Le Soulier de Satin (Manoel de Oliveira, 1985) Part 1 (English Subs)

Uploaded by parmenides91 on 07.09.2012

Order is the pleasure of Reason,
but Disorder is the delight of the Imagination.
The worst thing is not always surest.
The Satin Slipper. Spanish play in four days. By Paul Claudel.
The scene of this drama is the world
and especially Spain in the late 16th,
unless it be the early seventeenth century.
The author permitted himself to compress countries and periods,
just as at some distance,
several mountain chains form a single horizon.
A touch of trumpet.
I pray you, brethren that we now look
at that point in the Atlantic Ocean
located a few degrees above the line equidistant
from the old and the new continent.
We have here represented clearly the hull of a ship dismantled
and floating adrift.
All the constellations of the two hemispheres, the Big Dipper,
Little Bear, Cassiopeia, Orion, the Southern Cross
are neatly suspended like huge chandeliers,
or a huge panoply around the sky.
I could touch them with my cane. Around the sky.
And here below, if a painter would represent the work of pirates
- probably British -
on this poor Spanish boat, he would show that mast,
with its yards and its rigging,
fallen all across the deck, those tumbled cannons,
these open hatches, those large pools of blood,
and those corpses scattered everywhere,
especially those in that group of nuns
collapsed one on top of another.
A Jesuit priest tied to a piece of the mainmast, as you see,
extremely tall and thin.
The torn cassock shows his bare shoulder. Hear what he says:
Lord, I thank you for having fastened me so.
But he is going to speak himself. Listen well, do not cough,
and try to understand a little.
What you won't understand is most beautiful,
what is most drawn out is most interesting,
and what you won't find amusing is funniest.
Lord, I thank you for having fastened me so.
Sometimes I find that your commandments are very hard.
And my will, in the presence of your rule,
perplexed, becomes reluctant.
But today there is no way to be more closely bound to you than I,
and I am pleased to see that not one of my limbs
is capable of being separated from you.
I am truly fastened on this cross,
but my cross is fastened to nothing,
but is floating in the sea.
That sea free at the point where the limit of the known sky melts
and which is equidistant from that Old World I have left
and the other world, the New.
My God, I pray for my brother Rodrigo.
My God, I pray for my son Rodrigo.
I have no other son, oh my God,
and he knows well that he will not have another brother.
You know how at first he followed in my footsteps
under the banner that bears your mark,
and now, having abandoned your novitiate,
he thinks he has turned his back on You.
For his mission, as he thinks, is not to stand and wait,
but to conquer and possess.
As if there was anything that did not belong to You,
and as if he could be somewhere You were not.
But, Lord, it is not easy to escape You,
and if he does not follow You in light,
let him follow You in darkness.
And if not for what he has that is direct,
therefore may he go in indirection.
And if not for what he has simple,
let him go by what is manifold
and laborious and complicated.
And if he desires evil let it be evil which is compatible with good.
Teach him that You alone cannot be far away.
Encumber him with the weight of this other being, lacking him,
so beautiful that it calls to him across the space between them.
Make him a wounded man apart
because once in his life he saw the face of an angel.
Fill these lovers with such desire
as shall involve, lacking each other's presence in the daily whirl,
their primal integrity and essence,
as God conceived them in the beginning, in inextinguishable kinship.
And what he shall try to say awkwardly on earth,
I will translate it, Lord, in your heaven.
"God writes straight with twisted lines."
Portuguese Proverb.
"Even sin " Saint Augustine.
Don Sebastian, King of Portugal,
disappeared in the battle of Alczarqui in Morocco
and with him the best of the Portuguese nobility.
Don Sebastian had no children.
His uncle, Philip 11 of Spain, claimed the crown of Portugal.
By the Treaty of Toresillas, Portugal and Spain
had split the world into two hemispheres.
Philip Il now came to dominate the whole world.
The Portugese people rejected the Spanish King
and the clergy attacked him from the pulpit.
When God, our Lord,
wanted to punish David for the sins he had committed
of adultery and murder, and to warn the people,
he was given a choice of three punishments,
namely: Plague, Famine and War.
We honour God, in Portugal, for taking this mercy on us,
because simultaneously He has given us all three penalties together,
provided that with Don Enes you think in analogies,
expressed in letters neither human nor divine.
Now let us pass over the time of Cardinal Henry's reign,
who did not much grasp the past and future evils,
that threatened the complete ruin of this Kingdom.
