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Paris, 1887. Honor is an affair of blood.
Duels were the rage, despite being banned by the Penal Code.
After an insult, duelists had 48 hours to organize a combat
and save their reputation.
Good evening, it's an honor.
There he is! Hello, Mr. Prefect.
Mr. Massat, so where is this champion?
In the backroom, getting ready.
One minute, darling.
Come, follow me.
Master Lacaze.
Master, please meet
the Prefect of Paris
and his deputy.
Mr. Massat has promised us a great fencing display.
He's an artist. He must concentrate.
Of course.
Colonel Berchère should be here by now.
Then let's go.
Gentlemen.
Sir.
During the war, he declined a promotion to remain sword master.
- Colonel, your presence is an honor. - Don't be silly.
Please meet my friend Marguerite.
Gentlemen, ladies, silence please!
Please take your seats.
The demonstration will soon begin.
Mr. Prefect!
Good evening.
I wish to thank the organizers
of this foil fencing match,
Mr. Ferdinand Massat,
editor-in-chief of the Petit Journal...
and Mr. Élois Dubuisson, editor of the Gil Blas.
To my right, Sword Master
Clément Lacaze, considered the greatest fencer today.
Opposite him, Spanish Sword Master Gustavio de Borda,
freshly arrived from Madrid.
Two techniques, two great masters.
Tonight, they defend the honor of France and Spain.
We are gathered to celebrate
the values that unite us.
Honor,
discipline
and courage.
Values that the art of fencing teaches so well.
Let the match begin!
Gentlemen.
On guard!
Fence!
Halt!
Your friend Lacaze humiliated me in front of the prefect.
What did he do?
He didn't even say hello.
Ready!
Gentlemen, reprise!
I need some fresh air.
I can't talk now.
What's going on?
Let her go!
Don't touch her!
Fool!
Marguerite, tell him we love each other.
Young man, you're playing a dangerous game.
Reprise!
You alright?
I'm fine.
THE EDGE OF THE BLADE
- My head here? - Yes, in the clamp.
Hold your head straight.
What a pain. This feels like a bayonet.
Latina!
One minute, I need to find the pose.
- Madam... - Marie-Rose Astié de Valsayre.
- Madam de Valsayre... - Call me Astié.
The sitting time is long.
You mustn't move.
Take me as I am,
for all eternity.
Ready? Don't move.
It's in the can.
You can breathe.
Pack everything up.
Madam Astié, the photograph will be ready tomorrow
for the publication of your article in La Citoyenne.
- Latina? - I'm ready.
Mr. Prefect, the decree of November 7, 1800
stipulates that women dressed up as men are to be arrested.
This prohibition to wear pants
places us in danger.
Like at the Opéra-Comique fire,
where women were trapped by their dresses.
Not to mention pneumonia
and other ailments caused on rainy days
when damp permeates to the bone.
Or the breathlessness and fainting spells caused by corsets.
Sir,
your diktat weakens the feminine sex.
I demand total freedom of movement for women
and ask you to repeal the law
forbidding women from wearing pants.
Yours truly, etc.
Anything interesting?
Nothing we haven't covered.
The Rue Montaigne affair...
Did the concierge say anything?
- She heard nothing. - Maybe the killer paid her off.
Nothing stops a woman from talking. It's what they do best!
Astié de Valsayre... The foreign press talks about her.
Again?
"A nurse during the Franco-Prussian War
when she was only 18..."
Listen to this!
"...she has created the first women's fencing league!"
She's a madwoman!
In La Citoyenne,
she demands that women have access to all studies and careers,
the right to vote
and equal wages!
My parry was too low.
Your legs are too slow. You weren't at the right distance.
Your legs.
Your arm, Gabriel.
Point!
Halt.
When your adversary lifts his foot,
you parry with a septime.
Go on.
That was better.
You knew him?
No.
Tell him about the girl.
I was in shock.
She was there with him.
Right in front of me.
You didn't know?
No.
Eugène.
You got yourself into a fine mess.
Clément, help us.
He's far too young to fight. I'm begging you,
do something.
Adrien,
tell me exactly what happened with Colonel Berchère.
