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Camille Claudel

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I deliver perfection...|and don't brag about it! :D
Please,|I must see Miss Lipscomb.
At this hour?
It's urgent... about my sister.
You'll wake the whole house!
Miss Lipscomb!
It's Mister Claudel.
She's vanished.|Where could she be?
She told me nothing.
My mother's very upset.
Try the studio.
Camille, you went digging|for clay again?
I just saw your mother.
She was frantic.
And Paul...
...was ready to look for you|all over the world.
Are you listening?
Boucher is right,|you've got the madness of mud.
You're awful.|You never answer me...
...even when it's about you.|Only your work counts.
Am I meant to be a sculptor?
I'm such a dreamer!
Boucher says that|Rodin is a genius...
...but that he seduces|all the girls.
We'll have to watch out.
He's as scandalous as his work?
All his models sleep with him.
If he faces the light,|we'll see him better.
Toto is transparent.
Don't leave it there.
When I'm nervous,|I need Toto.
He'll think we're mad.
He's here!
Let him in.
Why me?
Let him in!
Hello, young ladies.
Yes, yes...
Yes... I must tell you,|I can't stay. I'm in a rush.
Boucher said...
If I may say...
Boucher... wins a prize, great!|Ayear in Rome...
...and who wouldn't|rather be in Rome? Right?
But as for replacing him...
...that's a big step!
No, you have to work the clay.
Don't rely on inspiration.|It doesn't exist.
What can I teach you, anyway?
A sculpture takes time.
You have to let it rest...
...forget it...|to better judge it.
I know. I haven't finished it.|It's unfinished.
Also, the timing's bad. I've|taken on much work. I'm swamped.
Have some tea, at least.
Boucher said you left|the Academy. Is that true?
Yes, why?|Shouldn't we have?
No, no. You've already|solved the heating problem.
This is better.|Heating is very important.
My first studio was a stable.|Freezing cold.
A rich lady|wanted a statue of herself.
I didn't have a cent,|so I got some old shoes...
and tried to burn them|for heat, you understand?
The lady arrived and posed...|but the smell!
She passed out from the smell.
The scare of my life!|I thought she was dead.
What's this prehistoric beast?
That's Toto.|A small African rhinoceros.
Didn't you know?
Zero plus zero equals Toto.
It feels so nice here,|I forgot I'm in a hurry.
Monsieur Rodin,|I'd like some marble.
You've worked on stone?
Granite. In the country.
Rhinoceros, granite...|You like challenges, Miss Claudel?
...we'll all|think it over...
We'll see about the lessons.|There are other teachers...
Young ladies, good-bye.
He's so handsome and strong!|And bright! What do you think?
What do you mean, nothing?
We didn't ask him here|to tell us stories.
That was just to get acquainted.
I can't afford it anyway.
That type says, "I know, you don't.|I see, you don't."
You're exaggerating, Camille.
He never mentioned our work!
Do you realize?
What a lout!
Does that amuse you?|Not me.
You can yawn for Papa on Sunday.
Until now|Papa went along with you.
But this time he won't.
The Academy was too disciplined.|You want your freedom.
Sharing a studio|with a dizzy foreigner!
You don't care what it costs!|Classes... rent...
Papa has to earn that money,|cent by cent...
at the expense|of all else.
Some life for a man his age!
Seeing his family once a week!|And what about me?
When he hears that you sneak out|to steal clay...
...keeping us up all night,|making your brother fail school!
All for your whims!
For your so-called "vocation"!
And you upset your brother,|having him...
read filthy books|unsuitable for his age...
Unsuitable for any age!
Leave her alone.
That shameless brat!
My first marble! He'll like it|so much, he'll sign it.
Like Michelangelo with his pupils?
I wouldn't have Hugo|sign my poems.
You're an anarchist, Paul.|Ayoung savage.
I can't bear school.
Thank you for giving me|Rimbaud's poems.
Will I ever be able|to run away like he did?
I love your writing...
...and I adore you.
You alone believe in me.
My little Paul.
You look at me so sweetly.
Is that a sin?
Sin doesn't exist.
...give this young lady|some marble.
One of the chunks from "Eve".
Excuse me... I'm being visited|by the Ministry of Culture.
Send Louis with her.
Do you have tools for marble?
Good luck, then.
The "Gates of Hell" will be|one of the century's most beautiful...
But you're far from finished...
Are the Cathedrals finished?
What have you worked with?
Green granite...
From Soissons?
Mr. Rodin is spoiling you.|Pure Pitacci.
Smell it!
This one|will probably do nicely.
That one?
No. This one.
Paros, from Greece.|Be careful, it's fragile.
A hand, or a handout?
Neither one.
Why accept an official order|for work you don't plan to do?
We'll never stay on schedule|this way.
My ideas don't|come from orders.
What did she choose?
The pyramid.
The little one?
Yes, the Paros marble.
