Le Soulier de Satin (Manoel de Oliveira, 1985) Part 3/3 (English Subs)


Uploaded by parmenides91 on 10.09.2012

Transcript:
More than ten years later.
Low wind, Baleric Islands.
Look out!. Someone is coming. Try to look as if you weren't looking.
It is Don Rodrigo's ship.
Wow! He has hung his whole picture shop out to air.
All the saints of paradise have been over his counter.
Look at the bunting he's hoisted.
A boat returning after three days fishing
isn't more cluttered with sails and nets drying.
It's a good time for doing trade.
The fleet arriving from America with gold
and silver from Peru is here.
The fleet that is going to fight against the Turks
under John of Austria is here, ready to sail.
And the convoy that will supply our Armada against England
is here also.
The king with all his court is here. Finance, diplomacy,
law courts, the whole box and dice.
All Spain is there dancing on the bonny sea.
People have finally realized
that you cannot really live anywhere but on the water.
And fishermen in the middle of all that, friends!
The boats for the provisioning,
servants, comedians, acrobats,
the priests with the Mass ship
ringing the bell, the soldiers.
All you can see are black spots everywhere,
like flies on flypaper.
And the night is amazing with all those lights,
sky rockets, cooking fires flaring and crackling,
the whole great Spanish Armada at sea,
the sea, I say, as a sort of large orchestra that can't be silenced,
down below, that never stops humming to itself,
always keeping the beat and dancing under you.
Nobody thinks of going back to land;
boats are going to Majorca to get people when needed.
If I were the King of Spain I would get tired of seeing Don Rodrigo
walking around in the middle of it all with his one leg.
It is not the fault of the King of Spain he has only one leg.
Still, for ten years he was Viceroy of the Indies;
then sent in disgrace to the Philippines, and it was there,
whie waging war on the Japanese, that he was taken prisoner.
And now he's forced to sell sheets of holy pictures
to poor fishermen to make a living.
The sea is just the place for wrecks.
The King of Spain isn't required to bother with all those
that end up here, sailing near the wind.
But defiantly sailing right under his nose,
as proud as a three tier ship!
Well, if I was in his place
you'd see me showing all those golden haired courtiers
what happens to someone
when I have lost interest in them.
But it is he rather who seems to have lost interest in the King of Spain.
You should see his airs, perched on his wooden leg,
and banging it on his boat's bridge,
"Stop, keep away, its me!"
As if to say, as someone might say,
there was nothing more to say, nothing!
As if he was ambushed whenever he spoke.
I think all this will end badly for him.
Meanwhile everyone buys his holy pictures.
There's never enough of them.
There is nothing but them on the wall in the Islands,
even to the prisons of Algeria.
The Fathers of Mercy even send parcels of them to the poor prisoners.
The oddest thing is that he has never tried to paint or draw,
but he explains his ideas,
and there beside him is a Japanese man he brought back from Japan
who executes everything on a wooden board.
With ink and color and a press they pull as many sheets as they want.
The other day he gave me a grand Saint James.
You see him landing in Spain.
He has kind of black whiskers, no eyes,
a big nose like an iron knife.
Dressed like a sailor to the waist,
and below all legs and muscles.
He has his right foot planted on the bow of his boat,
his knee up to chest height.
He's throwing over Spain a sort of spiral
endlessly spinning and twisting
that continues on into the sky, towards a kind of pillar
that you see there, the pillar of Hercules,
the stake that pins Europe in the middle,
the last bolt screwed tight
to keep Europe from splintering.
I have another Saint James.
He's as large as the entire distance between heaven and earth.
He's emerging from the sea, with one foot still in it up to the ankle,
so tall he has to stoop under the ceiling of the clouds.
And he has a huge arm hanging from the right shoulder
and a hand at the end that swings like an anchor, and below,
on the shore, with its shops and its steeples,
you see a small village all white like a pile of flour.
There is a Saint Joseph, on Mount Ararat,
who is being given Noah's Ark.
But the one I've bought is St. Jude,
the patron Saint of hopeless causes.
You see a kind of cross-roads down a mine,
where three or four galleries meet, miles underground.
There is a solitary man, sitting down
with his head on his arms, on a table.
And out of one of those galleries comes a shaft of light
like a lantern approaching him.
There are many more.
You won't see them all by the time you get home.
You might say that someone finds him the images,
and he tosses it to the Japanese man,
always close to him,
like a cook with his frying pan frying in the fire.
All this doesn't say what we are going to do
with this great wine jar
beneath the waves, once we've fished it up.
We will just have to turn bartenders and offer drink to the whole of Spain.
And what would the Holy Inquisition say,
or else the ministry of Customs and Excise?
In my opinion we should rather offer it to the King of Spain
and His Majesty will make us all gentlemen.
Help me, help me! I caught something, I caught something.
- Wakarismaska - Wakarimass.
Is not this good lord here going to get weary
waiting for us in this uncomfortable position?
Finish your work while we are inspired.
I feel its going to work.
I feel inspiration going from me right to the ends of your ten fingers.
How could Your Excellency ever have done anything other than drawing?
That is what I often wonder. The wasted time!
And how I could have all that time been so easy on two legs
with now just one to hold on to the earth?
Yet I find it amusing to flop around
in midair with one leg and a wing.
The other leg, thanks to me, is honored forever
on the battlefield of Sendegahara
- by a small monument. - I do not miss it.
Men of Japan, I was too fond of you.
It was worth losing a leg to enter your land!
Did you mean to express your sympathy with cannon balls?
One uses what one has,
and I have never been free with flowers and caresses.
You were too happy in your little dry hole
in the middle of the ocean, in your closed off garden,
sipping tea in your little cups.
I hate to see people happy; it is immoral.
I wanted to butt into your ceremonies.
In any case, you had to spend some time
with us to learn repose and stability.
I see myself still on that top floor of the Nagoya Castle
which was given me for a prison.
What a prison!
Wasn't it rather me who held all of Japan,
across the joint of her main articulation,
all of Japan that I possessed by way of my seventy windows.
My God, how cold it was!.
On one side were the fields, it was winter,
the country all cracked, the earth pink, the woods black,
and the smallest detail finely drawn
as with a boar's bristle on the finest china.
On the other side, the town filled up
half the view from my windows to the west.
And I remember well that single dark blue blot
made by the workshop of a dyer on the scaly grey of the roof tops.
There I met you, my old Daibutsu!
How many sacred paintings we unfolded together!
How many long rolls passed slowly through my fingers
like a river of images and characters!
If you had wanted
I could have taught you to draw in our own way.
I could never have done it.
I would not have had the patience.
I have a hand like a wooden glove.
I could never have yielded my mind up to nature
like a perfectly blank sheet of paper,
a fasting thing on which one by one the shadows appear
and tinge themselves with various hues;
what can be spoken, and not what is made
to abide forever in the delight
and the concealment of an ineffable light,
like those waters from which the lotus emerges,
like your own islands that are just four or five rocks in the ocean.
I did not come on this earth for enchantment.
It is written that great truths are not imparted save by silence.
If you want to still nature you must not make a sound.
Like water when it sinks into the earth.
If you do not love to listen you cannot hear.
And do you think that I heard nothing during those long legless winter days
when I deciphered the archives of your monks and your hermits?
When I rattled one after another the panels of that room
where you had me locked up?
Prisoner not of walls nor iron bars
but of the mountain and the sea and fields
and the rivers and forests,
everlastingly around me
drawn out on the shifting paper.
I was hearing! I heard!
There were two words that never ceased to accompany me
on that wonderful pilgrimage,
step by step along a path of paper.
And one of those words was: Why? Why?
What is the innermost secret that is bound up
and folded in the knot of these hieroglyphics
like bubbles suddenly rising up from a single thought?
There is always something that says: why?
In the wind, the sea, in the morning and the evening
and in every tiny detail of the inhabited earth.
What is the second word?
There is nobody in all these paintings!
Even if the artist placed some ships on the sea,
sprinkled down a large city
there at the head of a darkening gulf -
that no more fulfills the expectancy of these mountains
tiptoeing one after another for a closer look,
and no more diminishes the loneliness than the chorus of frogs and crickets.
Yes, it is a great lesson in silence
that the painters hang up around us.
Even that crowd of children at play that becomes in an instant,
from the moment the paper captures it under the brush,
silence and stillness, a vision forever.
Friend Daibutsu, it was not to become in my turn silence and stillness
that I broke a continent in half and crossed two oceans.
But because I am a catholic man,
in order that all the sections of humanity be joined
and that no one think itself entitled to go on living in its heresy,
separated from all the others as though it had no need of them.
Your own barrier of flowers and incantations, yes,
that also must be broken like the rest,
and therefore did I come, I,
who breaks down doors and travels along every road.
You will stand no more alone. I bring you the world, the total word of God,
all those brothers, whether you will or no,
to learn more or less
from those brothers with a single parent.
And since you cut off my foot,
since you locked up in prison what was left of my body,
I had left only the soul, the spirit,
and through these your hands, brother Daibutsu,
which have served me,
came these images to which you have incited me,
these great possibilities in myself
that I drew on scraps of paper.
Do you say that all these saints are images of yourself?
They are more like me than I am to myself
with this withered body and this still-born soul!
They are something in me that has succeeded and won its attainment!
They are fully alive!
No more resistance or inertia in them!
They answer wholly to the mind which gives them life,
excellent brushes in the hands of a perfect artist
like the one that Sesshiu took
when he drew that circle, an abiding perfection,
on the wall of Kyoto.
You have nothing else to do but to decorate your prison.
But I with my drawings build that
which passes through every prison.
I created the plan for a thing which adapts itself
to the movement of your heart
as the mill-wheel adapts to the water.
The man who through his eyes receives and has installed within his soul
the design of that tireless engine which is nothing
but motion and desire, takes to himself a power that goes beyond
that of any wall.