Entering the year 1580, Portugal began to feel
the great punishments of which I speak, famine, plague and war.
At that time the streets and highways were filled with corpses
from the plague, and, God forbid, others starved.
And just at that moment came an army of 40 thousand men,
riding across the kingdom to Lisbon,
and many of those who escaped the first two punishments
were massacred.
In this same year, on August 24, the captive king fell,
and began the evil, cruel and tedious, which a soothsayer divined
would last sixty years, three months and seven days.
Thus began the reign of King Philip,
and since we did not pay many financial tributes during his time,
perhaps because we had them not,
still, our sufferings were rigorous,
and so that we would not forget his mercy,
many noblemen were slaughtered,
many nobles and commoners were hung,
and in the river of Lisbon many religious ecclesiastics were drowned.
Do not fear, nor lose trust,
but hope for a bright future
although times are so miserable
and one hears that the whole kingdom is lost,
and that the Moors have landed on our beaches
and taken captive many of our people,
and that the Netherlands have taken from us much of Brazil
and India.
Though our armies are defeated,
We must have faith in God and trust in Saint Vincent, our protector.
That these bones will have flesh again
and will have soul, Spirit and life.
This our Kingdom of Portugal
will eventually return to its former prosperity,
and the lost shall be restored
and many other realms will be won anew.
Shall we move our hands like a living body,
since they now shake like a dead body.
We will triumph over the heretics and above all the infidels,
for the Holy Catholic creed is exalted
and the Holy Roman Church is increased.
And so you can see that always and everywhere,
we have God on our side,
and as our protector the martyr Saint Vincent,
through whose merits and intervention God will give us
in adversity and misfortune, endurance;
for our expectations, fulfillment;
for our temporal well being, prosperity;
for our conquests, valuables;
in the service of God, perseverance;
in the spread of the faith, vigilance.
In this life, grace; in the other, glory.
Paul Claudel has situated in the time of Philip 11
this story of two lovers who never come together,
Dona Prouheze and Don Rodrigo.
The house de Don Pelagio, the husband of Dona Prouheze (Dona Maravilla).
Don Balthazar, there are two paths leaving this house.
One, if the eye could see everything at once,
passes through many towns and villages,
rising and falling like the disorderly skein
on a rope maker's trestle,
and goes directly to the sea,
not far from a hostelry I know,
hidden among huge trees.
That way a knight of arms would escort Dona Prouheze.
Yes, I want her taken from my sight.
Meanwhile, by another way, among the broom,
and climbing among the scattered rocks,
I will yield to the call come to me
from that white spot up there,
this letter from the widow in the mountain,
this letter from my cousin I have in my hand.
As to the Lady Maravilla, all that needs to be done
is to scan the horizon to the east,
where those sails will appear which are to bring her and me
to our governorship in Africa.
Oh, Senor, leaving so soon?
This house of your childhood,
after so many months under a barbarous sun, leaving again ...?
True, it is the only place in the world
in which I feel understood and accepted.
Here I sought refuge in silence,
when I was the terrible judge of His Majesty
extirpator of bandits and rebels.
No one loves a judge.
But he quickly learns that the greatest charity
is to kill criminals.
I have spent days here with no other company from morning to night
but my old gardener,
these orange trees I watered myself,
and this kid that did not fear me.
Yes, she butted me in play
and would eat grape leaves from my hand.
And now there is in addition Dona Maravilla,
who is something more to you than that little nanny goat.
Take care of her, Don Balthazar, on this difficult journey.
I entrust her to your honour.
What! You entrust her to me?
Why not?
Have you not told me yourself that your Catalonian duties are calling you?
It will not prolong your journey very much.
I beg you to excuse me.
Can you not entrust this to some other gentleman?
To Don Camillo, for example,
your ensign and deputy, who will be leaving soon.
He will go alone.
And cannot you let Dona Prouheze wait here?
I will not have time to return here.
What imperative duty calls you?
My cousin who is dying without any man beside her,
with no money in the poor and proud abode, hardly any bread,
and with six marriageable daughters,
of whom the eldest is about twenty years.
Perhaps that is she we used to call Dona Musica?
- I resided there when I was raising the levies for Flanders -
because of that guitar she never let go of and never played on ...
and those big trustful eyes on you
willing to believe in all the wonders,
and those teeth like tender almonds
biting their scarlet lips, and her laughter ...
Why haven't you married her?
Because I am leaner and poorer than an old wolf.