She doesn't know|how hard it is to work with.
One wrong tap|and it breaks in half.
She's too young.|She should take lessons.
I saw her work, Limet...
Two heads... an old woman|and a tramp. Merely sketches.
You know, when the clay is more alive|than the model... like real flesh...
That's rare.
You're wrong about her.
She doesn't need lessons.|Boucher is wrong, too.
She'll learn by doing.
"With that horrible warning..."
"as the steel touched my neck..."
"my body shivered and|a muffled cry escaped my lips."
"The executioner's hand trembled."
"'Sir', he said to me..."
"'Have I hurt you?'"
"These hangmen have soft hearts."
You seem to love Victor Hugo,|Giganti.
He's the greatest man alive.
He's all I have...
Now I have you, too.
Rodin could not|have been indifferent.
The Dean of|the School of Fine Arts...
...thought you were already|Rodin's pupil.
What have I done|to deserve such a daughter!
Always conniving... steal her father's money.
Don't you interfere.
That tramp!|If my first baby hadn't died...
...I'd never have|given birth to her!
She behaves like a boy!
She hurts me...
...sets her father against me.
He'll make us all suffer|for her filth.
Madame, get dressed, please.
It doesn't help|to shut yourself away.
"She" should be shut away!
Louise Athanaise! Come on out!|This is ridiculous!
Good morning, Monsieur Limet.
No luck?
Thank Monsieur Rodin for me.
Jessie, read this!|Read it out loud!
"Young ladies. I am beginning|a major piece of work."
"I need apprentices. Tomorrow, 8:00 a.m.|My studio. Rodin."
Watch your step!
Where's our friend?
Bad timing.|Monsieur Rodin isn't here.
He's very busy these days.
Rodin goes too far.|Did you see those two young girls?
On the "Gates of Hell" there'll be|small statues of the damned.
Rodin has great ideas.
With a little help from Dante|and his "Divine Comedy".
He doesn't need help.|He's been commissioned.
The boss will accomplish|what he wants. He always does.
He's like a father to me.
You certainly love him.
Marcel, you needn't have|written on the cloth!
Miss Claudel did it.
Remove that scroll!
Put the two Adams back together.
Move out of the way!
Young lady...
Stand between them again.
...very nice...
Make me another Adam|for tomorrow.
Thank you, all.
How was Victor Hugo's|first sitting?
I love him. I'd like to sculpt him|nude. Like the God that he is!
Hey girls! Got a lover?
They're not telling.
She's a proper young lady.
She's cultured,|she's saving it...
Tell me,|when do we see Rodin work?
He's busy thinking.
He'd better watch out!
Women are less important|than official orders.
An artist is an artist.
The truth is,|he has no ideas.
You know that Rodin is busy|arguing with the Minister.
You know that he's the biggest|lecher since Victor Hugo.
I'm sure it will be beautiful,|Giganti.
You'll be almost crouching,|with your head down...
...leaning on your knee.
And your arms...|your arms will hang down...
...hugging one leg.
I'm sure it will be powerful.
...and tender...
...just like you.
Taking a break?
It has to dry.
Want company?
All the screens are taken.
You wouldn't know what to do.
Come on, honey!|Show me what you've got!
Let go!
You're asking for it!
I'll get you. Girls don't|play coy for long, here.
You can play without me.
Leave her alone.
You! You'd better|stick to plastering!
Don't you get it?|You're like plaster...
...dull and sticky!
Where are you going?
Back to my real work!
Forget it.|You don't stand a chance!
What's wrong? Trouble?
I just passed by|an angry young girl...
Wait for me in the office.
Return to your pose, Adele.
He doesn't like my marble foot.
He'll never sign it.
"A miracle is based|on three conditions:"
"The credulity of all,|the good will of some..."
"And the tacit consent|of the principal creator."
He should have understood...
You take everything too much|to heart. Did you ask him?
He never speaks to me.
"He who is a legend in his own time,|is ruled by that legend."
"It may begin|in absolute innocence."
"But, to cover up flaws and..."
"...maintain the myth|of Divine Power..."
" has to employ|desperate measures."
We'll hire another...?
No! Still no word|from the Claudel girl?
You are unbearable!
Why did you leave?
Such outrageous behavior!
Are you always so impulsive?
I have no time.|I didn't hire you as a joke.
I need people on the job,|day and night.
There's work to be done!
Where did you find that clay?
Under my feet.
In Paris, Monsieur.
You got the head|and neck right...
...but you avoided the body.
The human body is a world|that moves. It's life!
Never think in surfaces,|think in depths.
If you want to copy|the head of my Adam, look...
No, I didn't...
Where's your model?
Not a pro, I hope.
They're too soft, flabby...|Come and look...
Stand here, see...
You must search in the neck... must force the muscles.
There... You never see me work,|so you think I do nothing.
Careful, you'll hurt him!
There you are.|You spare your model.