As was shown by your martyrs of the Southern Island when I was there,
who were crucified and sprayed with molten brimstone.
Lord Rodrigo, your words prevent me from drawing.
I understand what you want.
I have caught your warnings.
The business is yours no longer
and by your leave I will finish it alone.
Please at least don't mess it up, as you did with Saint George.
You had no grasp of it, my poor old man.
I need to use you for want of anything better.
Don't put on your suffering look! And finish your work quickly,
another idea is coming to me.
It is more amusing planning a saint than making yourself one.
What in the meantime should we do with this good lord in the corner
all thoughtful and tiresome?
It won't hurt him to ponder on and let mature yet awhile the message
that the King has given him to bring me.
This will make his ideas burst out.
Are you not curious to know what the King wishes to communicate to you
through the channel and orifice of Don Mendez Leal here?
Yes, indeed, I am dying to know, and you make me think about it.
Especially as the good lord is impatient
and see how his ribs are agitated, moved by the longing to exist.
Arise, sir!
Good day, sir. I am all ears.
But how do you expect him to speak when he is all flat?
I will cover his nose
and you will see him immediately filled with this air which is his life.
You are right. You are right.
The nose is like a post in the middle of the face that indicates the location.
In our country, when someone wants to say "It's me" he points to his nose.
Weep, weep, sir, weep your insolence and your ingratitude.
After your notable disobedience in Morocco,
after your adventures in Japan, you should have remained in prison.
Impossible to keep me entirely inside a prison.
There will always be something remaining outside.
The King, at my request, has consented to remember
the services that you rendered him
long ago in the West Indies.
Some say that it was you who first had the idea,
who drew, if I may say, the rude and crude design
of that enterprise realised by Don Ramiro,
the royal road of Panama,
which will always bear the name of that great man.
It is a great honor for me that my name should be humbly linked with his.
And how, may I enquire,
have you thanked His Majesty, for the favours
he sought to shower over you on the first occasion
- you were presented to him. - I shudder to hear.
What is this unheard of insolence,
parading thus under his nose at the very moment
he is holding his solemn audiences at sea,
as this kind of garbage, this rag and tatter of a man
whom once he had charged to represent, in the other world,
his own Majesty in person?
I will answer you presently.
But is your Christian name not John?
My name is not John, my name is Inigo,
and my family is the best in the Asturias.
I say this because I have a Saint John over there just finished.
Saint John, patron saint of graziers and herbalists.
Green on green, it is a refreshment for the eyes,
a pure delight to look at.
Continue, please.
I no longer know where I was.
You were at "unprecedented insolence"; and I asked your name.
And while we are at it,
is it not shameful for a gentleman to be hawking daubs?
Dauber of Saints, sir.
What is this familiarity, to represent Saints
as if they were ordinary men
on some soiled paper that a fisherman
or a carpenter nails to the wall of his cabin,
amidst the most repulsive sights?
Is this not lacking in respect for holy things?
Let us instead leave on the altars
and in the oratories, these venerable, respectable figures,
and let them be only seen through the smoke of incense.
If they are to be represented let it be by the blessed and consecrated brush
of some church-warden of art, duly commisioned, a Velasquez,
a Leonardo da Vinci, a Luke Oliver Merson.
I must confess my main reason
for embracing a career in the Fine Arts
was to not resemble Leonardo da Vinci.
A Saint should have a face that is universal
since they are the patrons of many different people,
with a decent demeanour, and gestures meaning nothing in particular.
Trust the painters for that!
It isn't the imagination that drowns them!
And me, I am appalled at those salt cod faces,
those faces that are not human faces
but a little exhibition of virtue.
The Saints were only flame
and nothing is like them that is not hot and enkindles.
Respect! Always respect! Respect is only due the dead
and not the things we use and need.
Love knows not reverence, Saint Bernard says.
There is no way to talk seriously with you.
All I ask is to listen.
Don Rodrigo, I have no use for you,
but who can know the mind of the King?
Who can penetrate into the designs of this sovereign
who keeps his court on the everchanging sea?
Is it possible that you are coming back into favour,
and that I am not the first to seek out this surprising place
where the ray of His grace has settled?
One could not find anywhere more disgusting.
When you are again powerful I hope you will give me much money.
Oh, how I long for all you will be able to give me!
He has spoken of you twice the same day.
It is a sign that he either wants to appoint you Chancellor or hang you.
To the wise, good luck!.
Before leaving take a glass of wine.
Excuse me, the boat is pitching. I am a little seasick.
Then let me at least offer a small picture.
Here is Gabriel, the patron saint of ambassadors.
See how shining and golden he is.
In his memory, those gentlemen have the right to wear
a white feather in their hat.
Stop crying, Butchie, or I will throw into your face
all the salt water you have spilt into the sea
since we left Majorca.
What will my father say? What will my mother say?
What will my brother say?
What will the notary say? What will the Mother Superior at the convent say,
where I have been brought up so well?
What will my boyfriend say,
the splendid owner of the Progressive Butcher?
Ah! Just to think of my boyfriend lends me wings!
I feel that to get away from him,
I will go with you to the end of the world!
You shall come with me if I want you to, for as soon as I get tired of you,
I will send you into the sea with a whack on the head with an oar.
Well, do what you want with me miss, I am happy.
Since I saw your pretty face,
since you looked at me and smiled,
I knew that there was nothing for it but to follow you wherever you go.
We must hurry, Butchie, good weather!
We must not waste time if we want the world
to remain as beautiful as it is just now.
It is not possible. Perhaps it will last barely a second.
Just as the moth does not waste time
going straight to the lovely clear flame that has just been lit.
But we are not moths, we are two small carrier larks
that are singing towards the sun.
Or at least I, for one, am a lark;
you are no more than a big blow-fly.
No matter, I love you all the same.
Where do you want to take me?
Oh, my Butchie, how happy I am!
How good it will be with me, how much fun we will have.
Other girls have a long brutalizing life ahead,
husband, children, soup every day,
washing dishes forever, that is all they think about.
People walk heavily
and do not realize that it is so much easier to fly.
You only need to stop thinking of yourself.
That beautiful sun there, God has put it there with a purpose.
You only need to want to go to it, go!
But no, it is not the sun,
it is that scent so sweet that calls to me.
Oh! If I could only smell it all the time!
Comes the hour of death and there it is still!
It is not the visible sun I want, but like a spirit of wild sweetness,
this lovely scent which makes my heart stop beating.
Where is it, this lovely smell?
There, where my dear mother is; it smells good.
Many times, at night, she has come to me and hugged me tenderly,
and I am her beloved daughter.
And I must go to Africa to set her free.
But didn't you tell me she died down there, more than ten years ago?
She is dead, but she has not finished what she had to do in Africa.
Is she free when there are so many Christians groaning
in the prisons in Barbary?
I cannot go to where she is, but I can go to where they are.
Can we be free
when surrounded and bound by so many oppressed souls everywhere?
Shall I be a bored coward here in Spain,
when it depends on me to free a whole captive people
and a mother who is with them, like them?
Oh! I should have left already!
Is it you who is going to release the captives?
Yes, miss,
and if you start any tricks I have only to twist the tiller
and return you to the Progressive Butchery.
Explain what we are going to do.
As soon as we put together three hundred men
(And there is nothing easier than to gather three hundred men, and many more,
for there is no good Christian in Spain who would not want to be part
of so noble an enterprise)
we will all set off together under the flag of Saint James and Jesus Christ
and we will take Bougia.
For starters, Bougia, we must be sensible;
Algiers is too large.
I spoke with a sailor last week who knows Bougia.
His foster brother was a prisoner in Bougia.
He said there was nothing easier than to take Bougia.
And once we have taken Bougia?
If you want to know what I think I do not think we will take Bougia,
but we shall all be killed and go to heaven.
But at least those poor captives will know we have done something for them.
And all the Christians, when they have seen us die bravely,
will rise up to free them and expel the Turks,
instead of fighting each other like scoundrels.
And I shall be in heaven in the arms of my dear mother;
that's what comes of being me.
And I will always march after you, quite close,
and carry a large water bottle
to give you a drink every time you are thirsty.
If my father wishes, we will not only take Bougia,
but also Algiers and all the rest.
You should see my father. He knows everything.
There is nothing he can't do if he wants to.
What compared with him, are Dragout or Barbarossa?
Isn't it your father who only has one leg
and makes those beautiful sheets of Saints
that all the fishermen want?
My father is Viceroy of the Indies
and it was he that made the ships go over the Isthmus of Panama.
And afterwards it was he who discovered China and Japan
and took by himself with only twelve men
the castle and town of Oshima,
defended by three thousand warriors armed with bows and arrows.
That is where he lost his leg and then,
on the top floor of the Nagoya Castle,
he learned the language of the monks and studied philosophy.
And now, here he is back again,
with all the saints in heaven,
making great armies of paper.
With his brush, he brings down all the saints from heaven
and when they are all ready,
with him at their head and me beside him and you behind me with a big bottle
we will take Bougia and Algiers for the greater glory of Jesus Christ.
John of Austria, the son of Dona Musica,
to whom the King of Spain has offered command of his fleet,
and who sets off tomorrow to fight against the Turk,
is a much greater general than your father.
Not true, Butchie, you lie!
I will never let anyone say there is a better general than my father.
An old man with a severed foot.
Who would want to enlist under the orders
of an old man with a severed leg
when you have only to look at that beautiful young man
to know that he will lead us to victory?
What has he done then, your little Don John, while Africa
and the two worlds are full of my father's name?
You cannot deny it,
if you were a man and not the son,
I mean the daughter of Don Rodrigo,
with what courage you would not immediately go
to join under the standard of Don John!
It is true, my dear Butchie,
Ah, how little you know how right you are!
Go on, I feel that you have something more to say.
You can keep a secret?
I swear, all you give me I can keep.
Don John loves me.
He has seen it in my eyes that I am willing to die for him.
It's all over, I never want to see him again,
ah, he could woo me, my heart belongs to him.