All the money you earn goes to your brother,
the head of the house in Flanders?
There is no better house between the Eschaut and the Meuse.
I undertake Musica, and you will take Dona Prouheze.
Like you, Sir, and despite my age,
I feel better suited as the husband of a beautiful woman
rather than as her protector.
I am sure that neither she nor you, noble friend,
need fear a few days companionship.
In addition, there will always be my wife's maid with her.
Beware the black Jobarbara!
No better protected is a peach tree
growing through a prickly pear.
On the other hand, your journey will not be long.
In no time I will have arranged everything.
And married the six girls?
Farewell Musica.
In another part of the garden. Dona Prouheze and Don Camillo.
I am thankful to your Lady for allowing me to say goodbye.
I have allowed you nothing, and Don Pelagio has forbidden me nothing.
Are you returning to Mogador?
It is the best part of the country, far from Ceuta and its offices,
far from that big blue painting whereon the oars of the galleys
constantly paint in white the name of the King of Spain.
What pleases me most is that bar forty fathoms deep
which costs me one or two boats occasionally
and seems to worry visitors a little.
But as the saying goes: those who come to see me do me an honor,
and those who do not come to see me give me pleasure.
Tell me, you who listen unseen and walk
step by step with me on the other side of these branches,
are you not tempted by what I offer?
Look, what are we doing here?
Let us be off, Maravilla!
And what is this thing so precious that you offer me?
A place with me where there is absolutely nothing more.
Nothing! Nothing!
That is what you have for me?
Is there anything but that nothing which frees us from everything?
But I love life, Senor Camillo. I love the world, I love Spain.
I love the blue sky, I love the hot sun.
I love this place the good Lord has given me.
I also love this. Spain is beautiful.
Holy God, how good to abandon it once and for all!
Is that not what you have always done?
One always returns.
Perhaps it does not exist, this place where there is absolutely nothing?
- It does! - What is it?
A place where there is nothing more, a heart
where there is nothing else but you.
You turn your head when you say that.
So I shall not read the jest upon your lips.
When I say that love is jealous
- you pretend not to understand. - What woman would not understand?
Do not the poets say that for the woman who loves
she regrets not being everything for the one she has chosen?
He must have no more need but for her alone.
She brings with her death and the desert.
Ah! It is not death but life that I offer him I love,
life, were it at the price of my own.
But are you not yourself more than these kingdoms to conquer,
more than that America that must be brought from the sea?
I am more.
And what is it to raise an America compared to raising a soul that sinks?
Must I give my soul to save yours?
There is no other way.
- If I loved you, it would be easy - If you love me not, love my misfortune.
- What misfortune can be so great? - Save me from my solitude.
But isn't just that what you work for endlessly?
If I am void of everything it is to wait for you the better.
Only God fills such a void.
And who knows if you alone can bring me to this God?
I do not love you.
Then I will be so unhappy, and so criminal ...
Yes, I will do such things, Lady,
that will compel you to come to me,
you and that God you keep so jealously for youself,
as if He had come for the righteous alone.
- Don't blaspheme! - It was you who spoke to me of God;
I don't like the topic.
Don Camillo, is it then so difficult just to be an honest man,
a faithful Christian, a faithful soldier, a faithful servant of his Majesty,
a faithful husband of the wife that to him hath been matched?
All this is too embarrassing, slow, complicated.
The rabble always on top of us ... so heavy.
Never to be done with this compact prison,
with this pile of loose bodies!
All this prevents us from following our calling.
What is this irresistible call?
Say, have you not felt it yourself?
The call of Africa.
The land would not be what it is
if there was no fire in the belly,
the gnawing cancer, that ray which eats the liver,
that brazier fueled by the Ocean's breath,
that steaming heath-stone, that oven where the filth comes to burn
from all the breathing animals.
That breeze on you which shakes the leaves
and bangs your shutters, it is Africa that calls it up,
in the throes of her eternal torment.
Others explore the sea;
why should I not go as far
as one can toward that other frontier of Spain, the fire?
The captains that the King is sending to these New Indies do not work for themselves,
but for their master.
I need not think every moment of the King of Spain.
Is he not always present where there is one of his subjects?
Best for me if I go where his writ cannot run.
I have not been given a new world
to mould to my whim.
It is a living book that I study
and whose command is not acquired but by science.
There will I carve a domain for myself,
an insolent small island for myself between the two worlds.
- For yourself alone? - For myself alone.