Adrien,
we must know the precise nature of the insult.
Adrien, please talk.
I lost my mind.
What did you say to him?
Did you insult him directly?
No, I...
I pushed him and he almost fell.
But he didn't fall?
And then I slapped him.
Clément, tell him honor means nothing if you die.
He must end this madness.
Mother can't understand.
It was an act of passion.
Berchère might not have the choice of arms.
Uncle, be my second.
No.
A sword master must stay on the sidelines.
He cannot be your second.
It's not too late to apologize,
say you regret your act.
I ask you to do this.
I want to fight.
May God protect him.
I prayed every day during the war and you came back safe.
Stop.
Go home and don't worry.
I'll take care of Adrien.
You see the press?
- I haven't had time. - Find some.
What people say about you matters.
- In your paper? - Yes.
We make your reputation.
You make my reputation or I make yours?
It's the two of us.
Go easy with the weights.
Mr. Massat, your carriage is here.
I'm coming.
First duel?
On guard!
One step back.
Two steps forward.
Retreat.
Three steps forward.
Retreat.
Men, leave a place for Adrien.
Arms extended.
Lunge.
On guard!
Balestra!
Lunge.
On guard.
Hold your sword like a tiny bird. Too tight, you crush it
and it dies.
Too loose...
Too loose
and it flies off.
Pick up your sword, sir.
First position.
Salute.
Face to face.
Let us proceed with the charges.
"Further to an insult and a blow to the face
which took place on July 17, 1887,
Colonel Louis Berchère considers his honor offended
by Mr. Adrien Béranger
and asks his seconds,
Alfonse Humbert and Henri Rochefort,
to demand reparation."
These are the charges.
Based on the facts, a combat is deemed inevitable.
The colonel cedes his right to choose arms due to his experience.
An epee duel will take place under the following conditions:
Arms.
Each man has his own regulatory arm.
Assault.
Combat, two minutes. Rest, one minute.
Distance.
15 meters behind each man.
Any ground acquired is won.
Close combat is authorized within the guidelines.
Referee.
Mr. Deschamps shall preside.
End of combat.
The wounded party surrenders at first blood.
Good. Parry with an octave.
Place your point.
Attack from the right.
Very good.
It's the madwoman.
Look what she's holding. Our paper!
Good.
All publicity is good publicity.
You said it.
Please, I'm looking for Mr. Massat.
Upstairs.
- They said to ask for Master Tavernier. - I don't have time.
- Master Tavernier... - Not now.
Halt.
Leave us alone.
The duel is tomorrow at noon.
Tomorrow?
They agreed to stop at first blood.
Good.
- Did you read this? - Yes.
His paper consistently twists my demands as a free woman.
Mr. Massat insults me. I send my seconds, he refuses to fight.
- Naturally, it would be absurd. - A duel with me?
Yes.
Women are driven by rancor.
A duel is an affair of honor.
This is about my honor.
Unless for you too, women have none?
Please, madam.
An offence is an offence, regardless of sex.
I want to fight Massat.
You're his second.
A man does not fight a woman.
I'm sorry, but I'm busy.
Astié, how did it go?
I could've killed them all!
- I'm walking home. - In the rain? Wait!
Wait!
Tell us.
Wait for me!
We'll have to change clothing to beat them.
- We'll fight them, one by one. - Two by two on good days!
We'll get there, girls.
Trust me.
Better die than let them win.
Sir.
I didn't hear you.
Could you repeat it?
- I didn't say anything. - Be brave.
I'm all ears.
- I... - You meant to say
courtesan, hustler, whore,
slut, tramp, floozie, trollop, harlot,
wench, escort, hooker,
streetwalker, strumpet, fallen woman,
hussy, lady-of-the-night?
As a matter of fact, I said "slut."
Enough time wasted.
Gentlemen, have a nice day.
She's crazy!
Try this one.
It's an excellent sword made with Toledo steel.
Uncle.
Were you afraid of dying at war?
Or else this one. It's lighter.
I'm afraid.
My whole body hurts.
We have little time.
Uncle.
I'll be ready.