But where did you see Don John?
Last night, when I was going to your house to place the ladder
against the wall of your garden to help you escape.
What did I see under a street lamp at the corner of Oil street?
A beautiful young man in black with a gold chain around his neck,
who was defending himself against three thugs.
I have a huge pistol that I stole from my father
and used to play with, loading it with all the powder
that I could find.
Well, I shut my eyes, and bang!
It made so much noise and smoke
that you would have said it was a cannon, and then you couldn't see anything,
my wrist was all shaken to pieces.
When I saw clear again, the three bandits had fled
and there was only that beautiful young man
elegantly dressed in black, thanking me.
Ah, I was so embarrassed and didn't know where to put myself,
what must he have thought of me?
What did he say? What did he say?
He told me to come with him on his ship
and that I should be his page and his aide de camp
and that he was departing the day after tomorrow to fight the Turk
and that his name was John of Austria
and that he would die before thirty.
Perhaps he was trying to make fun of you.
He is mocking me and I am mocking him.
His name is John of Austria, and my name
is Mary of the Seven Swords, the daughter of the Viceroy of the Indies.
He acts as if it was he the Gospel speaks of,
at the end of Mass, when it says:
"There was a man whose name was John".
I belong to my father and not to that silly boy
who looks so sure of himself and me.
He said I had to come at once,
and that he had been told he would die before 30.
Am I afraid of death?
Just because I am a girl
does he think I can't serve him and die for him?
Ah! I would be a brother to him
and we would sleep together side by side
and I would always be by his side to defend him
and to recognize his enemies at once.
Ah, if he dies I too am ready to die with him.
God rest his soul, amen.
What is that noise?
What power prevents me from right now flinging
out the window this cursed stone,
this device of wisdom that Rodrigo dug up for me
from the bottom of a Mexican tomb,
this translucid skull he gave me as a joke?
A spiritual sponge between my thought
and those things that the curve of the earth prevents me from seeing,
it is an unholy intermediary.
A moment ago, in ten leagues of storm,
in a churn of raging waves lit by a crazed sun,
did I not see the Rosario sink in flames,
with the stern in the air and the royal standard vanishing in the foam?
And now it is a deathly night with slabs of snow floating
and ghastly lights on every side.
I see before me a shore covered with wreckage,
and small crews being put to the sword.
And this obstinate corpse,
in the waters of this prophetic nothingness,
that endlessly rises and then drowns again,
I need only see its shoulder
and its neck circled with a golden thread and a lace collar
to recognize the admiral himself, the handsome Duke Medina Sidonia.
Philip, is it you?
Is it unexpected, everything that has happened to me?
Did I ever nurture any iIlusions?
Was I ever foolish enough to believe
I was going to conquer England with twenty thousand men
and that Armada encumbered with convoy and service ships?
And yet, I had no choice.
I absolutely had to do something.
No need to have hope to initiate a deed.
Heresy is such a stain on Christianity,
in the universal heart something so heinous and horrible,
that had I only the one chance,
it was the duty of the most Catholic King to try
and crush Knox and Cranmer
and nail to her rock that cruel Scylla,
that harpy in human guise, bloody Elizabeth.
I have done my task, I have closed that hole
through which my Accuser might have passed,
I now worship God
on every side, a perfect rampart around my faith.
Sire, good news!
Excellent news, glorious news!
Praised be to God who protects Spain!
Who could ever have doubted that an expedition so well planned,
and with such an honorable goal, under such a distinguished leader
could have had any ending that was not perfectly satisfactory?
Calm yourself, sir, gather your wits,
and have the goodness to tell me in order and measure
what remarkable thing you would tell me.
I humbly ask His Majesty's forgiveness.
On a day so fair for Spain, who could contain his happiness?
The very sea is trembling under my feet,
and this palace with its mirrors
and its paintings heaves and creaks, as if an irresistible wave
which has just been flung on the cliffs
of Dover and Southampton
were making itself felt at the bottom of that deep eddy
which, from beneath the keel of your most royal ship,
blossoms into a triple crown
upon the brows of Spain, thrice blessed by God.
Abandon this poetic language and enlighten me.
Without any kind of difficulty our glorious Armada
favoured by the breath of angels,
has finally reached the shores of Calais and Gravelines,
and there, on the ready boats, have embarked the troops of Parma.
We can only thank God for such a success.
And by now our fleet, going full sail up the Thames,
is thundering at the Tower of London.
We must celebrate a Te Deum and organize a council
on what we should do with Great Britain.
There is only one shadow on your victory, I should say.
Speak.
The poor Duke of Medina Sidonia is drowned, it is not explained how.
Sire, a woman is here who says Your Majesty has granted her audience
and absolutely insists on being introduced to Your Majesty.
One moment.
Did you go to Don Rodrigo,
as I had sufficiently given you to understand was my desire?
It was Don Mendez Leal who undertook that mission.
Well, what answer did he give?
He gave no answer
but he pinned on his back the portrait of the Angel Gabriel
and tied up his nose with a shoelace to prevent him lying.
The poor gentleman is still trembling from the insult.
Very well.
I ask you, sir, to do me the favour for a moment to cease to exist.
Show the lady in.
Lord, Lord!
- I throw myself at the feet of His Majesty - Rise, Madame.
Sire, my King! What shall I say? Where to begin?
Ah! how sensible I am of my audacity.
But what is the King's mercy,
if not like that great cup, in the gardens of Escorial,
nourished by distant peaks
and never knowing the hour of overflowing,
but where the nightingales
always have leave to slake their thirst?
Speak without fear, Madame, I am listening.
Are we not of the same trade, you and I, each in his own theatre?
Ah! If ever my voice has managed to carry to your heart
the accents of Lope and Caldern,
if ever your heart was thrilled
to see Spain in my person
with great reverence throwing herself at the feet of Sertorius,
lend a favourable ear to my poor woman's supplication.
For if it is true that I have fostered with my simple affections
those great words it was my duty to make apprehended,
it is right and fair that in turn all those creatures I have been on the stage,
and that depended on me for their life,
should now surround and support me like great pillars.
I am listening.
- Don Philip de Medina Sidonia ... - I expected this name.
Sire, Philip, my little Philip,
oh!, no one knows as well as me
that he is not made to rule England.
And who has told you, madame,
that I have an England at my disposal
to make a present of?
Everyone knows that Your Majesty
has just conquered England
and that God has scattered his enemies.
The rumor has spread in a flash
like fire in dry grass.
Listen to the songs and cheering everywhere.
True, it is a great day for Spain.
This day has been granted to Spain
a great and memorable day.
Sire, give Philip back to me.
No one knows better than me
he is not made to rule England.
I have all too well vanquished him
for him to be able to now embrace anything but me.
I am worth more than England.
What are you afraid of then, if you are so sure of him?
I am afraid of that Queen Mary
whom the Usurper has cast into a dungeon.
My beautiful Philip will set her free and then she will yield him her hand.
Behold him King of England in the fog and ice.
This is how things happen in all the stories I have played.
Poor Philip! It is all over! I am nothing to him any more!
Queen Mary is no longer in England.
Where is she, then?
Why here, at my feet, I have never thought her so beautiful.
Lord, I do not understand.
No Mary was ever so beautiful and so touching,
So it is I picture her to myself.
Sire, you frighten me.
Please unfold your thought to me!
Don Philip is yours, my daughter.
Take him, I give him to you. What joy to be together again!
Oh, Sire! You are good and I kiss your hands.
What, are you going to tell him to return to Spain?
How to fight against the impulse in my heart?
I will give you Philip if you will give me someone
to govern England in his stead.
Sire, do not mock me.
With so many great men and captains around you,
you have but to choose among them.
He whom I have chosen defies me and refuses to go where I wish.
Ah! Why am I not your Chancellor,
I would in a moment find arguments that would make him give way.
You are stronger than my Chancellor.
Is he still a young man?
He is old and has but one leg.
- You are speaking of Don Rodrigo - The same.
Rodrigo, the picture seller, refuses to be King of England?
He will not refuse when he sees Mary in tears at his feet.
Am I to be Mary?
By what perversity would you want to be anything else.
Escaped from Elizabeth's prison?
And received in great secrecy by the King of Spain.
And what will he do when he finds out the deception?
What does the mouse do when he's caught in the trap?
His duty will then be the cage around him he cannot escape.
It is truly Rodrigo,
out of all your servants that you need?
Of all that I have in England,
he alone is fit to take possession.
And have I to beg him to accept England?
I but await his petition to grant it to him.
And you will give me back Philip?
All that from the midst of the sea and of my navy
that answers at this time to the name of Philip, I give to you.
And I will bring you Rodrigo!
This is our buoy.
Here it is, I recognise it by this red flag we planted on it.
This is our buoy.
Here it is, I recognise it by this red flag we planted on it.
Oh! I am terribly excited.
Oh! I am terribly excited.
Look out! We must just pull together in unison.
It's now or never.
Look out! We must just pull together in unison.
It's now or never.
Why now or never?
Haven't you heard that the English fleet has gone to the bottom of the sea?
- Well? - Well?
Then something is going to come to the top:
When something goes to the bottom something must come to the top.
Then something is going to come to the top:
When something goes to the bottom something must come to the top.
- It's equilibrium. - It's equilibrium.
- What a strange superstition. - What a strange superstition.
- And now, haul away. - And now, haul away.
- We haul. - We haul.
Half a dollar all round and there would be better hauling.
Just a dollar each and we would more willingly haul.
- That's frightful extortion! - That's frightful extortion!
I have already given ten dollars
and if we hoist the catch there will be ten dollars more.
That makes ten dollars I've already given. And ten more if we haul up the bottle.
And let us get on with it, as I always dread seeing Hinnulus turn up.
The big donkey ears!
He claims it's a bottle you have made fast to.
I am always dreading seeing that damn Bidens turn up.
What a sheeps-head!