A place where I shall be more lost than a small gold coin
forgotten in a drawer.
Where nobody but youself can find me.
I wll not come for you.
I therefore give you tryst!
In a city somewhere in Spain.
Don Luis under the window of Dona Isabel.
I swear never to be the wife of anyone other than your Lordship.
Tomorrow, my brother Don Fernando, the cruel tyrant, carries me off from Segovia.
I am one of the bridesmaids who must accompany our Lady
when she goes to the gates of Castile to receive the homage of St James.
Arm yourself, take with you some brave comrades.
It will be easy, in some gorge of the mountains,
to abduct me under cover of night and the forest. My hand!
I swear it. No one will snatch you from my hands.
And why would I try to escape if you are conducting me precisely where I want to go?
And which I refused: it is your husband who commands me.
If you had refused me, I would have gone by myself.
Yes, I should have found a way.
Dona Maravilla, I am sorry to hear your father's daughter speak like this.
Was he a man whose desires were often thwarted?
No, poor Count! Ah, what a friend I have lost!
I still remember the sword thrust he gave me through the side, one carnival morning.
Thus began our friendship.
I think I see him again when I see your eyes, you were already in them.
It would be better for me not to tell you that I have sent that letter.
- A letter to whom? - To Don Rodrigo,
Yes, telling him to come and find me
in that hostelry where you are going to convey me.
Have you been so foolish?
If I had not taken advantage of the amazing opportunity of the gypsy
going directly to Avila, where resides this gentleman,
would I not have sinned, as the Italians say?
Do not blasphme and have the goodness not to look at me like that, I beg you.
Are you not ashamed of your behavior?
Have you no fear of Don Pelagio?
What would he do if he knew?
Kill me, without doubt, but without haste, as he does all things,
after allowing due time for deliberation.
Have you no fear of God?
I swear I do not wish to do evil, so I have told you everything.
Ah, it was hard to open my heart to you
and I fear you have understood nothing,
save my real affection for you. So much the worse.
Now you are responsible and bound to defend me.
- You must help me. - Ah, that would be too easy!
I am not seeking my opportunity, I am waiting for it to come to me.
And I have warned you fairly: the battle begins.
You are my defender.
All I can do to escape you
and meet with Rodrigo, I warn you I will do.
Do you wish to do something so hateful?
To predict is not to wish.
And you see that I so mistrust my freedom
I have put it into your hands.
- Do you not love your husband? - I love him.
Would you abandon him now when the King himself forgets him,
leaving him alone on that wild coastline in the midst of infidels, without troops,
without money, without any element of security?
Ah! This hurts me more than the rest.
Yes, the idea of betraying Africa and our charge
and the honor of my husband's name ... I know he cannot do without me ...
and those poor children that I have mothered instead of those which God has not given me,
those women being nursed,
those few poor retainers who have offered their services to us,
to forsake all this, I can say that horrifies me.
Then what is calling you to this gentleman?
His voice.
You have only known him a few days.
His voice. I never cease to hear it.
What does it say to you, then?
Ah! Please, if you want to prevent me going to him,
tie me up, I detest this cruel freedom.
Put me in a deep dungeon behind iron bars.
There is another guardian that you will not escape from so easily.
Who, Senor?
The angel that God has placed at your side,
from the day you were a small innocent child.
An angel against the demons!
And to defend me against men
I must have such a tower as my friend Balthazar.
The tower and the sword riding along as one,
and that handsome golden beard that betrays you at any distance.
- You are still French! - As you are still Flemish.
Isn't it nice, my French-Comte accent?
Its not so ... All these people need us
to teach them how to be real Spaniards,
which they manage so badly.
How was it your husband married you,
he so old and you so young?
I complied, no doubt, with those parts of his nature
most severely preserved and most secretly nurtured.
So when I accompanied my father to Madrid,
where he was called by the business of his province,
there was soon established between those two high Senors
the agreement that I would love Don Pelagio,
as soon as I was presented,
above all things and for all the days of my life,
such as is legal and binding between husband and wife.
At least there is no doubt that he has fulfilled his part towards you.
If he loved me, I was not deaf to hear him say so.
Yes, however softly he spoke, a single word,
my ear was fine enough to hear.
I was not deaf to the word my heart waited on.
Many times I thought I saw it in his eyes,
whose gaze changed as mine tried to penetrate it.
I interpreted the hand that lay for a second on mine.