Good. On guard.
Your arm, higher.
That's it.
The tip is an extension of your arm.
Very good. Extend your arm.
On guard.
Extend and advance.
On guard.
Two steps forward.
Extend, advance and lunge!
Again!
Retreat. Quicker with the back leg.
Again! Lighter on your feet.
Good.
Extend your arm.
Extend, advance and lunge.
Lunge.
Again.
Again!
Anticipation without precipitation,
the sword initiates the movement, the body follows.
That's it.
Again.
Faster.
Careful. Yes, that's it.
Distance is your new mistress.
Control your emotions,
they're a duelist's enemy.
Counter-attacks. Under, cross, touch. Stay low.
Under, cross, touch.
Faster.
Yes, again.
That's good, my boy.
Tomorrow
you will be alone.
You are your own master.
Have I made progress?
Will I do okay tomorrow?
Go home
and take a salt bath.
Get centered. Control your nerves.
Thank you, Uncle.
Thank you, Master.
Get some sleep.
It's been a long day.
You did good work.
The summer storm has ceased
and yet
it continues grumbling in my heart.
Dear friends, tonight we celebrate a sad truth.
What did the idiot prefect write back?
"Madam Astié de Valsayre,
everyone is presumed to know the law.
You surely know that women
are not allowed to wear pants, except when riding a horse or bicycle.
Indeed, any woman who wishes to dress like a man
must request authorization from the prefecture,
in accordance with
the Law of 26 Brumaire..."
And my freedom
of movement?
What becomes of that?
It burns, it burns...
Into the fire, the prefect's reply!
Into the fire!
But from its ashes, shall arise
the dawn of a new
world.
Gentlemen, clear the ground.
Perfect.
Pockets emptied?
Wallet, watch...
The combat ends at first blood.
Alright?
I feel my courage failing me.
There's no shame, the bravest have felt this.
Even your uncle.
Adrien.
Stay calm.
Calm.
Take off your locket.
Time to start!
Gentlemen,
take your places.
On guard.
Fence!
Flat of the sword, no halt.
Carry on, gentlemen.
No halt.
Flat of the sword.
Two minutes!
Pause. One minute.
Tavernier!
- I want to replace him. - Ask the colonel.
Let me speak to Berchère.
You are obliged to remain neutral and at a distance.
Otherwise you'll have to leave.
No, we carry on.
Reprise in 20 seconds.
Reprise.
Adrien.
The wound is deep.
He's suffocating.
His lung is pierced.
- Do something! - It's over.
Adrien, I'm begging you.
Stay with me.
Look at me.
Youth believe they're invincible.
He impaled himself jumping about like a ballerina.
I heard he was your nephew.
Did you prepare him?
Nice work.
The legs were slow,
arms too agitated, don't you think?
I put this offence down to your hysteria.
Adrien!
Madam, you can't go there!
Speak, I'm here!
You're usually so talkative.
I'm an adventuress?
I'll end up like the victims of the Rue Montaigne crime?
Excuse me, I'm busy.
You claim the murder of these women
is a mere affair of the heart!
No, we were first to denounce the horror.
False! You used this sordid crime
to accuse women of creating their own murderers.
We emphasized the problems of sensitive souls.
Madam cackles like a hen.
Is she looking for a rooster?
Because I think women should defend their honor,
you call me a woman of dissolute sensibility
who should be locked up?
You wrote that about me, right?
For you, honor is physiological?
Yes, like a certain body organ.
Women don't have one.
Nature created her that way.
What would you know about the female body,
Mr. Massat?
You confuse affairs of sex and intellect.
No, madam,
when I look at you, I see neither sex nor intellect.
I see what exasperates me most in a woman,
her weakness.
I demand reparation.
Send me your devoted admirer. If you have one.
I would never allow a man to defend my honor.
You're afraid of a woman?
Throw her out.
Calm down, madam.
I hate calm!
I leave that to cowards.
I never want to see her again!
Tavernier brought Adrien's belongings.
I should have stopped the duel.
He was blinded by passion.
The men in this family disappear one by one, like a malediction.
You don't believe in maledictions?
The war destroyed everything.