He pretends that you've harpooned a big fish.
It's rare for bottles like that to wander about in the sea.
Anyway we caught her.
But she was too heavy for us
and went to ground in a hole.
I can't say that I have ever seen a big fish caught like that.
We saw her only a moment.
That was enough to tie the cord; she won't get away.
But she was too strong for us
in that hole where she is hiding.
It's not a bottle, it's a fish we caught.
It's not a fish, it's a bottle.
- And what was this fish like? - We only saw her a second.
Shiny and round like a bottle?
Just what I was going to say: All pink and shiny like a bottle.
And did you not see, occasionally,
something like a light going out
- and then lighting up again? - That's right, uh, Mangiacavallo?
A kind of light, as you might say, going off and then on again.
- And what was that bottle like? - It was a big bottle.
Well, what was in the bottle?
Excuse me, we only saw it for a moment.
Or rather the shadow that she made on the white sand
at the bottom of the water with the red sun above, about to set.
And you didn't see many things moving about inside it?
There are always many things inside a bottle.
Enough talk.
- Now, come all - Now, come all.
- Haul away! - Haul away!
- We haul! - We haul!
- It's coming. - It's coming.
- It's tough. - It's tough.
Before we start again, do you wish to explain, Mr.Professor,
all about this species of animal that you are so anxious to collect?
At first, early in the limestone period
and the cretaceous period,
there journeyed through the steaming seas whales of lacquered metal.
That's interesting.
The animal that we pursue
is one of the few surviving from that naive epoch.
I saw its picture in a German book
and I have gathered pieces of it here and there.
That's interesting. And how was it formed?
It has but one eye, which forms the lens,
and above it a beacon or electric lantern,
that goes on and off at will.
The mouth, what kind of mouth?
It has no mouth. It is completely stoppered.
But in the middle of the stomach may be seen a double wheel
on which is screwed in a figure-eight
an endless belt or treadmill
on which are printed the images captured by the lens.
That's interesting.
Then, pulled by the second wheel
they pass into a kind of jaw or brush,
properly irrigated, that receives the images
and forwards them to the digestive system.
Nothing more beautiful has been seen since the Prapsopteron.
And what shall we call this fish?
We shall call it the Georgeophagus, from George, which is my name,
George Bidens, and phagus, which means fish.
All the fish have names like that.
That's interesting.And you say that a beast like that exists?That's interesting.
Of course it exists! It must exist!
It is a good hypothesis. It is more than useful, it is indispensable.
But if you were able to get the bottle
as close to the boat as you say,
you certainly must have seen something.
Of course we saw something.
- What did you see? - Well, try to guess a little.
If you want my view it is that this bottle is none other
than the one Apollonius of Tyana
threw overboard and that Pantagruel sought.
Who was Apollonius?
Apollonius was a great sage from antiquity.
He discovered how to bottle up time.
You cork it up and it's over, it can't escape any more.
That's a good idea.
Just tell me what you saw.
It's not exactly what you would call seeing,
it was so confusing it was more like hearing.
What did you hear?
The braying of a donkey.
The ass of Silenus, when by moonlight,
in the midst of the bacchanale, he climbed to Parnassus.
A splash, a splash! Like a big fish leaping out of the sea.
It was Proteus feeding his singing seals with four trombones.
Horses galloping among boulders.
The centaurs stumbling among the oleanders
on the rocky slopes of Cithaeron.
- Bravo. - Bravo.
- Go ahead! - Go ahead!
- Haul away. - Haul away.
- We're hauling - We're hauling.
- It's coming. - It's coming.
Its hard. It's so hard, it's hard. Forward, forward. Back up! Back up!
- Madam has forgotten her mascara. - You are right.
A little mascara will make my eyes sparkle more.
The character of the person comes out more strongly with an eyelid in shadow.
And all this for an old peanut vendor,
half dead, to accept a kingdom at our hands.
Don't say that, Mariette! You don't understand anything, Mariette.
It is a wonderful situation.
The most beautiful role I have ever had in my life.
A role of pure gold. What a pity there is no one to see it.
But I will use it for the Madrid season.
It will make a little sketch at the Alcazar, you will see.
And no red on the face.
Just a little carmine on the lobe of each ear.
What do you think?
Just right. Lights everything up.
It must be simple to begin with,
in order to develop it and register all the shades.
Tranquility, gentleness, quite tuneful with a sorrowful undertone.
Simplicity, simplicity!
A kind of submission and resignation full of dignity.
La, la, la, la ...
little pot of butter ...
lilttle pot of butter ...
The notes of the middle register
a little dull.
Simplicity, but also greatness.
I start with a noble simplicity:
"I have summoned you here, sir."
Would Madam like me to bring her the script?
No script, Mariette, it's much finer as it is.
I have to create everything, words and music.
I read my answer in the eyes of my partner.
It is simply a matter of managing the gestures, the words come by themselves.
I begin with a kind of recitation,
my story, a long tissue of pathetic twaddle,
recited in the most musical of voices.
Then, little by little
all the great movements of eloquence and passion,
the accents of that mournful Queen at the feet of that fugitive,
I hope he is quite hideous and brutal,
and occasionally an interrogation,
a word, a touching little question ...
That's it, from time to time a nothing, a trifle,
clear, clear, tender, touching, a pretty little flirt.
And in the background always, naturally,
the secret of woman, something kept back,
half understood.
Oh! I'll hide myself somewhere to see.
Oh, If Madam is as beautiful
as the other night, it will be lovely!
I didn't know where to put myself. I cried all night over it.
- Oh, my God, what's the matter? - We are on the other side of the curtain.
Without noticing we have moved to the other side of the curtain
and the action is going on without us.
Oh my God, someone has stolen my role! I feel stark naked.
Let us hurry to go back in
and we will come out all right at one point or another.
Your Majesty does me a great honor,
consenting to work under my direction like this.
I would prefer it if you told me whether the umbrella should be green or blue.
I see it as a dark blue.
Well I see it as red, a faded red almost yellow.
And underneath an evangelist in full sail,
Saint Luke, busy with his writing.
In a little street in Avignon under the palace of the Popes,
and above, right in the blue of the sky, quite high, there is a flying white buttress,
(make it pink, so it looks whiter)
a soaring buttress of unspeakable joyfulness.
Between Saint Luke and the buttress
there is a dove flying to perch on it.
I like the Saint Matthew more.
Yes, it is a great idea,
I had to place behind him that huge triumphal arch in red stone
with two gates and the inscription in Roman capitals,
and the bull's head.
An angel is Matthew's symbol.
I am sorry, but the bull looks better.
Anyway, you have captured the shade
I wanted for the sky behind and the long, slanting clouds.
St. Matthew the publican between two streams of traffic,
going up and coming down.
Yes, but he's too small, you can't see him.
Quick, another sheet!
We will do another, drawn in a kind of elliptical window.
He has a great Roman face with shaven cheeks
and a double chin,
a yellow robe like a Buddhist monk
pinned on the shoulder, with a large copper brooch,
and under the table a huge foot wearing a leaden sandal,
crushing Calvin who spews forth the devil.
It was lucky for you that you found me
after your Japanese left you standing.
Yes, he just went off.
He must have found a way to return to his own country.
I must have offended him without knowing.
They are like that.
But I am not sorry, you work even better than him,
we are well-matched, you and me.
There are some things for which nothing is better
than the blending of a man and a woman.
What an inspiration for me to suddenly
ask you whether you could draw,
while you stubbornly continued talking to me
of a heap of uninteresting things.
You didn't ask me for my opinion. You simply hired me on the spot.
The tiresome thing is that you can't engrave,
but I am sure you will learn that quickly.
He left all his boards and tools.
That is fine, but I must return to England.
Not at all.
I told you I have no desire to make the acquaintance of England.
I know of a small ancient convent near Majorca
with a courtyard full of lemons so yellow
it hurts the eye.
You will be very well off there for work.
You can work from dawn to dusk without anyone coming to disturb you.
Yes, but the handsome Duke of Medina Sidonia
has just conquered England for me.
I would never have believed that the handsome Duke of Medina Sidonia
was able to conquer something so difficult.
Who knows? Perhaps my heart will not be for him.
All right, marry him, and I will go and make war against you in Ireland.
Don Rodrigo, why are you so rough and so difficult with me?
Marry the handsome Duke of Medina Sidonia.
I am old, a poor man, with only one leg.
If I marry anyone it will be the son of the King ofSpain.
All I ask is to continue your friend.
I prefer you.
It is gracious of you to say that, even if it is not true.
Yes, it pleases me to hear it.
I won't marry anyone!
In the London prison I realised that I had a soul,
a living soul, not made to moulder in a prison.
I swore that never again would I let myself be locked in a prison.
I swore that never again would I endure the great body of a man
between me and the sun.
I do not want to live half alive.
I want someone to help me and not swallow me alive.
With you one is alive. I have been alive with you these two days.
You want nothing of me, you're like music that asks nothing
but, suddenly, carries you away and attunes you to itself.
Since you've been here, it's been like music. I give myself to you eagerly,
with confidence and poise,
as to the arms of a strong dancer,
I feel I give to your spirit what it has wanted.
You are there, and suddenly I feel strong and happy,
I feel so brilliant and resounding.
It is like a cleansing trumpet call, a warlike fanfare
that revives the spent spirit and fills it with courage and fire.
And meanwhile we are both free.
I have no claim over you and you have none over me.
It is lovely. We are together while the music lasts.
Well, let us make, manufacture, and produce pictures without end.
Perhaps I wish to produce with you
something other than pictures and sand-pies.
Is it by the desire of the King of Spain that you found me?
Why deny it?
Medina Sidonia is of no use for anything than to make happy
or unhappy a poor unfortunate woman.
It is you who the King of Spain has need of in England with me.
He awaits but one gesture of yours towards him.
I will not make such a gesture.
What, you will not help me?
So I should be the one with the pleasant mission
of managing this conquered people?
