more enemies.
I have defended you against salacious rumors.
Horrible attacks on your character.
Always have.
Will you not do the same for me?
Half of Versailles think me a spy.
The people are becoming unsure of me.
I cannot publicly support a negro...
against the wishes of my court and risk falling further out of favor.
I am in your court.
I am a Chevalier.
Does that not mean anything?
Perhaps, when La Guimard has retired...
and France is more accepting of the negro, then you'll have your chance again.
One moment I was a man of France.
But now I am only a negro.
To my dearest Christoph Gluck.
You have blessed our ears and our eyes with a masterpiece.
Although you are not born of France, you honor us with your effort.
We will not soon let you out of our clutches.
May your name live on forever and ever.
Hear, hear!
Come on. Don't just soak it all in.
Play for us. You must.
My dearest Queen.
My dear friend.
Daughter of goddesses.
It is my honor to play for you.
Congratulations, Monsieur Gluck...
on a brilliant opera.
La Guimard.
There's nothing more stale than a Greek tragedy, hmm?
But this...
you've outdone yourself.
I only nodded off once.
-Enough. -Enough!
You will regret discarding me, friend.
When all of France knows me...
when all of Europe knows my music...
you will be known for backing the wrong man.
I...
And you...
You are a snake.
A coward!
You know I am the best.
You're right. I do.
But I don't care.
I don't care...
because you don't belong here.
You are a party trick.
Is he not? You're a pet.
You're a little monkey playing the violin. That is all.
So run back to your cage, Chevalier.
Go on, run home.
Or better yet, leave France and go back to wherever it is you came from.
Oh, God.
All of this because I wouldn't bed you?
Christ.
Well, you are a vulgar ape, monsieur.
Is that what you think this is about?
Would he sleep with you?
What a foul suggestion.
You are disgusting.
-You reek of mediocrity! -And you are a barbarian.
-I'm a barbarian? -Stop it!
You are a barbarian!
And you are clearly unwell.
-Is he not? -This is absurd.
-Must he be here? -I should be here!
Stop it!
Stop it at once!
You stop it! You stop it, you fraud!
How dare you ruin such a wonderful evening!
A wonderful evening!
You're disgracing yourself.
-Remove this man. Now! Now! -Remove me. Me?
-Don't you touch me! Don't you touch me! -Now!
No, get off of me! You are sad!
You are not a queen of France!
Your people are starving in the streets!
You are a fraud!
You are a traitor!
I'm afraid your outburst this evening will cost you.
You dare humiliate our Queen?
You forget your place, boy.
Joseph.
Quiet!
I thought I made myself very clear to you.
Both of you.
Find another singer.
Please, this was just a misunderstanding.
There is no misunderstanding.
I said no opera, and you defied me.
Flagrantly.
Did you think I would not hear of you...
parading around the stage like a harlot?
I gave you the courtesy of a warning.
But now I'm afraid my civility has reached its end.
Break his hands.
Each finger.
No.
See that he's never able to play his little fiddle again.
-No. -Grab his hand!
-Get off me! No! -No, please, please, please.
Please do not punish him for my disobedience.
-Please. -No!
Please.
Get your hands off me!
Please, I beg you.
-No! -Stop it!
No!
Very well.
You stay away from her.
You will not win this bout.
Are you coming?
No.
Thank you.
My love.
Joseph.
I've written to you.
All these months.
Has Madame Genlis delivered any of my letters?
You cannot involve her.
You are with child.
Is it his?
You do not know, do you?
You should not be here.
He does not know about us, and that is a blessing.
Please go.
Hear me.
We can run.
We can leave this place.
You cannot be serious.
We can go anywhere.
Somewhere where we can be together.
Our own little deserted island.
We cannot go anywhere.
We will not be a happy family.
We will not find freedom.
In England...
or anywhere.
We are having a child.
My husband and I are having a child.
You do not want this life.
You could not possibly know what I want.
You barely know me.
You are a very good actress, aren't you?
Do not write to me again. Do not follow me again.
I am a married woman, and that is what I want.
Adieu, Chevalier.
They ask about you out there, you know.
The people.
They miss your music.
Enough! Enough wallowing. It is pathetic.
Seems fitting of me.
You've let these rich white people soften you.
Get up.
Come with me.
Go and play. Go, go!
Yeah.
I'll be right back.
Madame Genlis.
A surprise to be sure.
What brings you here?
The baby arrived.
What?
The baby.
Marie-Joséphine. Her baby.
The baby's skin was dark in color.
Yes.
The Marquis...
he took the baby away.
Where?
He killed it.
No.
No!
Joseph.
Who decides which men get to keep their children?
I was taken from you without choice.
My child was taken without choice.
Why do we not get to choose?
Why do they have choice and we have none?
Choice.
This world is painful for us.
Painful.
It is full of wickedness.
It is full of lies.
It is how they designed it for us.
They take us from our homes.
They sell us like goods.
They harm our bodies.
Evil.
But the greatest evil is not what they have done to our bodies.
It is what they have done to our minds.
We got a runner!
After he took you from me...
I ran to find you nearly every day.
Don't let her get away!
I fought anyone who tried to stop me.
No!
I did not care if I died.
I chose to fight for you, my son.
And now, I am here.
The greatest evil is convincing us that we have no choice.
But choice cannot be taken away.
Choice comes from within.
And there is always the choice...
to fight.
I've missed you...
every day, maman.
No more taxes!
Murderer!
You are not my queen!
Stand down! By order of the Queen, stand down!
Stay back!
Thank you. God bless.
You're welcome.
Philippe, can I talk to you?
There's not gonna be any more food to go around.
I'm putting on a concert.
Invite anyone. Everyone.
Charge them a fair price. The funds will go to those who need it.
Food, resources.
The rest we'll use to help fund the revolution.
Of course.
Of course, Joseph.
Of course.
You're the last person I expected to walk in here.
Especially after that wonderful performance in the church.
Here's your stage, Marquise.
It's all yours.
I said those things so he wouldn't kill you, Joseph.
No.
Instead, he killed my child.
My child.
The one I carried.
The one I loved.
I am sorry.
For it all.
I hope we meet on that desert isle one day.
We won't.
He was beautiful.
Our son.
He was beautiful.
Down with the Queen!
You're not our queen!
Down with the royals!
You disgraceful scum!
Throw her in the Bastille!
Throw her in prison!
Joseph. The Queen is here.
-Where? -Here.
Please leave us.
"Uprising...
"in concert with Joseph Bologne.
"Proceeds to support the rights of man."
That is what they chant in the streets, no?
While burning effigies of me.
I suppose you're trying to make some sort of point, then.
That you could do this after all the kindness I have offered you.
Not everything is about you people.
That is the point.
I have been a friend to you...
and as a consequence, you have forgotten one crucial fact.
I am the Queen of France.
I will not be mocked by you.
I will not be condescended to by you.
I will no longer tolerate your arrogance and your disrespect.
You and those who chant in the street are fools!
There will be no new France.
You cannot topple what has been ordained by God.
There will be order!
If you take to the stage, my guards will arrest you at once.
I will take everything from you.
I will strip you of your title.
You will no longer be a Chevalier.
You will be nothing.
You will be erased.
They can't do this.
Murderer!
We won't let you take him!
Let him go!