You're bold enough|to sculpt a nude man.
But you make him comfortable,|and you hide his body.
I'll show you|where I work in secret.
You grant that I'm bold,|at least.
You're intelligent and|you work from the heart.
But you go about it|the wrong way.
You want me to teach you?
I don't need lessons|or advice.
I work directly|with live subjects.
I accept, Miss Claudel.
Am I fired?
She's a pupil.
Oh, sure, another pupil...|Too bad!
Because I froze yesterday.
What'll we try?
I hope today|you have an idea, at least.
The longer you think,|the colder I get.
One can only see the profiles|in shadow.
That profile is no good. See?
Won't you go in?
I'll go see Jessie first.
No... not tonight.|I'll see her tomorrow.
You already know things|that took me years...
And, what I saw in Italy...
Michelangelo's|unfinished slaves...
...lost, abandoned|in a dark corner...
The randomness of|what's left unfinished...'s a complete emotion...
...before pure genius.
The other day when I saw you...
...all white,|standing between my two Adams... gave me the idea|for a third one.
I thought inspiration|doesn't exist.
Pardon me?
I thought|inspiration doesn't exist.
I'm so happy.
I'm so happy, Camille.
I'll take you wherever you want.
To the studio.
Your studio?
Yes... No.
Giganti is probably sleeping.|I'll go home.
Shall we go to Italy?
I'm going in.
Afraid of being scolded?
I'm no longer a child.
And my mother|doesn't speak to me.
She doesn't like sculpture...|All that filth...
Mine always said, "Get rid of them!|They're everywhere!"
"Even under the bed!"
"Your mess!"
You see...
I'm twice your age...
...but we'll have|the same memories.
Good night.
I never meant|to copy your Adam.
My Giganti hides his body|because he's hurt.
Your coat!
At least you know|what moves you...
I no longer know.
Look, Paul...
He signed!
Victor Hugo is dead.
Is that her?
She has eyes you read about.
Deep blue, Schwob.
Victor Hugo is dead!
Victor Hugo is dead!
Victor Hugo is dead!
All of France weeps for Hugo,|and you cry over nonsense!
I want to go with you!
But it's a funeral!
I'm saving you a trip.
I want to see the procession.
There isn't any.
Yes, there is!|I read about it.
Now, Rose...
The truth is,|you're ashamed of me.
You'll be happier|on your balcony.
Oh, leave me alone!
Have you seen Giganti?
What heat!
Oh, such heat!
Can't you play something else,|dear?
She said,|"You're ashamed of me!"
And he said...
"Rose, you'll be|happier on your balcony."
And old Rose was dressed|in pink, from head to toe!
Who is this Rose?
Louis says it's ancient history.
Is she his wife?
Louis says she's one of several.|But they're not married.
You're sure?
Positive.|Her name is Rose Beuret.
It's hot, isn't it?
You're sure?
Are you sure?
Get dressed.
That funeral wore me out.
Poor Victor Hugo.
Come back tomorrow.|It's too hot today.
Good-bye, sir.
Another party that|turns into crap.
All the simpering|and fake grief.
His corpse comes in handy.
You're a fine sight|in those dark panes!
The country will|do us all good.
She thinks she doesn't need|the rest.
Walk around! You'll step|on your sisters' skirts!
I've invited Monsieur Rodin|to Villeneuve.
It's time we thanked him.
But, Papa, he's too busy.|He can't come.
I wrote to him. We'll see...
Tell the priest I still|want to tear down his church.
Louis Prosper!|Stop tormenting that poor priest.
Have a good trip!|See you Sunday.
{y:i}Monsieur Rodin. I beg you...
{y:i}don't come to Villeneuve.
Notice the curves|of the steeple.
Delighted, Madame Rodin.
We wanted to thank you...
We feel honored...
How was your trip?
Camille! Our guests are here.
We used to live here all year...
...but my husband works|in Rambouillet now.
And then,|Camille dragged us to Paris.
Here's Camille...
I know...
May I present my brother,|Paul...
Sensual pleasures|are everywhere...
The color of the foliage...
...the quality of the sky...
Stop! Rose will catch on.
I don't care.
If only we had|lettuce like this in Paris!
You flatter my wife.|It's her garden.
I grow tomatoes on my balcony.
Rose is full of ideas.
I don't want to see them.
You should have stopped him.|And he brought "her"!
I'll never forgive you.
Do you want to wash up?
Follow me.
Wear out the earth...
Aren't you glad to see me?
Why did you come?|It's horrid. I'm ashamed.
It's a good way to keep time.
To be precise, Madame...
...this poor priest|keeps us informed...
...of all his|pitiful activities.
Are you a practicing Catholic?
I do as Monsieur Rodin does.
And what does Monsieur Rodin do?
This may surprise you,|but I almost became a monk.
I was young.|My older sister...
...Maria, whom I adored...
...became a nun...
after a promise of marriage|fell through...