Working under the lash,
every Sunday going quietly to listen to the parish priest,
and every month putting in a bag, for you,
the money that each year you will send to the King in Madrid,
as little as possible.
That is the job you are giving me to explain in Spanish
to my sympathetic subjects.
It reminds me of my old friend Almagro, on his plantations.
What would you have us do?
Madam, who gets most out of a horse,
he who rides him and digs in both spurs,
or he who holds him by the bridle and whips him for all he is worth?
I understand! Ah, you are the man I want!
A horse who needs his master never dreams of throwing him off
and won't become a philosopher or theologian.
You have to keep him busy.
Ah! you are lame, But I am going to place
a magnificent animal under you.
My people, how much I love them!
You shall love then as I do.
Together you and I will show this people its vocation.
Do you think that the King of Spain
will be pleased with this little program?
He will have time to get used to it.
So it's to deceive my sovereign you propose?
Yes, let us hoodwink him a little, yes, yes.
And so I shall return to walls and furniture
and papers again?
The immense spaces and the sun to be mine no more?
To be separated from the sea
that for so long I have felt live in my heart
and that for so long has been my bed fellow
and an imperial couch beneath me?
But in England we are never far from the sea
throbbing right to the heart of our counties.
The island like an immense harp
attuned to catch its voices and music.
Twice a day, the sea comes to feed
and nourish us through every kind of duct
and channel, right to the center of the country.
How lucky it is to have it all around one and to be isolated from everything
in that great garden full of grazing animals,
that meadow in whose heart the rainbow always plants one foot.
You, on the mainland, cannot get it into your heads
there is something else besides land on this planet,
but the sea comes first and the land is within it.
You Spaniards hastened to cross the Ocean
without seeing it, with eyes shut, to quickly batten on that land
that you found on the other side.
But for we English the whole sea is ours,
not only that puddle, your Mediterranean,
but the whole ocean and everything within it,
with land just enough to fasten some barges to it here and there.
We soak in it. We want for nothing. We are free.
We are open on all sides.
The endless water on all sides
comes kissing the steps of our castle.
Come with me to the top of Europe
to that dove-cote, surrounded by a flutter of wings,
where my seagulls, my pigeons,
are forever setting off to seach all the oceans of the world!
Here where we are now there isn't even a tide,
but in London you have your finger day and night
on the throbbing pulse of the world!
While you are busy at your desk,
suddenly the day is darkened,
by a great four-masted ship sailing up the Thames!
When the sun comes shining through the mist
you see the muddy water
enlivened into a million golden scales,
the aegis of Britain.
Will you come with me to England?
I will come if I want, but first I would like to try to make with you
this great projection of the frieze.
It will be called the Kiss of Peace.
I got the idea for it watching the monks in choir
passing on to one another
the kiss which the first of them received from the celebrant at the altar.
Since the middle of the night I have recognised the smell of Majorca,
as if a woman were transmitting it to me
with her black fan.
Only Corsica smells as good.
There is also the city of Marseille.
I would give Corsica and the three Balearics
to breathe the smell of damp wood burning on the shores of Timor.
If I hear you saying those villianous words again
I will send you to the bottom, head first.
Ah! I have done no more than put it to my lips
and you immediately snatched it from me!
Why did I not drink from this poisoned cup
more deeply.
Nothing has changed.
There is the notary's house, there is the lord mayor's,
there the convent of Poor Clares among the cypresses. It's ridiculous.
Show me the house of Dona Austregésilo.
It isn't visible. It's on the other side of the point.
We will be there in minutes with this fair wind.
You can go ashore this evening.
No,
we are making no headway with this old boat
with its keel encrusted with barnacles.
It's too late. I will tell them to drop the anchor.
Are you afraid, captain?
I am afraid, I am afraid, it is true.
Afraid of the happiness that awaits you?
What happiness?
Dona Austregésilo has had time to be married
and widowed two or three times.
I have no illusions!
I am not so naive as to believe she has been faithful
to her oath these last ten years.
No, I don't think so either.
If she had loved me,
she would have found the means to write to me.
Of course.
It is true that she did not know exactly where I was.
But everything is connected at sea
and a letter always ends by getting there.
That's what I say.
Who can trust the oaths of women?
There is no book that doesn't tell you what to think of that.
- It is explained well. - Indeed.
And what can I offer her to tempt her?
I am old and this old patched boat
which is only good for scrapping is all I possess.
Neither war nor commerce,
nothing I've tried on land or sea,
has had any success.
No one can say otherwise.
I have not even managed to discover anything.
Other sailors have countries full of men,
vast, rich territories to show
and share their names with.
But I, Diego Rodriguez,
have only a piece of red slag in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,
inhabited by seals and penguins.
I salute Don Rodriguez, captain of the Santa Fe. I am Don Alcindo.
A very good day, Senor Alcindo.
- Are you the Customs - No, I am not the Customs.
I thought only the Customs would catch us up so quickly.
There are good eyes in Majorca watching the sea,
and there are good memories that have not forgotten the Santa Fe.
I understand, you represent my creditors.
Well, I will not pay you, you can put me in jail.
You are offensive, Don Diego.
You have no other creditor here
than one from whose debt it is not in your power to escape.
What rigmarole is this? I do not understand.
What, have you forgotten Dona Austregésilo?
Is Dona Austregésilo alive?
She is alive.
Really. Tell me the name that she now bears.
What is her husband's name?
Did you think she would wait for you these ten years,
she so beautiful and desirable?
Who are you to deserve such faithfulness?
I am Diego Rodriguez,
who has discovered in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean
a new pebble that no one has ever seen before.
The more I look at you the harder it is to believe
you could once have claimed the hand of the most beautiful and virtuous lady of Majorca.
Is it you she married?
Alas, she has rejected the respectful request I cast at her feet.
Then who is the happy man
she has found worthy of her choice?
No one. She isn't married.
And may I know why
though beautiful, rich, virtuous, and the noblest woman in Majorca,
she has still not found a husband?
Come, can you not guess, Don Diego?
No, I don't know. No.
In a few minutes more, she will tell you herself.
It is she who recognised your ship.
Every day she climbed that tower to watch the sea. It is she who sends me.
Why did she never write to me?
She never doubted that your faithfulness was equal to her own.
- Don AIcindas, what am I to do? - I don't know.
I will sink this ship and send us all to the bottom.
I cannot go on like this.
I am not worthy to lick the soles of her shoes.
That is true.
But does she know what state I return in,
I an old man, a defeated conqueror,
an exhausted sailor, a ruined merchant
and the most ridiculous poor man in all the Spanish seas?
You are not poor.
Dona Austregésilo has looked after your property in your absence
and you are the richest man in Majorca.
Behold the woman, lord,
who you ceaselessly represented to me as faithless.
I ask your forgiveness.
Don Diego, down on your knees, take off your hat
and salute the homeland where such a wife awaits you
after so many voyages.
What is my little lamb thinking?
Well, are you upset ? Doesn't want to talk to her poor dad?
If I say what I think
I am sure you will not respond as I would like.
And what would you like?
I do not want you to keep company with this woman you call the Queen of England.
Her Majesty the Queen of England.
Is she not Mary, the Queen of England?
Have you not seen our own lord, the King of Spain, treat her as such?
She came and threw herself at my feet. How could I repulse her?
Am I free to refuse that task in which no one could replace me?
My conscience bound me to listen to her.
I am nothing to you, and she makes you do whatever she wants.
Daughter, are you jealous?
There is another who is jealous.
Yes, I know of whom you speak, and I see her in your eyes.
My mother, who gave me to you so that you would always be hers.
Yes, I know you have always been hers and a part of herself.
If she was not with me, I would not sense you so much.
So, there is no way to leave quietly, on tiptoe?
I am not only her, I am you also,
there is something in my soul which is you, and spies out your movements.
You shall not escape your little Seven Swords.
When your mother was not there, was when I would speak with her.
When she was not there, was when I spoke to her best.
Speak, dear father. She is dead, she is not here.
But perhaps her guardian angel is here listening.
He is too tired to follow you.
He is asleep, he doesn't hear you.
He is asleep, a bitter sleep, like a desparate wanderer
who sleeps at the inn because they cannot move another step.
- I am alone here with my darling? - Yes, father.
The tears that are in my heart,
the sea would not be big enough ...
What, have you no comfort?
My soul is empty. Because of she who is not here,
heavy tears, my tears, could nourish the sea.
But she will be here presently.
Very soon.
She whom you loved, very soon.
You will find she whom you loved very soon.
I think that will never be.
That essential absence, yes, my dear,
and even when you were alive and I held you in my arms
in that embrace which quenched all hope
who knows if it was anything other than the beginning and apprenticeship
of this fathomless and hopeless craving
to which I am predestined, bare and without realisation.
But that is hell you are speaking.
Those are guilty thoughts, born of doing nothing.
When we love there is always something to do.
Instead of thinking of yourself, why not think of her?
Who knows whether she does not need you?
Who knows if she is not saying, Rodrigo!
Who knows if she is not in a place unknown to us,
fastened with bonds you are able to undo?
More daring than Columbus to get to where she is,
can I cross the threshold between this world and the next?
It is a matter of what we should do,
and we should not worry if one is able or not;
nothing is simpler.
Why do you speak of a threshold as if there were a separation?
There is no separation when things are as close
as the blood is to the veins.
The soul of the departed penetrates our heart
and our brain like breathing.
At night, I hear my mother speaking to me, so sweetly,
so tenderly,
so substantially.
No words are needed for us to understand each other.
Tell me what she says, Seven Swords.
No word that could resound in this outer air we breathe.
In that case how understand her?
What can a captive ask for? It is heart-breaking!
What hands could send deliverance to her?
Where the body cannot go, there love can go,
for it is mightier than everything.
What bread and what water could reach her lips in the grave?
She has no hands or mouth,
but there is no lack of people in her place, in Africa,
who have every means, day and night,
to shout despair towards the Spain that has forgotten them.