Alas I know I am of no use to him, I can never be sure he approves
what I do, nor have I been able to give him a child.
Or perhaps his feeling for me, I sometimes try to believe,
perhaps there is in it something so sacred
it should not be disturbed by being put into words.
Yes, he let me understand something like that once, in his strange, wry way.
Or it may be he is so proud, that, to make me love him,
he disdains to appeal to anything other than the truth.
I see so him little and he frightens me so much!
Nevertheless, for a long time,
I did not think I could be anywhere
other than in his shadow.
And you see, today it is he who has taken leave of me,
not I who wanted to leave him.
He leaves me alone most of the time,
and like him is this house so very dark and forsaken, so poor and proud,
with the sun blazing outside and this delicious aroma within.
Yes, one might think his mother had just left him
in a strict religious order and had gone away,
a great lady, infinitely noble, whom one would hardly dare to look at.
His mother died giving him life.
Perhaps that is the mother of whom I speak.
Don Balthazar, would you do me the favour to hold my mule?
Virgin, holy patroness and mother of this house,
guarantor and protector of the man whose heart
lies more open to you than to me,
and companion of his long solitude: if not for my sake then on his account,
because the bond between us was not of my doing
but only from your intervention,
prevent me from being to this house whose door you guard,
august gatekeeper, a source of corruption.
Keep me from being false to this name you have given me,
and from ceasing to be honourable in the eyes of those who love me.
While I cannot say I understand this man you have chosen for me,
but you I understand, you who are his mother and mine.
So while there is yet time, with my heart in one hand
and my shoe in the other, I give myself over to you.
Virgin mother, I give you my shoe.
Virgin mother, keep in your hand my unfortunate little foot.
I warn you that soon I will see you no longer
and that I will act against you.
But when I try to rush on evil, let it be with a limping foot.
The barrier you have set up,
when I want to bridge it, let it be with a broken wing.
I have done what I could; keep you my poor little shoe,
keep it close to your heart, oh great Mother of mine.
In Lisbon, at the royal palace.
The kingdom that your servants of yesterday purchased
Your Majesty, it is the task of the men of today to open up and keep.
True, but for some time now
I have received from there only dire news:
looting, raids by pirates, extortion, injustice,
extermination of innocent peoples,
and what is graver still, the fury of my captains, dividing my lands,
destroying each other,
as if it were for that cloud of bloodthirsty mosquitoes,
and not for the King, in the shadow of the peaceful Cross,
that God had lifted up a world from the bosom of the waters.
Where the master is away, the muleteers fatten themselves.
I can not be both in Spain and in the Indies.
Let there be one man there, representing Your Majesty,
one man over all. Invested with the same power.
And who should we choose to be Ourselves over there?
A reasonable and fair man.
When the volcanoes of my America shall be extinguished,
when her quivering sides have been exhausted,
when she has left off from the mighty effort
which has brought her out of the blue,
all burning and boiling,
then will I give to rule her a reasonable and fair man!
The man in whom I see myself, and who is fit to represent me
is not a wise nor a fair man:
give me a jealous and eager man.
l know but one man that meets Your Majesty's desire.
He is called Don Rodrigo de Manacor.
I do not like him.
Obedience comes hard to him. But the man you ask of me
can only be made from the stuff of kings.
He is is too young.
This America that are going to give him is almost as young as he.
As a child she was already his marvelous vision
as he accompanied his father who told him of Cortez and Balboa.
Later, his crossings of the Andes,
his descent not like Magellan on the unhindering sea,
but from Peru to cross a leafy Ocean,
his government of Grenada devastated by sedition and plague,
have shown who Rodrigo is, your servant.
- I agree to Rodrigo. Let him come. - Lord, I don't know where he is.
Recently I gave him to understand that America would need him again.
He listened with darkened eyes and gave no answer,
and the following day disappeared.
Let him be brought to me by force!
Don Rodrigo and his servant in the Castilian steppe.
Those horsemen are gone.
They are all in that pine grove, tending to their horses,
one is white and illuminates the rest.
- Tonight we will lose them. - They are not looking for us.
This is the highway
from Galicia to Saragossa where every year,
on his feast day, St James travels, (it is today, you see that shooting star?)
solemnly to call on our Lady of the Pillar.
They are pilgrims going to join the procession?
Pilgrims with weapons ... I saw by that phosphorescent light ...
not concerned about being seen too soon.
Well, this does not concern us.
Anyway, I am keeping an eye on those pines.
