I'm looking for Miss Raxelius.
The Mademoiselle is not receiving.
It's... it's important.
Tell her that District Commissioner Dåådh is here.
The Mademoiselle is in grief after the brutal murder of her brother
with which I daresay you are familiar, sir.
It's of the utmost importance that...
The utmost importance? To whom?
I need to speak to Miss Raxelius!
A good sup this morrow to cleanse the belly of sorrow!
Your health!
Sahlberg, a half pint of brandy
and make it quick.
A quickie it shall be. as the actress said.
He didn't even let me in through the door.
A heathen seeks a scapegoat when grief strikes.
Someone to blame, to relieve their pain.
Bide your time.
Let her calm down.
"We the people have a natural right
"to liberty and to peace
"If tyranny's shackles bind us tight
"we shall fight for our release.
"Come, let us storm the Bastille!"
Throw that away.
The King forbids...
"Come women and men let us now advance
"Merry we make and then
"around the royal nob shall dance."
Let's go.
".. .Around the royal nob shall dance!"
Dåådh...
Go on, read it!
I have already read it.
I found one of its kind at the Jolly Arabia.
So they're lying around the public houses too, eh?
A scandal!
I want them all - and I mean all- gathered up and burnt.
"Come, let us storm the Bastille!"
The King has forbidden
the very mention of the French Revolution.
So?
Sweden will not be ravaged
by the same unbridled madmen as France.
Of course not.
The King calls them Europe's Orang-utans!
These pamphlets spread rot.
Give people ideas. The wrong ideas.
Better perhaps than no ideas at all.
Sorry?
What do you want of me?
I want you to find the author.
I only use
proper Fraktur type. not radical modernities like Antiqua.
And I am a loyal subject.
Very well.
Who might have printed it?
We need a name.
I'm a loyal subject.
A name!
Or would you prefer
to answer the question back at the police headquarters?
It might, of course, be...
Pettersson.
Thank you.
District Commissioner...
Please. Have another one.
Exquisite.
As I was saying...
my condolences to you, my dear.
But as you understand. I am also here on another matter.
I have been appointed as... your guardian.
Guardian?
You have inherited from your deceased brother
and I shall be managing the fortune.
My fortune.
So as a woman you have the privilege of being spared having to trouble
your fickle womanly mind
with figures.
It has...
fallen to my lot.
- You poor man, that you should... - My clear Marta...
the court has appointed me.
I have set aside ten riksdaler a month
for your household requirements.
Ten riksdaler?
That should suffice.
The fact is that I shall nee-cl quite a size-able sum immediately.
On what do you intend to spend this size-able sum?
That is private.
Surely, for little ladies there is nothing so private
that ten riksdalers a month
would not suffice?
I didn't know you had such a gift for police work.
Whoever breaches the laws of the kingdom must de facto stand trial.
Yes, but...
when the law opposes freedom of speech, it's wrong.
Then the law must be changed.
Have you heard of Descartes?
You talk too much. Dåådh. and too loudly.
They got away.
Do you think it was them?
I can't see round comers. Freund.
Nor can I do magic.
- I'll fetch Nordin. - Wait...
"Liberty.
"Equality.
"Sorority"!
I'd been expecting this.
He took risks.
I told him...
Oh, my dear Lord...
What's happened?
Your father's in Heaven.
He's with the angels.
Go and play, now.
There were two youths in the print room when we arrived.
One had a scar.
Olof Sundberg.
He's an apprentice here.
And just as wild with politics.
The other boy is Jonas Fahlander,
always at Olof's side.
Do you know who might have written this?
No.
They won't come and take him before I can say my farewells, will they?
In the Devil's name...!
- Who are you? - Pauline Martin.
Governess for the Sprengporten family.
And what are you doing here. Miss?
The printer had been kind enough to take an interest in my writing.
- Writing? - Oui.
What writing might that be? What do you write?
I shall publish a book on the French language and...
The poor man, he was my printer.
Take her to police headquarters.
- But he was already dead when I arrived! - Look sharp!
I might be mistaken. but I gather from Freund
that you caught the murderers red-handed.
And yet they seem to have evaded you.
The boys escaped, yes.
How vexing. Otherwise the case would have been solved.
It's too early to say if the boys were guilty or not.