Does that not make sense?
Is not theirs the same privation and the same grieving?
While ladies and gentlemen
dance to the flute and the mandolin,
while the lords in tournaments strike each other with great sticks ...
While some old fool amuses himself drawing pictures
with what in the world remains of his mind ...
While our merchants go to the very ends of the earth
to bring back a fistful of pearls,
some barrels of oil, a few bags of spices,
a fatter oil is forgotten,
a more generous wine,
that water, the true water
that regenerates us,
the tears on our hands of the prisoners we have freed
and are returning to their wives and mothers.
By God, Seven Swords, you're right, forward!
What are we doing here, why not already en route to Barbary?
Why look for any other Africa than that very one of which
I have long since been accustomed
to demand the impossible?
Is it true, you want us to set off? I have one little soldier with me,
a butcher's daughter I brought from Majorca.
That makes three. Let me find another forty stout fellows.
it isn't forty we will find but ten thousand, if you like.
And Don Rodrigo to go along first,
at the head of all that army.
Then when do we begin?
It's those tears on my hands that bother me.
I don't like to be wept over.
Instead of smashing down doors with axes,
how much more fun to come in stealthily from behind
like poison, and to fool the prisoners
and their guardians by opening up everything without their knowing it!
Why refuse anything a poor man can give,
or the tears of an innocent heart?
Anyway, what you think fun and funny,
dear father, is besides the point,
but to set the captives free for the glory of God.
When I have freed these prisoners
(well all right, I am willing) there will always be others remaining.
But we shall be left behind as well,
or else we shall be dead, which will free us of our duty.
Seven Swords, my child,
will you think badly of me if I speak my mind?
Speak, father.
It's funny, but it moves me very little,
the idea of the good lord Alonso Lopez in chains, and then returning Lopez
to the bereaved Madam Lopez and all the little Lopezes,
and taking from this time foreward Alonso Lopez in this African episode
of his temporal existence for my guiding North Star ...
Father, I should never have believed that you were so cruel and frivolous.
And neither am I, the devil take me!
But I express my thoughts as I can, I want to make myself understood.
Tell me, my daughter,
who has done most service to poor fever patients,
the devoted doctor who never leaves their bedside,
and at risk to his own life to cure them draws their blood
and takes their life to no avail, or that sort of ne'er-do-well
who, having decided one day to go to the other side of the earth,
finds quinine?
Well, the one who finds quinine.
And who has freed most slaves,
the man who by selling his assets ransomed them one by one,
or the capitalist who found a way
to make a spinning mill run with water?
Everyone has his own way.
It is not so much doing good patiently
to our brothers and sisters
that is commanded us, as doing what we can
to love the prisoners and their suffering,
who are in the image of Jesus Christ, and to lay down our lives for them.
But is it to need me, to request me to do
what anyone else in my place could provide much better?
For instance if you needed a table, you could go to a locksmith,
and you might get something like it,
but in your place I would think of a cabinet-maker.
And so it is not your specialty
to be worried about the suffering of your brothers?
My specialty is not to do good one by one.
I am not a man for detail.
My specialty is not to save Alonso Lopez in a Turkish jail
or Maria Garcia from smallpox.
But don't say, dear father, that you can be of no service at all!
Don't hurt me so!
Don't say that in this miserable world
you cannot be useful for anything you love or any person.
Yes, rather, Seven Swords,
yes, I do not think I came into this world for no reason,
and there is in me something needful that could not be done without me.
What did you come to do among us?
I have come to enlarge the earth.
What is enlarging the earth?
The Frenchman living in France, for instance,
has no space, he chokes,
he has Spain under his feet and England overhead,
and at his sides Germany and Switzerland and Italy,
imagine moving with all that!
And behind those countries there are other countries, and others again,
and finally the unknown.
Fifty years ago, no one knew what was there. A wall.
Do you think to abolish the unknown?
When you talk about freeing the captives
is it freeing them just to pass them from one prison to another prison?
To change compartments?
Spain for me, has long since been just as insuperable a hole as Algiers.
There is always a wall somewhere that holds us back.
Heaven is not a wall.
For man there are no barriers or fences other than the sky.
All that is of the earth, upon earth, belongs to man,
and is his to walk upon, and it is unthinkable
that he should be shut out anywhere.
Wherever his feet will take him he has the right to go.
I want the beautiful and perfect apple.
What apple?
The globe. An apple you can hold in your hand.
That which grew in Paradise?
It is always there!
Where there is order there is Paradise.
Look at the sky, and the astronomers will tell you if there is no order there.
Now, thanks to Columbus, thanks to me,
we are part of this astronomical affair,
happily not separate from anything except God.
We hold by nothing now but Law and Number,
which connect us with the rest of the universe.
What stars!
How rich is God!
And we too may bring our portion of gold
to the inexhaustible richness of God.
I wonder how you came to know of that woman who was my mother.
I didn't come to know her. I was delivered into her hands.
And now her death has set you free again.
What happiness!
My child, do not speak of things that only she and I can know.
That bond with her has been broken by a little death.
When I ask you to come to her rescue you will not.
Another task calls me.
My little teacher has something to say.
Father,
I love you very much,
but when you talk to me of enlarging the earth
and all these great things,
I can no longer follow you, it's too big,
I no longer know where you are, I feel all alone
and I want to cry.
It is not worth having a father if one can't be sure of him
and if he isn't quite as simple and small as oneself.
So I have no right to live for anything but you?
You just said you were delivered into her hands.
Why then are you trying to escape? That is not honest.
You should not have allowed a woman once to get the better of you.
Now what you have promised her
you have no right to withhold,
and I am here to claim it in her stead.
But what if what you ask I am absolutely unable to give?
It is your problem to sort that out, yes, so much the worse for you.
That is an order, do you understand? All you have to do is obey.
I do not like this kind of customs house at the door of your heart
allowing entry to what you like and not the rest.
When I command you something and you say: I can not, what do you know!
You know nothing at all.
Try to see. It's so good, so great to obey.
Then what must I do?
You must promise.
Well, I promise.
That shouldn't be said like: Well, I promise,
but simply: I promise and spit on the floor.
I promise.
I promise too.
I promise, but I may not keep it.
Then I won't keep it either.
My cousin is among the lost.
So is my uncle.
He left me his entire fortune.
I will be very rich. Oh, la, la.
Alas. Alas.
Alas. Alas. Alas.
And just think I had just obtained the monopoly
of Scottish smoked cod for seventy years.
What will my creditors say?
The Duke of Medina Sidonia
had his head caught between the two shells of a huge oyster.
You can see him when the sun shines,
gently moving in a current at the bottom of the sea,
ending in elegant shoes with diamond buckles.
What a strange turn in human affairs.
Even yesterday, on the belief
of that absurd sub-prefect of Bayonne ...
Yesterday and today.
All is lost.
This time there is no doubt.
Nothing will come back to Spain.
Alas, alas, our army.
Alas, alas, our ships.
Oh, our ships.
The Lion of Castile, the Sun Royal,
the Elephant de Asturias, the Wall of the Pyrenees
and the Great White from Spain.
The guard ship of the Bidasoa.
The San Fernnado, the San Fernando.
The Saint Pontius, Saint Alfonso and Saint Ildefonso ...
The Saint Mark Girardin
The Saint Mary Perrin,
Saint Renato Tallandier and Bartholomew Saint Hilaire ...
All gone adrift, to the bottom.
Never mind, don't let us think about it.
The most wonderful thing of all is the attitude of His Majesty.
His face has not changed.
He has not cancelled any celebration.
Nor any audience.
He is keeping his audience with Don Rodrigo?
At the express command of His Majesty. Nothing has changed.
Don Rodrigo is going to be solemnly invested with his English command.
But, he knows nothing?
He has been isolated on a ship.
With strict orders to conceal everything.
You gentlemen have all been ordered
to behave respectfully toward him,
as befits the Viceroy of England, the chosen one of His Majesty.
That will be funny.
This then explains this strange choosing of Don Rodrigo.
We have a great sovereign.
As soon as he knew of the disaster to the Armada,
at the very moment when we heard
the false news of our victory, he thought of Don Rodrigo.
Here he is.
Approach, Don Rodrigo,
finally let me gaze upon that face I have so often described,
that forehead from whence have come so many noble thoughts,
that arm that has been able to impose its laws on fortune.
I have been shown on a map that cutting
which you had the idea of making between the two Americas:
an ingenious little thing from which the talents of Don Ramiro
have managed to extract wonderful results.
And later on, you yourself,
in the midst of the ocean, on the flank of China and Japan,
made as it were those rings, the scattered Philippines,
where this ancient vessel, Spain, has cast her furthest anchor.
So many services deserve reward,
but how to find a position for you that does not cramp you?
Great minds do not have needs.
They mock at titles and money.
What better reward than to give you open fields for your genius
and let you travel at large
in the sunshine of our benignity?
Then did we admire your Christian spirit,
when free from any mercenary consideration
you entirely devoted yourself to the moral welfare
of our labouring populations on the seaboard,
so closely related to their material development.
Leafing through those humble pictures, a record of happy inspirations,
I noted the findings of a generous imagination,
provided with technical means unfortunately insufficient,
and an ignorance of all rules.
You have made me marvel once again how nature by herself
can not compensate for the lack of good teaching.
Believe me, sir, our academies
are full of those with abounding imaginations,
quivering sensitivities, volcanic passions,
but all those beautiful geniuses could not have attained to
clear and harmonious expression,
to their own true social usefulness,
they could not have exploited with economy their own small domain,
they could not provide enjoyment without tiring our eyes and our brain
through that temperate brilliance we so admire,
unless in fear of their own transports
thay had not eagerly seized on all the curbs
that the wisdom of our ancestors has provided,
and if they had not strictly laid down for themselves
this rule of practice:
One who does what someone else has done before,
is not at risk of going wrong.