And I am keeping an eye on yourself, my dear Isidore.
Oh, you need not fear that I shall flee
as long as you respect our agreement,
and don't make me spend the night near any running water or well.
Are you still afraid that I shall baptize you by stealth?
Why should I give you for nothing the right to make me a Christian
and to enter heaven with the ornament which I provide?
So to offset other less pure desires
you must first do a little service, to my lord, your servant.
That I go with you where a certain black hand is beckoning you?
Very close to where a white hand is beckoning you.
It is nothing base I want.
- Is gold a base thing? - I give relief to a suffering soul.
What is this woman who you love?
Apart from that mouth painted as with a brush,
those eyes more beautiful than if they were crystal balls,
those limbs perfectly formed and suited.
But within the vexation of demons,
the worm, the fire, the vampire fastened to your substance.
The matter of a man who is completely subdued
and who is left with a form broken
and limp as the carcase of a cricket, horror!
Am I not in the employ of my Lord?
How many times have I begged him to think of the salvation
of his soul and mine?
In a hundred years what will be these hundred pounds of female flesh
to which your soul has joined as with a hook?
A little trash and dust and bones.
At the moment she is alive.
I feel that I cannot escape either what is behind and hunts me,
or what is before me,
a white spot on the sea, amongst the dark trees.
What is it coming after you?
The gallop of horses that pursue me,
the mandate of the king from his throne choosing
me of all men to rule half the world,
that part which from eternity
was lost and unknown,
like an infant in his swathing clothes,
that part of the world all fresh and new,
like a star that has arisen on me out of the sea of darkness.
And what is it before you?
A brilliant point down there, like a vision of death.
Is it a waving handkerchief?
Or a wall struck by the noon-day sun?
I know. It is a black monster
to whom, in the cheerfulness of my soul,
because even a sage is not exempt from uncertainty,
and by mistake, "quasi in lubrico", if I may say so,
I so far forgot myself as to lend money.
Not without interest, I am sure. I know your kind of generosity.
If I can not keep you from your folly,
at least I can take profit from it.
Madness, anyone would call it, but I have a crazy rightness.
Is it reasonable to want to save a soul by drowning it?
There is one thing now that I alone can bring her.
- And what is this thing? - Joy.
Have you not made me read fifty times over that for you Christians
sacrifice is what redeems?
Joy alone is the mother of sacrifice.
- What joy? - Of the vision I receive of her.
Call you joy the torment of desire?
It is not desire on my lips but recognition.
Recognition? Tell me what color are her eyes.
I know not. Ah! I admire her so much that I have forgotten to look at her.
Excellent. I have seen big ugly blue eyes.
It is not her eyes, it is her whole self that is a star to me.
And now, quite another star for me,
that point of light in the live sands of the night,
someone human like myself, whose presence and whose face,
beyond the ugliness and miseries of this world,
are only compatible with a state of bliss.
- A treat for all the senses! - The senses!
I liken them to those scoundrels following the army
who plunder the dead and loot the captured cities.
Do you think her body alone could kindle in me such longing?
Ah! If she gave it to me (I am failing, and night is falling on my eyes),
if she did (and she must not do so),
it is not her dear body that would content me.
Only through each others being,
should we contrive to rid ourselves of death,
just as violet melting into orange sets free a pure red.
Tai gu! Tai gu! Tai gu!
We know what lies under those beautiful words.
I know that the union of my being with hers is impossible in this life,
and I will have no other life.
Only the star that is she can slake this dreadful thirst.
Then why are we now going to Barcelona?
Did I not mention that I have received a letter from her?
Things gradually become clear.
"Come to me, I shall be in Sant Feliu.
I am going to Africa. I have many things to accuse you of ".
A gypsy brought me this letter.
I set off, bowing to your wishes, while the King's men pursued me.
Yes, blame me, I pray you!
The affairs of my soul and my purse are all you are thinking of.
Look, I see the small lights in the west dispersed, everything is scattered.
And the red flash of muskets. Listen. Screams!
I fear they are the pilgrims we saw before.
Those who were hiding behind the pines.
Is St James being attacked?
They are undoubtedly heretics or Moors
and the statue is solid silver.
My sword! Let us fly to the aid of Saint James.
And when we have rescued him from the scoundrels
we will not return him without a good ransom.
The Inn of Sant Feliu. Neapolitan Sergeant. Jobarbara.
The servant of Dona Prouheze.
Traitor! I will kill you!