Still, it is essential that we find them as soon as possible.
Is it not?
Dung heap.
You are so beautiful.
Be quick.
I can take him.
Knock the sense out of him.
Reduce him to a drooling idiot...
Or I can simply kill him.
Then I would just get a new guardian.
Come in.
The door's open, as you well know.
My, my.
How you have made me wait. you villain.
Here's just a taste of what's coming to you...
Madame Sundberg, forgive me.
Who are you?
Why are you here?
I'm looking for one
Olof Sundberg.
Your son. I presume.
And who is asking after him?
District Commissioner Dåådh.
What's he done?
A strange question. Why should he have done anything?
Fine gentlemen like you don't just talk to poor boys.
Where is he?
Working.
Or running after that foreigner that he's lost his head over.
What's her name?
Je ne sais pas.
What do you want with Olof?
His employer is dead.
Murdered.
That's why I'm looking for Olof.
Olof would never...
Oh, my dear God...
Subversive words.
Really?
Undeniably. My men keep finding them lying around.
I put Dåådh onto finding the one responsible.
And what did he find?
- A printer with a crushed skull. - So I heard.
Is that so?
That is nothing for you to read.
"Alas, my sister
"when for love you yearn
"you must find a man who for liberty burns.
"A man who will stand by your side and for equality fight
"and with dignity will treat you when you're at home at night."
Clever.
Clever?
Such nonsense can damage people.
When Dåådh finds the author. we shall show no mercy.
Author? Are you sure it's a man?
Women don't write such texts.
Is that so?
Revolution is a male activité.
And what, then, is l'activité de la femme?
To weary their husbands with their mindless chatter.
Enough new, chérie.
Who else is there?
The grocer, of course.
And what have we bought?
Spices for the household...
coffee - that's costly, write it down.
And cloth.
A really expensive silk.
I must have a dress made - with lace.
Lace...
And I shall need earrings to go with it...
- Brilliants... - Brilliants...
What about the renovation of my carriage?
It's already been renovated.
Then it must be repainted.
How much does that come to?
Do you think he'll be fooled by this?
He has no choice.
It's whispered that Nyberg creeps out on little nocturnal adventures.
A whoremonger?
A pederast.
Bring your cane.
Mais, Monsieur, c'est pas possible...
Mademoiselle...
je ne parle pas français.
Swedish, s'il vous plaît.
Before God and my conscience I am innocent!
How can you believe that I...
- District Commissioner. - Nordin.
- Found the boys? - Not yet.
So why are you here?
Miss Martin, you are free to go.
- What? - It's my duty to question her, not yours.
Please.
Dåådh. Your interrogation methods
are highly irregular!
I interrogate in my own way.
You are very friendly. Monsieur.
Miss Martin. I should like...
You oaf!
Miss Martin.
I know that you have had
some very upsetting experiences
followed by a chat with Nordin.
Let me apologise
on behalf of the police authority.
I think you would do well... with some rest. Are you hungry?
We shall dine in my rooms.
Nyberg doesn't seem short of money. at least.
He is a miser.
My mother said he never wed as the thought of a dowry made him quake.
Hell has three gates.
Avarice.
Lust and wrath.
Then one at least is open for Nyberg.
Olof!
Pauline-"s been taken in for questioning.
Damn!
What do we do now?
I don't know, but I saw her leave the police headquarters with Dåådh.
Stop!
I have to talk to her!
Do you want to die?
Hang from the gallows. fodder for ravens and dogs?
Olof!
Miss Martin.
You've already met Freund. my batman and an excellent cook.
What's on offer this evening?
Butter-fried cockerel. That was my plan...
Excellent.
If there's enough to go round, that is...
If we share fraternally there'll be enough.
I shall need to wash.
This way, my lady.
- Please, take a seat. - Thank you.
What brings you to our distant country. my lady?
I was persuaded to come
by a young Swedish nobleman visiting Paris.
But when I arrived...
he was gone.
What kind of dog was he?
The unfaithful kind.
But...
it was not hard to find work.
Many want to learn to converse in French.
And now you are writing a text-book in this beautiful language.
Oui.
I myself have no problems speaking it...
but to write it...
is a different thing altogether.
All those accents flying everywhere.
We here are spared them, thank God.
Take your famous slogan:
Liberté,
egalité
et fraternité.