I was responsible for Adrien.
It's not your fault.
Keep this.
Gentlemen, may I help you?
Colonel Berchère received this calling card.
As a family member, you cannot
ask Berchère for reparation.
- He murdered Adrien. - It's forbidden.
It's not honor, it's revenge. I can't accept.
I ask you for nothing.
I leave him the choice of arms.
This is my affair.
Do you realize the shit I'm in?
Berchère is a powerful man, a war hero.
I know.
- Did Lacaze ask you to be his second? - I refused.
- You must accept. - Impossible.
Vengeance cannot be the motive for a duel.
Nothing stops you from being referee.
To keep an eye on the duel.
I cannot.
Morality does not allow me.
You will be the referee.
I don't give a damn about your morality.
Lacaze leaves him the choice of arms.
And?
Pistol duel.
Pistol?
Berchère stands a good chance.
He's a recognized marksman.
The match is more balanced.
If Berchère wins,
we'll write a good article.
20 paces.
Gentlemen,
I recall the terms and conditions.
After the order to fire, you have one minute.
A shot fired before
or after this lapse of time
shall be considered murder or attempted murder
and the author prosecuted.
Should the offended party wish a second shot,
his adversary must consent.
Gentlemen.
Gentlemen,
at my signal, you have one minute.
Ready!
Stopwatch ready.
Aim!
One,
two,
three, fire!
The wound is superficial.
- Colonel, do you wish to carry on? - Yes!
Mr. Lacaze?
Replace the arms.
Stopwatch at zero.
At my signal, you have one minute.
Ready!
Stopwatch ready.
Aim.
One, two...
three, fire!
30 seconds.
15 seconds.
Hold him down!
Colonel, don't move.
- A lesson in humility, Colonel? - You're a dead man.
I'll put that down to your hysteria.
A dead man!
Let go of me!
Don't move, you'll open the wound.
No more praise about him!
Follow me.
Mr. Lacaze, I order you to leave this hall.
You order me?
Masters do not fight institutions that make France great.
Fighting a friend of mine is shameful.
How dare you tarnish my reputation?
You've brought a shopkeeper's mentality to this place.
Our concepts of France's greatness differ.
And of friendship too.
You behave like a cad!
I prefer cads to hens that cackle among politicians.
I demand reparation.
As a sword master, I cannot accept. You know that.
I must find you a fencer of your level.
Considering your weak wrist,
it won't be easy.
Sure you wish to fight?
Yes, I agree. Of course.
Find a substitute.
He can even pick the arms.
Monsieur shows clemency.
We choose the epee.
As for the substitute...
I need to think.
Yes, I know.
Astié.
Excuse me?
Since I cannot fight,
as my replacement, I choose Marie-Rose Astié de Valsayre.
If she agrees.
She will defend my honor and hers.
- Are you joking? - Unless you're afraid of her.
I refuse to fight a woman.
I believe madam is right,
you're afraid of women.
- Of course not. - Prove it.
So be it, I accept a duel against Astié.
It's time someone put her in her place.
So be it.
Gentlemen.
It's true, she needs a good lesson.
As for you, Lacaze, it's over!
Ask La Citoyenne if they have a fencing hall!
Who does he think he is?
I'm not sure to accept.
Where is my interest?
You want to fight a man.
No, I want to defend my honor.
By defending mine, you also defend yours.
I'll ensure you're in good hands.
In good hands?
Massat is a powerful man.
Why me?
Why not you?
What I defend goes beyond a sword combat.
I know.
One condition:
you prepare me.
- What a wound! - I broke the Prussian's skull!
Relax, Mr. Massat.
I am relaxed.
Touché!
Ladies.
How are you?
You're not in Spain?
No, I had to recover from an embarrassing wound.
Please meet Clément Lacaze.
My new sword master.
Rumor has it that Astié will defend your honor.
Big project.
Yes, big responsibility.
Master, please follow me.
Maria-Rosa has the soul of an angel
in the body of a she-devil.
Are you always so serious?
Rule No. 1 when holding an arm:
never underestimate your adversary.
- And Rule No. 2? - Feel.