She died of grief.
After her death|I entered the monastery.
I began leading her life.
To my surprise, my Confessor|asked me to do his portrait.
By making me sculpt,|he brought me back to life.
To "my" life, I mean.
It's a miracle that...
...he recognized the difference|between grief and a vocation.
No doubt...
I think I'd do the same thing.
You'd become a nun?
I would stop...
What arrogance!
From whom do you get it?
Camille is not arrogant.
She just won't settle for less...
than she thinks she deserves.
When she's violent...
it's only because she's impassioned.
As a child...
...she used to model|human skeletons out of clay.
Then she'd bake them in the oven.
And she'd forget to eat and sleep.
It was amazing.
When she's touchy...
it's because she's uncompromising.
Monsieur Rodin must have|realized this.
Isn't that so,|Monsieur Rodin?
Ah, temperament!
Where do we get our temperament?
We don't know what it is...
but we do know what it does!
On the "Gates of Hell"|I'm three years behind.
So, if I don't want to be|hounded by bureaucrats...
I must have help.|I can't work alone.
And Jessie Lipscomb|is leaving us for England.
I need qualified artists.|Talented ones! And fast!
No time to lose.
Which brings me...
to the pressing reason|for my visit here.
I want Camille in Paris!
Oh, yes.
That's the end of vacation.
Madame Rodin, coffee is served.
I feel you're abandoning me.
"You're" abandoning "me".
Rodin didn't|come to say good-bye.
Give his secrets to the English.
I won't give them.|I'll sell them!
Here they come!
Marvelous, isn't it?
Pure 18th century...
Change the locks.
It sure stinks...
Industry, Louis, industry.
I thought the "Neubourg Folly"|was a madhouse.
Did you check thoroughly?
Yes. Nobody's living here.
The country!|Right here in Paris!
Do you like our new studio,|Miss Claudel?
I'm the happiest woman alive.
I love you.
I love you!
Look how beautiful you are...|Look...
Stay with me tonight...
I don't want to upset my family.
Just look at them!
Louis Prosper, come inside now.
You'll catch cold.
When I think Camille|doesn't even bother...
to come home on Sunday.
Your one day at home...
Are you listening to me?
She's a bad example for Paul.
I couldn't find Giganti!
You'll forget him.
He'd have been a good|"Bourgeois of Calais". To work!
You loved her?
I know you loved her.
You never dared tell her.
I'll tell you a secret, Giganti.|Without her, I don't know...
She's my only|source of inspiration.
What does she have|that I've lost?
I'm going.
No. What'll I do without you?
Poor boy,|drowning in filthy water...
...too disgusted to call|for help, he lets himself die.
I want to go far away,|leave Paris...
...leave the family...
leave everything around me...
before it's too late.
Rodin will surely help you.
You'll join|the foreign service...
At least now|you remember I exist.
What's this?
Your sister and her fiancé|are here!
Tell Rodin|you'd prefer China or America...
Your fiancée is a fine pianist,|Mr. Massary.
What are you lovebirds doing?
Come, have your picture taken.
Rodin was going|to give you a raise. Did he?
He promised, Papa.
Does he pay you regularly?
The "Bourgeois of Calais"|are nearly done.
What does that|have to do with it?
Since you met Rodin...
you've done no work of your own.
That's not true.
He's more concerned|about my future than I am.
This is December.
If you haven't begun,|you'll miss the Salon.
You've exhibited nothing yet|this year.
I've learned to work faster|from him.
My daughter didn't wait...
...for Rodin in order to exist!
Don't ever forget...
...that we're different.|That we're the Claudels.
You always worked faster|and better than others.
Remember, Boucher told us...
you must exhibit|to become known.
There's no other way.
I know, Papa.
Look at me, darling.
Lift your eyes.
Your future belongs to you.
Don't be seen too much|with Monsieur Rodin.
People might gossip.
Sorry I'm late.
You can see your sister later.
She's here for good.
Lunch is ready.
This lunch meant so much|to Camille.
What a cook that Rose is!
Winter will be rough.
Whenever I'm still hungry|I eat the bread.
Thanks, I'm fine.
Let's write to my friend...
in "Foreign Affairs" together.
This way.
Madame, I have good news.|You're pregnant. [CUT]
I know you'll overeat again.
I despise those people...
...and their damned dinners.
Those people don't even|understand your work.
Let the Mayor of Calais|come here.
It's the whole|Town Council of Calais!
I can't stand these parties.
Go, see your Minister alone.
I'm glad I won't be seeing you!
Marry me.
{y:i}Dear Rodin...
{y:i}I can't come to Calais. |{y:i}I have no hat or shoes.
{y:i}So excuse me...
{y:i}and don't accuse me|{y:i}of bad faith.
{y:i}I began a portrait of you.
{y:i}When it's done, I'll make a mold.
{y:i}When that's dry...
{y:i}I'll just need to|{y:i}break it open to see you.