How are we to spell those words?
As they sound.
Can't you show me?
If you write. I'll spell them.
It would be simpler if you wrote them.
Monsieur...
s'il vous plaît.
You write.
Ban.
You want a sample of my hand. District Commissioner.
Touché.
why?
I suspect you write other things too.
Of a more subversive nature.
Here is your manuscript.
This is what you were searching the print room for, is it not?
"Liberty. Equality. Sorority."
Is that why you pretended to be so friendly and brought me here?
Police chief Wahlstedt
has ordered me to arrest the author of this pamphlet
and all other works of yours
that you scatter like autumn leaves over town.
Go ahead.
Arrest me.
I want to find Olof Sundberg.
I know he's sweet on you.
Take me to him.
For Christ's sake, Nyberg!
You know as well as I. Nyberg.
That a deed of such perversity shall be punished by the scaffold!
God, give me mercy!
God? I think not.
But if you hereafter do as I wish and say.
I shall not report you to the police authority.
Oh, look at this place!
Won't you be done soon, sir?
- I must clean up here. - Oh, no.
You may do no cleaning in here, woman.
This is a crime scene.
But the blood is...
And this is evidence.
But I have to clean away the blood...
Well, well...
Mind your step, my lady.
Go ahead of me. I shall join you soon.
Monsieur!
- I must follow him! - You're hurt.
You will never find Olof Sundberg now. They've gone!
"The king upon his golden pot must also expose his royal bot.
"And that which drops into his throne smells just like a pauper's crone."
The lady has a sharp tongue...
Are we on the same side?
On certain matters, yes.
I am convinced that...
man is born with certain natural rights.
The most important of which...
is freedom of expression.
The king disagrees with you.
And Olof?
Olof?
He too is living dangerously.
Olof is no revolutionary.
He is but an infatuated boy.
What reason did Olof have for murdering the printer?
None at all.
Were you perchance the reason?
No.
"Man is born with certain natural rights."
Does that apply to women too?
Without question.
So you would agree that...
women are not naturally inferior to men?
Different... not inferior.
We merely appear so, for we...
lack a formal education.
Maybe.
So women...
should have the same rights as men...
to...
To?
...to take what they want?
Good night, ma chérie.
Good night.
Now I have my war-chest...
What are you thinking?
Nothing.
Good morning. Where have you been?
Following orders and doing my duty.
What did you do last night?
That is none of your business. my friend.
"Trust not th' impulse that thou deceives..."
Love letters.
To me? From whom?
Not to you.
To the printer.
Smell them.
There are scores of them. from different senders.
The prints-Vs widow wanted to clean up the print room. I forbade her.
An admirably stoic woman.
Rises above the jealousy that such letters should arouse.
Sometimes, your knowledge of mankind is as shallow as a bird-bath. Freund.
She's illiterate.
Another one.
An endless stream, apparently.
Good day.
Where is the printer?
Who asks?
Cajsa Stina Berg.
Who asks?
District Commissioner Dåådh. This is my batman Freund.
What is your relationship with the printer. Miss?
My relationship?
- You are direct, sir. - What are you doing here?
It is a private matter.
Are you an author?
Yes. I write.
- Poetry. - Poetry.
That Pettersson prints?
Yes, he said he would.
In time.
Fetter-awn": dead.
What are you saying?
The late Pettersson has found his peace
with the Heavenly Father.
Murdered.
I knew it. She's killed him.
- Who's killed him? - That Sundberg bitch.
She never let him alone.
Olof Sundberg.
And his mother.
So bestial.
Jonas, calm down!
Calm down!
So mother and son lay murdered in their bed?
To a job well done.
I might have caught him in the act.
But I still cannot fathom his motive.
Olof Sundberg was killed because he happened to see
Jonas Fahlander murder the printer.
- Why kill his mother? - Because she happened to be there.
He is a cold-blooded cretin, c'est élémentaire!
Pay no more mind to it.
You are injured.
It is nothing.
I thought you were hunting a man of words, not of violence.
Words can be dangerous enough.
Indeed.
Sometimes it is best to remain silent than to speak hastily.
But it takes a certain courage
to express the yearnings of the soul.
That kind of courage belongs to
the fools. the poets and the young.
Sensible people understand that some words can harm them...
and those dear to them.