Forgive me for having enlarged at length on this frivolous topic.
Perhaps you will grant me not altogether devoid of light on these matters,
having received in the past lessons from Raphael,
I refer to Raphael Colin and to Cormon.
But here I desist.
I know that in amusing yourself with these simple compositions
your aim was not to extend
the artistic patrimony of the Spanish nation,
but that the spirit that guided you was that of vulgarisation,
edification and philanthropy.
Nothing can escape the penetrating gaze of Your Majesty.
What honour, and at the same time what confusion,
to have held for a moment the attention of that eagle eye,
as well accustomed to take the measure of an empire
as to follow the poor rabbit
that seeks to hide between two heather shrubs.
So at one time did the great Napoleon,
at a glance, bring to light Lucius de Lancival.
Those drawings that Your Majesty has just sentenced,
have cost me, who am but a poor workman,
much trouble, many years of study, experiment and reflection,
but for Your Majesty a single glance,
a few moments of attention, was enough to recognize their flaws.
Alas! I know them too well.
I lack the ancient symmetry,
and to orient me in my true direction
Your Majesty's words shall be my most precious treasure.
Yes, I will take them for the golden rule
of my art and my life,
which will be devoted entirely not only to uplift
the moral tone of our workers
but to the glory and illustration of His reign.
I approve of your intentions as much as of your modesty.
I spoke only to test you.
The serenity and deference with which you have responded
prove to me that the artist in you has not won over and corrupted everything.
It is not an artist I need in England.
I do not need those hands that spread colour on paper,
but those that once shaped America.
You have my leave to speak, Lord Chancellor.
Don Rodrigo, you have for too long withdrawn yourself
from the appreciation of your sovereign
and the expectations of your comrades in arms.
It is when prosperity, as today, overwhelms us,
when an enterprise, as today,
has had success beyond all expectation,
when incalculable responsibilities arise,
and when all around us there open up
what are in every sense avenues full of interest and peril,
then can be recognized the truly magnanimous heart,
then, if it can be any support
to this overloaded rule, let it come forward and say: I can!
And fly to support its sovereign who is creaking and groaning.
And as in former times with the three women
who went seeking Coriolanus,
today not only has England come
to throw herself at our feet,
Mary whom the harlot's daughter robbed of her heritage,
but Spain, but Christianity, the Church,
begging that Rodrigo no longer play them false.
I do not ask for troops or money.
I ask that as soon as possible
the King withdraw his troops and ships. I will suffice.
You anticipate the desires of His Majesty.
He has need of all his forces in Germany.
And how will you manage, all alone, without soldiers or ships,
to get money out of the British?
Who will reimburse us for our expedition?
The Christian wine of Spain and Portugal, my lord Minister,
which in our fog we will drink to your health, this will undertake your payment.
Peace for evermore. A safe route to the Indies.
No troops or money, understood. But be assured,
we will provide you plentifully with aides and advisers.
I see here, written on a paper
which last night I amused myself scribbling,
that Rodrigo is worth a full salary if whole,
but worthless if cut in half.
What, no lawyers to accompany you?
It's written on my paper.
You want us to have absolute confidence in you?
I wrote on my paper it is necessary.
It is easier to have confidence in one man than in two.
And what obligations do you undertake in return?
What are you willing to do
in relation to military contingent and tribute?
The military contingent will be those troops
that hitherto you have devoted to our injury,
and as for the tribute, I do not find a record
of that word in my book.
Is it in the interests of England or of Spain
that the King sends you there to advise and govern?
I would be a bad guardian if I did not take in hand the interests of my wards.
Must you sacrifice to them the interests of your mandate?
God forbid!
I wish to save the Lord Minister of Finance
the expense of a new Armada.
Yes, while we are there,
let us take full advantage of our victory.
I want England and Spain, after so many combats,
to forever bless the day they had the happy thought of shaking hands!
I beg your Majesty to mark the unsettling ideas of Don Rodrigo.
What he says is not without sense.
I myself do not look upon England with other than peaceful
and matrimonial intentions.
I believe in love!
What politics cannot manage it is up to love to achieve.
What example of the delicate maneuvers of providence
after so many battles, could be better
than an arrangement making at once provision for universal peace
and for the establishment of my sons?
Where better could this forsaken queen be
than in the arms of Don Udolpho or Don Valentino?
The problem of tolerance among nations is already hard enough
without adding to it that of agreement between husband and wife.
Still, I have noticed Queen Mary looked upon Don Ernesto favourably.
No. If anyone knows Queen Mary
I dare say it is I.
She is a reserved and sensitive soul. She has just left prison.
It is obvious that she has spent her life in seclusion,
out of the public eye.
She needed the naive admiration
with which I inspired her before she would open her heart to me;
I penetrated right to the bottom of that virgin heart,
that blend of daring and timidity.
I believe that if any man can influence her mind it is me.
Don Rodrigo has failed to tell us so far the secret means according to which
he alone is sufficient, and how,
without troops, without money or marriage, he will keep England,
and will make it forever friend and ally of Spain.
Give your enemies food
and they will not disturb you at your meal,
or try and steal the bread from your mouth.
I don't understand this parable.
The Indies, away in the setting sun,
I say are beyond the appetite of one man.
I begin to understand.
They have enough to provide a huge meal
for the entire world for centuries.
Why worry so much about this world
when the other is over there merely for the taking,
with his Catholic Majesty forever,
thanks to me, holding the main artery?
You want us then to give England the citizenship
and freedom of our two Americas?
Not only England.
It is not for nothing that the good Lord, after Christopher,
invited us to cross the sea!
I want all peoples to celebrate Easter
at that huge table between the two oceans that He has prepared for us.
When God gave America to that Ferdinand
who is excellently called the Catholic, it was too big,
it was was not for him alone but for all peoples to share.
Let England forever bless the day of her reunion
when in exchange for her freedom,
which was like that of mutineers on a stolen ship,
you gave her a new world!
Give all those little European peoples squeezed so closely together
and stepping on each other, room to move.
Unite all Europe in a single stream.
And all these heresy ridden people
since they cannot reunite at their source,
let them reunite at their river mouths.
Am I to understand that for you to accept this lieutenancy
that I am willing to give you in England,
you demand that I open America to your new subjects,
my recent enemies? Is this your condition?
I do not see what useful thing I can do otherwise.
- What insolence! - What impudence!
- What exorbitance! - What extravagance!
Lord, we beg you not to ... temporise.
We all beg you not to temporise with the shameless,
insolent and extravagant demands
of this exorbitant gentleman.
We can not turn this America
which the genius and virtue of your grandfather
brought forth from the bosom of the Indies
into the common grazing ground of all Europe!
We must not temporise! We must not temporise!
And what do you say, my Lord Chancellor?
Forgive me. I don't know what to think. I am all upset and trembling.
Do you see any way of doing without
Don Rodrigo in England?
Alas, search as we may, I can see no other option!
Do any of you wish to receive England from my hands
instead of Don Rodrigo?
So please Your Majesty, excuse me!
Can you suggest another name?
There is no one else! There is no one else!
Don Rodrigo, let me beg you to be conciliatory.
Listen to the advice of an old man.
You see the cruel and embarrassing situation
in which our sovereign is placed.
Be magnanimous. Do not abuse the situation.
As you see, we cannot do without you.
I beg you not to ask more than it is possible to grant.
I cannot ensure peace if you do not give me the world.
The whole world is little to me, Don Rodrigo,
if it but assures me of your love and fidelity.
Return to your ship.
You shall know my decision soon.
You have made yourself a sight for all men.
Each has been able to look at you in comfort.
Guards accompany His Highness and watch his every step.
I cannot any longer keep you
from the place which you yourself have chosen.
Forward! Courage, Butchie!
Oh, it isn't good-will I lack, miss!
Wherever you go, I well know I have no choice
but to follow you.
If you are tired you have only
to turn on your back, like this, crosswise, with your arms out.
You should only have your mouth and nose out, and when you sink,
a deep breath will quickly bring you back to air.
A tiny movement, like this,
with your feet and half the hands.
There is no risk of tiring.
It is not that I am tired,
but that someone told me he saw sharks.
Oh, I am afraid of a shark coming and pulling me down by the feet.
It isn't sharks, I've seen them.
It's dolphins at play.
Aren't they entitled to have fun?
Perhaps it isn't fun to be a nice dolphin?
Oh, I am afraid they will jump on me.
Don't be afraid, let them come; if any tries to hurt you
I will defend you against them, the bastards!
Miss, I've been looking everywhere, I can't see the red lantern.
Your friends in Majorca must have forgotten us, hurrah, tralala!
Oh, no, don't say that, I beg you, miss, you make me so frightened.
Oh, no, I'm quite sure that neither Rosalie, nor Carmen,
nor Dolores would have forgotten me;
they are waiting for us somewhere with all the clothes ready,
as I told them. Something might have frightened them.
You're afraid, they are afraid, they are frightening you ...fear,
fear, fear, fear, you have nothing but that word on your lips!
I cannot understand why you are in such a hurry to get there,
it feels so good in the lovely sea.
Look before us, the moon is so flat in the water
like a gold plate.
It looks as if I could catch it in my teeth.
Forgive me for being such a bad swimmer.
Let us go quietly at our ease.
It is delicious to soak in this liquid light
that makes us into hovering godlike beings,
in glorified bodies.
No more need of hands to grasp or feet to carry you.
You advance, like the sea-anemone's breathing,
by the mere expansion of the body and the impulse of the will.
The whole body is one sense,
a planet watching the other planets in suspension.
I feel directly with my heart every beat of your heart.
The water bears up everything.
It's delicious, your ear on a level with the water,
to see all these shimmering musicians, the dancers around the guitar,
life, songs, words of love,
the incalculable crackle of so many whispered words.
And all of that is no longer outside you, you are inside;
there is something that unites you blissfully with everything,
a drop of water mingling with the sea.
The communion of Saints.