Feel the blade.
I need to know what makes you tick.
Then I can guide you according to your temperament.
On guard.
With no sword?
With your index.
The sword is an extension of your finger and of your mind.
- Like this? - Good.
Half-lunge and retreat.
The arm extends, the body follows.
That's better. Advance.
Two steps. Lunge.
On guard. Now for distance.
Gustavio.
Follow him, like a dance partner.
He could attack at any time.
That's the wrong distance.
There, I hit you.
We'll start over, but first...
May I?
Of course.
Careful, don't get too tied up.
The right distance is when the cord is taut.
Get ready.
Much better.
Now blindfolded.
Alright.
Very good.
Remove the blindfold.
Thank you.
It's time to leave the master
with his muse.
This skirt!
Feeling the blade is when the mind and body are one.
You're allowed to breathe when you strike.
In a duel, anything goes.
We must start, I saw police roaming around.
I know, but...
Here she is.
Gentlemen.
A woman!
Her clothes are not compliant.
- Excuse me? - Pants are illegal for women.
We validated her clothing.
- The law forbids... - The Dueling Code doesn't.
I cannot accept this.
Are you backing out?
It's an advantage.
An advantage?
You're wearing a corset?
Yes.
Doesn't a corset protect you against my blade?
Why don't I wear a breastplate and a shield?
Or even an armor?
It's true, it could be...
considered a protection.
Madam,
would you kindly remove your corset?
As you wish.
If this scares you off...
Thank you.
Gentlemen.
Gentlemen...
sorry, and madam.
On guard.
Fence!
Halt!
- A cut. Should we sew it up? - Later.
Put this on me.
Reprise.
Breathe.
Halt!
I had her!
I said halt!
Dammit, I had her!
Tell Lacaze to leave.
A sword master must remain neutral.
You're breaking rules.
Sir, you must leave now.
Take your places.
Who warned them?
I don't know.
When will they be here?
They have to cross the bridge.
We have about fifteen minutes.
Light and quick.
That's good.
Halt!
My knee!
Mr. Massat cannot carry on.
What a pity,
we could have fought side by side.
We both suffer from restricted freedom.
The police are coming!
Take off, fast!
Hurry.
You chose me because I was a woman?
It was the best possible way to humiliate Massat.
So I'm your fatal arm.
You fought well.
But women shouldn't fight.
You disappoint me.
I thought you were above conventions.
Too many of us die in combat.
The war marked you.
- You're bleeding. - It's nothing.
To our honor.
Come in.
I'll be right there.
How did I fight?
At the onset, you hesitated.
Hesitated?
Yes.
Lacaze or De Borda...
Whose style?
The two are complementary.
You say nothing?
Are you jealous?
Duels are not a game.
Sometimes it's good
not to be too cautious.
As sword master, I must warn you of all possible dangers.
I'll leave you now.
Already?
You misread my first attack?
Don't forget to breathe, Master.
And now...
which one of us is in danger?
You said you would and you did.
It's wonderful!
To the victory of great minds!
- Let's celebrate. - Master Lacaze wants to leave us.
No, stay for the party!
I just saved your reputation.
Ladies and gentlemen!
Come see the latest great invention.
A microgroove phonograph.
A voice from the past?
The voice of the future.
How about some music of today?
Our music!
To the victory of Astié!
No, I think I'd say...
to the victory
of subtlety.
To those who love life and live each moment to the full.
To those who have the courage to love us for what we are.
Rebellious
and alive.
Clément?
Are you asleep?
No.
Have you ever been in love?
Clément?
Yes.
Once.
Was she beautiful?
Very.
Is she still alive?
I think so.
She married an aristocrat in the colonies.
She left you?
Yes.
But...
I was the one who didn't know how to love.
And you?
Me too.
My life is populated with ghosts.
Do they leave you in peace?
Sometimes.
We have one thing in common.
We do?
An irrational fear of death that prevents us from loving.
Good day, Master.
Hello, Gabriel.
Clément?
I have a problem, could you help me?
I need the white box on the shelf.
- This one? - Yes.
I'm not afraid of death.