{y:i}I sleep naked... |{y:i}as if you were here.
{y:i}But when I wake up, |{y:i}it's not the same.
{y:i}Don't be unfaithful to me.
You'll never get him!|He's mine!
Where would you be|without your hands?
Next time, I'll kill you.
Papa, it's for you.
Camille has disappeared.
She left everything behind.
What is it now?|You just got back from Calais...
Nobody's seen her in 3 days.
There's nothing|I can do tonight.
Let him in, if he's here.
Leave me in peace!
Go to the studio.|Get the others. Run!
Striking, isn't it, Limet?
Alchemy. Magic.
I never saw a self-portrait|like that.
So lifelike.
A cruel look at yourself...
You "must" look, gentlemen.
An artist believes his own eyes.
Many pupils have done my bust.
This one is the most beautiful.
I'll exhibit it everywhere.
Imagine! From memory!
She did it from memory!
She did it in your absence?
Miss Claudel|has become a master.
She has the talent of a man.
She's a witch.
It's magnificent.|A premonition.
That's how I'll look|in ten years.
It's magnificent.
Something has happened...
Something's wrong.|Where were you, my love?
Choose, Rodin.
Your wife, or me.
Rose is not my wife.
What's wrong with you?
Jealous of an old attachment?
It's not like you and me.
You and I are freaks of nature.|We're the same breed.
You're dreaming, Rodin.
An idyllic|romance in a castle...
We're two ghosts in a wasteland.
What are you talking about?
With you...
...I want peace...|oblivion... work...
Will you leave her?
If only I could, Camille.
If only I could.
Leave her, I beg you.|Leave her.
I'm the one you love.
Tell me I'm the one you love.
You love "me"!|Do you? You love me!
Don't let the worst|happen to us. Please.
There are|different ways of loving.
What do you want me to do?
Fire her, like a maid?
I'll speak to her.
Give me time.
Give me time to prepare her.
I'm all she has.
She's the one you love.
It's her.
Rose is ill, you hear?
She's ill.
I thought you were different.
I'm leaving.
Tomorrow I'll send for|my things and my pay.
You tyrant!
I worked hard for you.
Now I'll work for myself.
All right, let's go.
You move in|and go through my things.
You believe in God?
If you think I like|being with Catholics!
Did you convert?
Have you gone crazy?
No. I found faith.
Why did you hide it|all this time?
If you think I haven't been|worrying what Papa would say!
"Another of my son's whims!"
I was in agony.|You would all have laughed.
Remember, the whole family|obeyed you...
...when you announced|we should stop attending mass.
That's not your only reason|for not telling us...
...not the only reason.
I want to write.|I want to be successful.
It won't be easy... be a Catholic, a poet|and a diplomat, all at one time.
You can laugh if you like!
But the man with no faith...
...will never be a great artist.
God exists.
He saved me from despair...
...and I need Him to be myself.
I'll be who I am|without any help.
I've prayed for you|all year long.
I had an abortion, Paul.
An abortion!
My poor Camille...|Are you going to leave him?
Let me stay here a while.
I won't bother you.
I don't want to go back home.
I promise...
...I won't see him again.
Hail Mary, full of Grace
Blessed art Thou among women.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,|pray for us sinners...
That's her body.
I hear the Claudel girl makes|the hands and feet of his statues.
Love has|given the old man wings.
A card, sir.
Where's the beautiful girl?
You have a rich imagination|and a steady hand.
I must go.
Thank you.
Eugene Blot.
Well...|nothing but naked rumps...
I kissed Sakountala!
We all wanted to kiss her.
But I did it!
Naked rumps pointing toward|Heaven, noses in the sand.
I know you heard|horrible things.
Kiss me.
No comment.
Let's be clear: I do the business,|you do the sculpting.
I'm sure I can sell|both of these in bronze.
I'll make the sales, take|my percentage... and we're even.
Of course,|you get the first bronzes.
Take this advance.|You need it.
Thank you.
Thank you, Monsieur Blot.
There might be|an official order for you.
Do you hear?
At least,|go and see Morhardt.
Forgive me.
Open the door! Camille!
Bundle up, Paul.|It's very cold in America.
And watch out in the streets.|They have gangsters.
Savages... cowboys...
Good luck, Paul.
God bless you. God keep you.
Assert yourself!
I'll miss you.
I'll try to do well, too.
You'll be proud of me.
Write to me.
We'll be like we used to be.|Like before!
Your brother's been sent|to New York.
We have decided|to give you your dowry.
You've dipped into it|considerably. But, still...
At last we're leaving Paris|after those years of hard work...
...that poisoned|our tranquility.
If you really need to,|come with us to Villeneuve.
There's no shame.|Many unmarried girls do it.
Do you think she'd agree?
She's a considerable sculptor|and...
Is she really|working on her own now?
I showed her where to find gold,|but the gold she finds is hers.