Damn, I see that the boat has seen us,
and is coming toward us!
Courage, Butchie, one more effort, my lazy one.
Forward, you have only to follow me.
I beg you give me that letter which belongs to me.
Give him that letter, Manuelito.
I will give it to him if I please.
I don't like anyone doing the King of England with me.
That letter belongs to me.
It's you, my old Rodrigo, who belongs to me.
The King, in His great mercy
having decided to pardon a traitor,
gave you over lock, stock and barrel to his Chamberlain,
who in turn gave you to his valet,
in payment for ten gold coins that son of a bitch had lent him.
Who in turn, not knowing what to do with an old peg leg,
has given you for services rendered
to me, a fine catch;
tomorrow I will make you play the drum through Majorca,
I should get at least ten sous for you,
the current price for the skin of a traitor.
Please consider, sir, that letter is from my daughter.
Well, if you like we can play dice.
If you win it's yours.
Brother Leo, I cannot grasp this box because of the chains.
I pray you play in my place.
Three aces! Not bad.
Four aces! I win!
Give him the letter anyway, my son.
I will not give him the letter, but I will read it to him.
Who knows if it doesn't contain some plotting against His Majesty?
What's so funny?
'My dear papa," she says.
And that's funny?
He has got her to believe he was her father.
Her father is Cacha diablas as they called him,
Don Camillo, another renegade in his time,
who acted as a pirate
off the coast of Morocco, and who had for mistress
the widow of an old captain-general of prisons;
hold on a moment, she had a strange name,
something like Ogress or Bugress, - Prouheze.
She was not his mistress but his wife.
I know, because I was the one who married them long ago,
when I was at Mogador.
What, Father. Did you know Prouheze?
It seems that perhaps Rodrigo was papa.
"My dear papa," she writes.
Wait a minute, he wants to say something.
- My lord has something to say? - Not at all.
I join in your simple merriment.
Is it forbidden to laugh?
Your comrade has an infectious laugh,
sign of a happy disposition.
And you do not mind that he called you a traitor?
I would care if it were true.
Bu it is true that you are one!
Then they have managed to fix things so I can no longer harm anyone.
Read us the rest.
The King has given you England. You no longer need me.
He has given him England, that's funny.
He has only to go and take it.
Old fellow, there is an actress called... called something,
she made him believe she was Mary, Queen of England.
She went and threw herself at his feet to ask him to rescue her
- and to accept a kingdom at her hand. - That's funny.
Then the two of them made up
every sort of deal to conspire against the King of Spain.
She has told everything.
I would have liked to have been there
when he laid down his conditions to the King to accept England.
Everyone is still laughing about it.
Ah, you see there an example, father, of the absurd situations
a man of imagination can get into.
Nothing seems surprising to him.
How can you not believe a pretty woman
who absorbed with her lips and eyes everything I said,
a charming person who drew so well,
and with the tip of her brush gathered the least of my intentions?
Where was I? "England, you have no more need of me"
Manuel, I have in my pocket four silver coins
that some charitable souls have given me for my convent.
They are yours if you give me this letter.
- I will give it to you when I've read it. - Let him read it, Brother Leo.
"I am setting off to meet John of Austria" This is news.
You hear, old fellow? She is going to meet John of Austria.
John of Austria will marry her for sure.
Then he won't have to worry about his situation.
She learned about the arrest of her father.
Then she had to get away.
With the old man going to prison, she had to drop him.
Not for nothing she is the daughter of two traitors.
It is the right time to join John of Austria.
But did she meet up with him?
Just now I heard tell that some fishermen had taken from the water
a girl who died on their hands.
How can you both be so wicked and cruel?
It's he that defies us and mocks us
with that calm lofty air.
You could say that milord has invited us, and feels a sincere satisfaction
in the joy that he gives us in adding us to his domestics.
Don Rodrigo, it can't be true, it must be another girl.
I am sure.
What evil could happen to me on a night so beautiful?
It is a beautiful night for you
when they are either taking you to jail or going to sell you as a slave?
I have never seen anything so magnificent.
It is as if I am seeing the sky for the first time.
Yes, it is a lovely night for me,
when I celebrate at last my betrothal unto freedom.
Did you hear that? He's crazy!
Let me finish reading it:
"I am going to meet John of Austria.
Farewell. I embrace you. We will meet again..."
- I can't make it out. - Give me the letter.
"in Heaven. We shall meet again in Heaven.
In Heaven or in some other place. Amen.
Nothing else?
"Your loving daughter, Mary of the Seven Swords."
So the letter ends.
There's another line.
"When I am come to John of Austria, I will tell them to fire a cannon.
Pay attention."
Ahoy!
We are hailed.
There's a boat over there that is signalling us with a lantern.
Is it true, Brother Leo?
Could it reaIly be my daughter,
that the fishermen took from the sea?
No, my son. I am sure it is not true.
Brave Seven Swords, no, no, neither you nor your father
are the type that the sea takes.
He who has a strong arm
and breathes God's air with full lungs,
is in no danger of drowning.
He cheerfully tops that great, splendid wave that wishes us no harm.
You must forgive her.
Forgive her, you say? There is nothing to forgive.
Ah! that she were here, the dear child,
that I might hold her in these arms
in chains.
Go to your destiny, my child, go fight for Jesus Christ,
my lamb, besides John of Austria,
the lamb that is seen in paintings with his banner on his shoulders.
Brother Rodrigo,
is this not the time to open your heart to me?
It is laden with sins and the glory of God,
and it all comes at once to my lips when I try to free my soul.
Then tell me everything at once.
What comes first is my own night
deep down in me, like a torrent of pain and joy
at the touch of this sublime night.
Look! It's like a whole population around us
who live by their eyes alone.
It is there beyond, Rodrigo,
where you will celebrate your engagement with freedom.
Brother Leo, give me your hand.
Try and recollect. Is it true that you saw her?
Who do you mean?
That woman who you married, long ago, in Mogador.
And so you saw her?
Is it true that you saw her?
What did she say to you?
How did she look that day?
Tell me if there has ever been in the world a more beautiful woman?
Yes, she was very beautiful.
Ah, ah, cruel she! Ah, what terrible courage!
Ah, how could she have betrayed me and have married that other man?
And I had only for one moment her beautiful hand against my cheek.
Ah! After so many years the wound is still there
and nothing can heal it.
All that will be explained to you one day.
You must remember.
The day you married her,
did she look happy next to that blackguard?
Did she willingly give him her fair hand,
the finger of her hand, for him to put on the ring?
It is so long ago. I can't remember.
Do you not remember her beautiful eyes?
My son, we must look now only to the stars.
You no longer remember?
Ah, that radiant smile
and those eyes full of trust looking at me,
eyes that God never made to see what is vile
and dead in me!
Abandon these heart-rending thoughts.
She is dead, dead, dead! She is dead, father,
and I shall never see her again. She is dead and will never be mine.
She is dead, and it is I that killed her.
She is not so dead,
as that this sky about us
and this sea beneath our feet be more everlasting.
Yes. That is what she came to bring me with the sight of her face!
The sea and the stars, I feel them under me.
I gaze at them, and cannot have my fill.
Yes, I feel we cannot escape them and that it is impossible to die!
Seek inwardly to your heart's desire.
You will never get to the end of these inexhaustible treasures.
There is now no way to escape from them or being without them!
Everything has been withdrawn from you that is not God.
It has been chained up.
Everything in you that wretchedly fastened on things
one by one, continuously.
No more servile works.
Your limbs, these tyrants, are in chains,
and you have but to breathe to be full of God.
You understand what I meant
when I darkly felt just now that I was free?
Help me!
Welcome, rag-picker sister.
Good day, soldier, is there nothing for me in your ship?
Yes, there is a pile of old odds and ends of all kinds,
old weapons, old hats, old flags,
broken irons, broken pots,
and cracked boilers they gave me to sell in Majorca.
- Let me see, my little soldier. - It's too dirty and ugly for you.
Nothing is too bad or dirty for an old rag-picker sister.
Everything is good for her.
Waste, scraps, debris,
what you throw out, what nobody wants, that's what I seek out and collect.
And you make money out of that?
Enough money to feed many poor and old folk
and to build convents for Mother Teresa.
Is it Mother Teresa of Jesus,
who sends you like this to scour the sea?
Yes, my child, I search for her and for all the convents of Spain.
How much do you want for all that?
- Three gold coins. - Three gold?
I'll give you two.
Mother gleaner, mother gleaner! Since you are buying,
why not take me too, along with the old flags and broken pots?
Who is that man?
He is a traitor who the King gave to me to sell on the market.
Well, boy, you hear? You are a traitor.
What do you want me to do with a traitor?
If you at least had your two legs ...
- You will get me cheaply. - Is he really for sale?
He is for sale, why not?
- What can you do? - I can read and write.
Can you cook, or sew,
- or cut out clothes? - Perfectly well!
- Or mend shoes? - Also that.
- Don't mind him, sister, he is lying. - It's not nice to lie, boy.
- At least I can wash dishes. - If you give them to him, he'll break them.
I wish to live in the shadow of Mother Theresa.
God made me to be her poor servant.
I want to shell beans at the convent gate.
I want to clean her sandals all covered with the dust of the sky.
Take him, mother gleaner.
To please you, Father,
I will take him, but I won't pay anything for him.
Not that I care,
but give me just a small fee for him.
A silver coin, so I can say I got a little something for him.
You can keep him then.
Give him, soldier. You will be safe.
No one knows what might yet come out of this queer old Rodrigo.
Then you can take him.
And can I also take that old iron cauldron
that is of no use to you. Otherwise I won't take him.
Take it, take everything, take my shirt.
Pack up all that, sister. And come with me, my boy.
Mind that ladder with your poor leg.
Listen!
That's coming from the ship of John of Austria.
She is safe! My child is safe!
Deliverance to all souls in prison!
My child is safe!
Listen!
Deliverance to all souls in prison!