Fi, fi, fi!
Tell me what you did with the bracelet you took from me.
How do you do, Madam!
- Badly, you know well. - And I will not listen.
In gold, I gave you my pretty gold bracelet,
I gave you, it was worth two hundred coins.
It had a hand hanging, a guitar, a key, a guava, a coin,
a goldfish and twenty other beautiful things that together bring luck.
But be careful,
I prayed over it, yes, I've sung over it,
I've danced over it and I have watered it with the blood of a black hen.
So it is good for me,
but he who has robbed me, he will get sick, and die.
I am glad to be rid of it.
What, truly, you sold it, you dog?
- Didn't you give it to me? - I lent it to you,
you said it would bring you luck, villain,
for a certain job you had in hell.
Afterwards you left here by a crack in the wall,
just like lizards, scorpions, crickets, cockroaches and other animals.
Tell me,
the captain who is leaving for the Indies,
isn't the first thing he does to go to the banker
to get weapons and food,
and money to pay his soldiers and sailors?
The following year he returns with ten bags of gold.
But you have not returned even with one.
I haven't returned with even one sack?
And what if I give you a large piece of green and red silk,
enough to make to make fifteen handkershiefs,
and a gold necklace that will go four times around your neck?
And a gold bracelet? And another gold bracelet?
and ditto another gold bracelet? And over that a third, fourth,
and fifth gold bracelet?
And where have you got all that?
Where have I got all that?
Where he got your mother, hidden behind that banana plantation
while all the village women
were collecting grain in the moonlight,
this brave Portingale of Portugal
who took her to Brazil to teach her good manners
and to know the taste of sugar cane, is anything better?
If he had not had that inspiration,
instead of being today this respectable matron,
the oracle of the judge's house,
your hair done up in palm oil and dressed in this paper
you would be dancing like a crazy one on the banks of Zaire,
trying to catch the moon with your teeth ...
A matron ... moonlight ...palm oil ...
you make my head spin, now I don't know where I was.
I was talking of the money you've stolen, thief!
The money I took?
Isn't this much greater than money,
this star from the mountain I have picked with my fingers,
this firefly I've caught and placed in a box,
just when with its heart
it was trying to embrace a jasmine flower?
Do you mean that poor girl
who you arrived with the other day,
the two of you hiding in the bottom of that cart under straw?
Now the boat is ready, and tonight
if the wind is right, we sail for the Latin shore.
And the bracelet that you have taken?
And the chain that you were going to give me instead?
Follow us, stay close to me.
- What is stopping you from coming with us? - What do you want with that poor girl?
I promised to give her the King of Naples, why not?
The idea came to me suddenly, I am sure there is a King in Naples.
I told her that the King of Naples had seen her in a dream.
Ah! That was such a delicious young man I invented on the spot,
who had sent me all over the world to find her.
I would know her through the mark of a dove
on her shoulder.
- And had she that mark? - How odd, she did!
She told me so, but wouldn't show me.
What is her name?
They call her Dona Musica, because of a guitar, which fortunately she never plays.
His real name is Dona Delicia.
And did nobody notice her flight?
They were forcing her to marry an ugly creature dressed in leather,
a cattle drover, with a solemn face,
a descendant of the Goths.
The poor thing said she wanted to go into a nearby convent
to seek light and guidance
and we set off on the same horse to seek light and guidance.
- Were you followed? - They won't catch us.
I can already feel the first breaths of this blessed wind of Castile;
soon it will send off our light skiff.
What are you going to do with that poor girl?
Do you think I'm going to despoil her?
It would be like a baker eating his own cakes.
I melt at her feet out of tenderness and respect.
I breathe on her to remove the dust.
I sprinkle a few drops of water on her with my fingertips.
Each morning I polish her with a feather mop, made from the down of a humming bird.
Observe well, old friend, that road that descends
to that mountain, that looks like a crouching lion,
until there is a sign of that thing that makes me sick to think of it,
that cloud of dust in which flashes arms and stirrups.
Ah, what a fine trade mine is, even if it never brings such profit,
that I don't always want more.
Your salary will be the noose around your neck, you big ugly thing.
Never the rope for me!
I merge into the landscape.
I close my eyes and in an instant
suddenly you cannot tell me from a carob tree.
Cheer up, darling girls!
Your friend, the golden sergeant
is here to find you with a fishing rod
at the bottom of those holes where you moulder.