I'd like to interview her.
I'm not very cheerful.
I've become a stranger|to myself.
There's always|something missing.
Your voice|has changed the most.
Nothing that's monstrous|is foreign to me.
You, at least, are used to it.|All your intrigues...
You can't deny it.
You can be so nasty at times.
I find that you're not well.
Your "Balzac" is a noble idea,|Auguste Rodin.
That's not the general opinion.
That statue has made me|the laughing stock of Paris.
My Balzac!
I'll end up|putting it in my garden!
Why don't you touch me?
No. Let me discover|your work, will you?
Why? Are you afraid|I've surpassed you?
No, no. Copied me, perhaps.
Calm down...
They say you're not well...
But when I see|the amount of work!
Won't you look?
No, I'd rather feel it first.
With your courage...|your colossal willpower...
You make me want to scream.
I feel like I've|brought home a bailiff.
No. You can't...
You can't...
I told you the trouble I've had|over "Balzac".
If you complete this one,|there'll be more scandal.
How can you reduce...
...what we shared|to that image?
You show me as a spineless puppet|torn apart by two women.
That's a vile caricature!
What do you want?
I want you to do|what I tell you to do!
Not do what I'm doing?
I've earned the right|to do my own work.
If it means ridiculing me,|destroying me...
...then you must give it up.
Submit all your ideas to me.
Don't compare yourself|to me!
Never!|You're a third-rate sculptor.
Then why attack me|so violently?
Everything comes from me,|nothing from you.
You struggle too much|for your work.
It speaks for itself.
Why are you jealous?
- Jealous?|- Yes.
Jealous, me?
I make sculptures of life,|not death!
You despise life.
You search for pain.
You get drunk on pain.
And you create pain.
You portray yourself|as a victim.
A martyr.|But "you're" the one who left "me".
It was impossible|to live with you!
Listen, Camille.
The work we did together|was good.
I always treated you|as an equal.
All the work I did for you|was good!
"Miss Claudel, Rodin's pupil!"
"She picks up Rodin's scraps..."
"and crams them into her sculptures!"
You allowed them to say it!
Oh, God!
You're my worst enemy...
...I've just realized.
You stole it all!
My youth, my work! Everything!
I've ruined your life?
I wish I'd never met you!
I'd rather be in an asylum!
That's where you'd like to put me!
You're completely drunk!
Completely drunk.
You've started drinking.|Everyone says so.
If I didn't drink...
they'd all know|you put me in this state.
So let them think I'm|in this state because I drink!
I'm a well-known professional|sculptor. I'm backing you.
I know the fools are|against you.
What do you mean, professional?
Do you mean|running three studios at once?
Socializing instead of|putting your hand in clay?
Driving your workers on marble...
while you add the finishing touches!
As an artist,|I refuse your system!
Stop this gossip! Slander!|Stop confusing everything!
"You're" confused!|Supporting political hacks... they'll defend your work!
I'm neither for|nor against Dreyfus!
If only you believed|in either side...
When I heard|you were pro-Dreyfus...
just for your personal gains...
...for your Balzac... you could finally exhibit,|then I turned "against" Dreyfus!
That's enough!
It's ridiculous!
Such a waste!
When I met you, you were...
...for me, the most|desirable woman in the world.
You, who are a sculptor!
You caressed my naked stomach...
...and didn't even realize|it had changed.
Had I known you expected a child|I'd have married you.
For years... you didn't want...
You never wanted to choose...
You never decided anything.
I never loved anyone but you.
I couldn't share you.
It was a struggle for me.
What should I tell you?
You made a mistake, that's all.
It's finished.
I don't want any more|complicated emotions...
...the tyranny of feelings.
I can't anymore.
On your deathbed|you'll still hesitate!
There's nothing left.
Yes, but...
What will you do?
I need the money.
You're crazy!
You'll never get it inside.
What about the landlord?
What about him?|It's only wood.
Thank you, Robert.
You're wrong to think|it's about you.
You're a sculptor, Rodin,|not a sculpture.
You ought to know.
I am that old woman|with nothing on her bones.
And the aging young girl...
that's also me.
And the man is me, too.
Not you.
I gave him my toughness.
He gave me his emptiness|in return.
There you are...|three times me.
The Holy Trinity,|trinity of emptiness.
How did you know...
...there were people|inside the big white rock?
You have a stomachache?
My father's a doctor.
You lied!
You said you wanted|my three figures...
for the Universal Exposition!
I swear, it was never a question|of the Exposition of 1900.
Listen, Miss Claudel...
I was the first one who|wrote about you, defended you.
I need recognition, not praise!
But you have it!
The order for "The Age of Maturity"|is official.
But not for the|Exposition of 1900.
It's a scheme of Rodin's.|I know it!
Whenever he can,|Rodin helps you.
He respects you deeply|as an artist.
He wishes you well.
Believe me, I'm in no mood|to be held back by Rodin's gang.