Madame.
Sir.
Mama's not home.
Who reads these letters?
I read them for Mama.
She says they're from the angels.
But...
But?
She says they're Papa's angels and they don't live in Heaven...
but in Hell.
Pauline!
You've destroyed everything!
You seduced him!
You seduced him you bloody little slut!
Look carefully now.
For this will be the last thing you see!
To the Devil with that vile goat!
You've destroyed my life. you accursed little whore!
It will give me such pleasure to stick this knife in you...
Come no closer, you dog!
I promise.
I shall remain where I am. I shan't move.
I've been looking for you. Madam.
Why?
I've understood that your husband...
deserved to die.
He was a lying wretch.
Heaven only knows!
The way...
he treated you, you poor woman.
Was so awful...
Come no closer!
It's too late. She must die.
My husband will get to meet his whores once more and to fuck them in Hell!
I caught him.
He promised.
He promised never to look at another woman again.
He made a promise to me and to the children.
The children!
I love my children.
How I love my children!
There's nothing lovelier
than feeling a child's heart beat next to one's own.
It wasn't long before he betrayed me again.
This time he refused to mend his ways.
He said it was his right as a man.
He'd do as he pleased
and I'd just have to hold my tongue and accept it.
And then the Devil entered me.
And the pamphlet in your husband's mouth?
He was too heavy for me to move.
So I thought I'd make it look like someone else had done it.
Someone with a political grudge to bear.
I promise that
nothing erotic passed between your husband and me.
We were on the same side in the struggle for equality.
Equality!
Do you really think he cared about your dreams?
Eh?
If only you knew how many women begged him
to print their poetry, their politics...
And how did you pay?
With your little cunts. That's how.
We never got as far as to agree on a price.
Erik...
Your son...
Erik.
He read all those letters to you.
Who's going to take care of him now?
Your children...
They've already lost their father.
Are they...
Are they to lose their mother too?
I can help you.
It's too late.
God, help me!
No!
So you're saying that
the boy read the love letters to his mother?
As for the author of the pamphlets...
Yes?
I found this manuscript
amongst Olof Sundberg's belongings.
So it was that n'er-do-well who wrote these vile texts.
Well, well.
The widow did the hangman's work for us.
God strikes some immediately.
Jonas.
Go home and take care of your family.
But the pamphlets were written by that French woman!
Shh.
Mention Pauline Martin no more.
Olof is dead.
He'd not have wanted her jailed for the sake of free speech.
Dåådh!
"Alas, my sister w-hen
"for love you ye-arn...
"you must find...
"a man who for... liberty bums..."
Should a young stripling have written that?
Then he must have been wearing a skirt!
What do you mean?
It's obvious the author's a woman.
Come...
Go and fetch Nordin.
Nordin's on his way.
You must delay him. Freund.
I hope you have a nice and comfortable journey...
the whole way home.
Would it not be easier to knock?
Has something happened?
You know better than I.
We're after that little slut who's been writing revolutionary pamphlets!
There must be a mistake.
From where have you got that information? Can you smell shit?
Nordin, when will your men learn not to tramp around
with excrement on their boots?
Next time you get it into your head to pay a visit
I want you to clean your boots and knock first.
There's no one here.
How did it go?
Well.
She escaped the king's justice
thanks to you, my friend.
"Every sin that man doeth is without the body.
"But he that committeth fornication
"sinneth against his own body."
There's a difference between a dalliance and true love.
True love can never experience its dalliance.
There are no guarantees
that true love is found in marriage either.
In a marriage. you learn to love each other.
Take the Wahlstedts, for example.
Is that not true love?
Don't you see how he looks at her?
And she!
What a woman!
Beautiful, gay, virtuous.
I should give my right arm for a woman like that.
I know.
You're in love with Magdalena!
Why, hello there!
Miss Raxelius!
I know you're at home.
I didn't shoot him.
He was like a brother to me. you know that.
It matters not who fired the pistol.
I have lost my other half.
The person who meant everything to me.
He was hunted to death by oppressors
and police scoundrels - and you are one of them.
I am wealthy, Dåådh.
I am a free and independent woman.
I shall stop at nothing to destroy you
and the rotten society that you serve.
I understand, my lady.
If you ever need a servant...
you know where to find me.