But you're right,
it pursues me.
I've seen what men are capable of.
The blood, the brutality.
I saw the horrors of war on the battlefield.
My comrade's head cut off
right before me.
And I killed.
I killed so many.
They say blood cleanses honor.
And love?
Who knows, maybe a new life awaits you?
You're a curious man, Lacaze.
- Hello. - Good day, madam.
Master Tavernier said I might find Clément Lacaze here.
Hello, Master.
Colonel Berchère summons your seconds tonight.
Tell them his card was delivered.
Very well.
Colonel Berchère? What for?
You're a curious woman, Astié.
Berchère killed his nephew in a duel.
Adrien's death opened something inside him.
A chasm.
A chasm?
Yes.
Doubt.
Weakness.
I thought that word was reserved for women.
You see, no.
The hall is empty?
Ever since he left.
The world is changing.
Someday soon,
these swords will only be museum pieces.
Is he an old friend?
Yes.
Does he listen to you?
- Sometimes. - Then help him.
Good evening, Louise.
Is he here?
I called on the Tribunal of Honor.
Why?
I'll do everything in my power to prevent this duel.
This must cease.
Did you come as a second?
No.
I came as a friend.
In accordance with the Law that prevails over the prefecture's,
this Tribunal of Honor
shall determine whether a duel should take place.
Men devoted to the noble art of fencing
usually have a good heart and sense of honor.
This is true of Master Clément Lacaze, present.
Unfortunately, Colonel Berchère no longer defends honor
rather a murderous urge.
I have here an endless list of people killed by the colonel,
the last in case being Adrien Béranger, 20 years old,
student at the Paris Medical Academy.
Was Adrien Béranger
related to Master Lacaze?
Yes, he was my nephew.
He insulted me!
Every duel on your list, Mr. Tavernier, was an affair of honor.
The colonel mistakes honor for his privileges.
Question his second.
We're listening.
The duel respected the terms and conditions.
No faults were committed.
Yes.
This is true.
Nonetheless, the duel was to end at first blood.
The final blow which caused the young man's death
surprised us all.
Did Colonel Berchère express regret?
Not at all.
I confirm, no.
Youth has no respect for those who fought the war
and earned distinctions.
An apology would have sufficed.
Did your nephew consider an apology?
I offered one to the colonel's seconds, but they refused.
This is true.
The colonel deliberately pierced my nephew's lung,
seeking to get rid of a rival.
A rival?
Nonsense!
The lad was a babe in arms.
To those who fight with swords,
I recall your fundamental vocation.
The defense of the King,
the State and Religion.
The King no longer exists,
but each man carries a kingdom inside him,
his honor,
which he must protect.
We agree unanimously,
the card sent to Master Lacaze is deemed inadmissible.
He alone can decide
to end this now, if he wishes.
The duel must take place.
Silence!
As Clément Lacaze's second, we demand that the loser
be stripped of his nobility and titles.
He has no title to lose!
He has the noblest of all,
Sword Master.
So be it.
The combat will follow military rules,
on horseback and with sabers.
Like at war.
Sabers?
It's the arm of soldiers.
Berchère's intent is clear.
The saber severs, separates...
gradually wears you down.
Are you worried?
Mounted combat is not Lacaze's expertise.
Berchère is a mounted officer.
- It's a display of force. - Why let Berchère choose arms?
There are lines that even friends cannot cross.
He asked me to give you this.
His nephew Adrien's locket.
I will be there.
They won't let you in.
I'm sorry, but...
It's an affair of men?
Do you play?
Do you like music?
Very much.
Your name and papers.
Are you waiting for me?
Mr. Astié de Valsayre.
Come.
Thank you.
Forgive my lateness.
Getting ready can be quite long for a wounded man.
Stand back!
Gentlemen!
Ready!
The art of dueling lasted for over 1,000 years in France
before falling into obsolescence after World War II.
Marie-Rose Astíé de Valsayre fought duels,
and for equal pay, women's access to education and careers,
and their right to vote.
Her entire life, she contested the law forbidding women to wear pants,
a forgotten law only repealed in 2013.
Adaptation: Julie Meyer