He brags about his power.
And he prints my portrait|on postcards...
against my wishes!
And the bust I made of him!
He exhibits it anywhere,|in any way, without my consent!
His head!|It's all he cares about.
And the erotic sketches!
You go too far!
Rodin isn't your enemy.
You must calm down.
You've assailed us...
with your letters|and demands for too long.
Who do you think you are?
Don't you know who I am?|Or are you pretending?
What kind of behavior is this?|You're crazy!
I'm Camille Claudel!
And if you don't know it,|I'll show you!
Doctor Michaux!
Let go of her!
I'm Doctor Michaux.|What is this?
A search warrant, sir.
We're reclaiming state property.
It's a plot by the Rodin gang.
The State paid for your work.
Monsieur Morhardt|gave you the check.
I burned the check.
Nobody can keep me from|making another one.
It's your devil, Camille, again!
Exploiter of the poor!
You have to come out of|your house now.
You hear?
You'll have to walk|through garbage to get out.
You hear me?
It's time we moved.
My daughter!
It's not possible.
Your eyes are dark blue,|my child.
You look terrible.|Louise couldn't reach you.
Your brother also tried|to see you...
during his last visit.
He was in Paris?
Is that in America?
Fou Tcheou.
He travels a great deal.|He's a vice consul.
It's beautiful.
I wanted so much|to go to China with him.
He'll be well-known.
He's a great poet.
I neglected him for too long.
I know, Papa.
I always took up too much room.
Have I disappointed you?
...but I'll always love you.
"I wanted not to weep"
"and to get up to walk,|but man only goes forward."
"Until he has to stop."
"And his bones well up|in his eyes, out of that sea..."
"which, in all chests,|rises to the same level."
"Where did I go wrong?|Where is my fault?"
"If they cut off my hands..."
"...I'll offer you the stumps."
"I'll come toward you..."
"On my bones, toward you..."
I'm ashamed...
...I'm ashamed.
Paul has found God.
He's come to terms with that.|Good terms.
And you, what will you have,|when I'm gone?
{y:i}My dear Paul...
{y:i}I have a lot of new ideas|{y:i}for you.
{y:i}Three figures listening|{y:i}to another, behind a screen.
{y:i}Ayoung girl on a bench, crying.
{y:i}Her parents watch, stunned.
{y:i}I get great pleasure|{y:i}from working.
{y:i}In next year's salon, |{y:i}the group of three...
{y:i}if I'm done, large scale.
{y:i}And I've another group in mind,|{y:i}that you'll love.
{y:i}See, it's no longer like Rodin.|{y:i}And dressed!
{y:i}You never tell me|{y:i}what you're writing.
{y:i}Any new books?
{y:i}Several friends told me|{y:i}to buy, "Tete d'Or".
{y:i}It's been terribly cold lately.
{y:i}I keep a fire going all night.
{y:i}If you can spare|{y:i}any money for heat...
{y:i}it would help.
{y:i}Thank you for the onyx.
{y:i}I hear the crash of green water.
{y:i}Hurry and come see all this.
{y:i}I hold you close. Camille.
You're the only one... whom I've confided|all this.
Don't show this to anyone.
Are you drunk?
Enough, Camille.
My God, you've changed!
Haven't you seen|the river rising?
The area has been evacuated.
He wants to drown me now.
The way you carry on!
You "refused" an order|for ten busts of Rodin!
You're officially invited|to Prague with him... you don't go!
Have some courage, damn it!
Your behavior is irresponsible.
You hear? Irresponsible!
To complete the picture... mail cat shit|to the Minister of Culture...
...and accuse Rodin|of stealing the Mona Lisa.
Bravo. Very funny.
Stop these morbid pranks.
Go out! Be seen!
React intelligently...
instead of burying yourself alive.
This is suicide, Camille.
I'm afraid.
I'm afraid of being robbed!
I'm afraid!
Everyone is afraid|one time or another.
But... with me...|it's all the time.
There are people...|who are bothered by me...
...who don't forgive me|for being so gifted.
No, listen, Camille.
We haven't met for a long time.
What new treasures!
This little piece...'s monumental!
You mean "The Chatterboxes"?
You call it that?
Or "The Gossips".
Sakountala... marble.
And that little girl...
Look,|I'll give you six months... create a new piece|for me, large-scale.
I'll arrange an exhibition...
a one-man show of your work.
They'll see how sublime you are.
You look like Cinderella.
I like Cinderella.
It's like the lower depths here.
I'll arrange it all.|First, the cats.
Don't move. I'll be back.
I'll carry you to the boat.
Camille Claudel is the first to|create this type of inner sculpture.
Critics have often|compared her art... that of another,|whose name I detest...
In fact, there is no similarity|whatever...
between the two.
The art of that sculptor|is the heaviest there is.
Some of his figures can't even|get free of the clay... which they are petrified.
When they aren't crawling...
...hugging the mud|in a kind of erotic furor...
...then each, clasping another|body, seeks to recreate...
...the primitive mass.
Impenetrable, they repel|the light... like a thick wall.
She's frightening!
How embarrassing for her brother.
You're a wonderful poet,|Monsieur Claudel.
You've seen "The Gossips"?|It's so small... fits in your hand,|like a secret.
Eugene Blot, thank you!
It's a triumph!
She doesn't have a style...
Of course she's eccentric...
It's from Camille.
She made that dress|especially for the occasion.
A circus!
Nothing ever comes|out of a whirlwind...
...except trash.
Still, Camille's work isn't at all|like Rodin's sleazy pawing.
Getting over Rodin has been|hard on her, you know.
She staked everything on Rodin,|and she lost everything.
My sister.
My sister... a mystery in full light.
There's a way to approach|a mystery... gently...
I'm leaving, Blot!
Without saying good-bye to her?
The reviews were mostly good.
They only panned your "Perseus".
They found it too disturbing.
Some felt you portrayed "yourself"...
as having a severed head.
They've no right|to criticize my statue.
You've struggled alone.
You're the most|authentic sculptor I know.
Just disregard|the salon clique.
I sold nothing...
...but I will.|I'm not discouraged.
Your work can't help but touch|collectors in the end, because... tears my heart out.
They scoff at you because|they can't destroy you.
Genius always terrifies people.
I should have bought|dresses, hats, instead of...
...indulging my passion|for dubious edifices.
Your art is so great,|nobody understands it anymore.
I love you, Blot.
Just send back|the works in plaster.
Keep the marble pieces.
Keep the bronzes, too.
You go, Robert, talk to her.
It's Robert!
Open up!
You! Open up!
A shame, using a child.|Robert, where's your dad?
All they do is sleep!|I am a sculptor, sir!
I get my ideas at night.|That's it! Good-bye, Robert.
MARCH 3, 1913
When I think of|how he suffered...
...when he learned the truth|about her and Rodin!
Such arrogance! Living|with him like a kept woman!
I don't even dare say|what I think!
She abused us!
Still,|I can't abandon my daughter.
Something must be done quickly.
"I, the undersigned,|doctor of medicine..."|MARCH 8, 1913
"...certify that Camille Claudel..."
"...suffers from|severe mental problems."
"That she wears rags...|certainly never washes herself..."
"That she has sold|almost all her furniture..."
"...although she receives from her|family... who also pay for her rent..."
"...200 francs per month..."
"with which she could live|comfortably..."
"That she lives in isolation,|in a locked room, without air..."
"...having sealed the windows|several months ago."
She amounted to nothing.
I amounted to something.|She didn't.
"She evidently is still|terrified of Rodin's gang."
All the gifts Nature gave her...
brought only unhappiness.
It's a total catastrophe.|My sister is swallowed up.
"...and a danger to her neighbor|necessitates her confinement..."
" a mental hospital."
MARCH 10, 1913
All these ordeals in one week.
The death of my husband...|my daughter...
It's horrible.
When she's better,|you can take her home...
{y:i}My little Paul...
{y:i}You came to see me in May...
{y:i}... and I made you promise...
{y:i}not to neglect me so terribly.
{y:i}Madhouses are made|{y:i}to inflict suffering.
{y:i}It can't be helped...
{y:i}... especially if|{y:i}you never see anyone.
{y:i}They try to force me|{y:i}to sculpt here.
{y:i}They don't succeed, |{y:i}so they make trouble for me.
{y:i}Don't forget, Paul...
{y:i}your sister is in prison|{y:i}with mad women.
{y:i}Mama wrote the doctor...
{y:i}that I mean to harm you.
{y:i}That I detest you and|{y:i}am out to hurt you.
{y:i}It's not true.
{y:i}I wish she would take me|{y:i}to Villeneuve with her.
{y:i}Do you think I enjoy spending|{y:i}months, years...
{y:i}like this, without any news, |{y:i}or hope?
{y:i}Where does such ferocity|{y:i}come from?
{y:i}How did they manage|{y:i}to change you so?
{y:i}I'd really like to know.
{y:i}You might as well|{y:i}send me to Siberia.
{y:i}Did you take care of my things?
{y:i}Are they in Villeneuve?
{y:i}Be careful they don't fall|{y:i}into Rodin's hands.
{y:i}He's so afraid|{y:i}I might come back.
{y:i}That's why he's keeping me here,|{y:i}isn't it, Paul?
{y:i}I would so like to go home|{y:i}and close the door tightly.
{y:i}I don't know if I'll be able|{y:i}to realize this dream...
{y:i}... to be home.
{y:i}Oh, God,|{y:i}I wish I were in Villeneuve.
{y:i}Your sister in exile.
Because of the war...
...Camille Claudel was transferred|to the asylum at Montdevergues...
...on September 9, 1914.
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