When your innocent hearts swell,
when your soul trembles delicately
at the thought of that unknown love,
when you are like one of those seeds
which nature has endowed with wings
to fly away on the April breeze,
then will I appear at your window,
flapping my wings and painted yellow.
Back in the Castilian steppe.
Sir, I thank you.
I am glad to have been able to save Saint James.
It wasn't St.James he was pursuing.
He fought like a gentleman and I doubted I would prevail.
Yes, but your doublet has suffered.
Are you seriously injured?
Nothing serious. Give me one of those carriages.
My servant will take care of me.
And you, dear sister, pull yourself together.
Do not stay like that, so pale and distant.
Give thanks to this gentleman who has saved us all.
I thank you.
You know so much, I am so happy to talk with you.
We must take care, little sister, that Don Balthazar does not see us.
It is dusk. It is the hour when the lord changes his sentries,
lest his captive fly away.
I am happy to be so well guarded.
I have checked all means of escape.
There is no way to escape even if I wanted to. Such good fortune!
Yet, I entered without anyone's permission.
How could you have been found,
coiled up like a snake under all that straw?
Now I have you captive, and will not let you escape.
Is it you that keep me from fleeing, or on the contrary,
is it I who have so taken you to myself that you cannot free yourself of me?
Ah, how lovely you are, and how I love you!
If I was your husband I would keep you in a sack,
I should be dreadful with you!
As soon as he returns, I will settle your matter.
It is not necessary for you to settle anything,
he has made up his mind to marry me to a cattle dealer
but I'll get up on the roof and snap my fingers at him!
My husband will be the gracious King of Naples.
- There is no King of Naples! - For Musica there is a King of Naples.
Do not try to hurt me or I will break your little finger.
Is it not true, either, that I have on my shoulder a spot shaped like a dove?
I have shown it to you.
You are the dove.
My Lord, how happy he will be to have me in his arms.
"Oh, how long it has been,
Why did you make me look for you so far away, Musica?" he will say to me.
I fancy I can hear him...
Oh! How glad I shall be to hear him say my name.
He alone knows it.
You silly, you've never even seen him.
I do not need to see him to know his heart.
Why, who else was calling me so loud?
Do you think it was easy to escape my home, trampling on all my people?
He is calling to me and I must respond quickly.
Yes, Musica, I know the man that your heart is waiting for,
I am sure you will not be disappointed.
And hasn't yours long been waiting for someone?
But who would dare to threaten your peace,
when it is protected by such great beauty?
Ah, you were made for each other,
you and that dreadful man who tried to catch me and whose business is death!
Still, you see that Don Balthazar does not rely
solely on my beauty to protect me,
but he has increased the guard around this old castle.
I myself have asked him to.
Do you love your prison so much that you delight in making it more secure?
It must have very strong bars.
What can the world do against you?
It is I who can do much against it.
I don't want any such prison.
Someone has said that for him prison is where I am not.
I have a prison of my own from which no one may take me.
What, Musica?
In the arms of the one she loves she is trapped,
- the wild Musica! - She escapes.
She is only there an instant.
Who may keep her forever with a heart like hers?
Already I am with him, without him knowing it.
It is for my sake, before he has met me,
that he endures so much at the head of his soldiers,
that he feeds the poor and forgives his enemies.
Ah! It will be easy to understand that I am joy,
and only joy, and not the acceptance of sadness,
is what brings us peace.
Yes, I want to mingle in all his feelings
like some pleasant sparkling salt that gradually transforms and purifies.
I'd like to know how he could now be sad
or do evil even if he wanted.
What will my soul in my body be to him,
my soul united with those ineffable chords, in a concert
that no one but he has taken in?
His very silence will make me sing!
Wherever he is, I am always with him.
I am the murmur of the fountain, whilst he is labouring.
I am the tumult of the great port under the midday sun.
I am the fruit of a thousand villages everywhere,
who have nothing to fear from robbers or the tax collector.
I, yes I, little I,
am that silly joy that shines in his ugly face,
I am the justice in his heart, the rapture in his face.
There is nothing that man is less fit for than happiness,
and nothing he tires of so quickly.
- Is he made for suffering? - If he asks for it, why refuse him?
How could anyone suffer when you are there?
Whoever looks at you becomes oblivious of living and dying.
He is not here.
Then there is someone, dear sister,
whose absence accompanies you always?
Hush, little sister, you are very daring!
Who would dare lift his eyes to Prouheze?
- Who could tear them away again? - Who would disturb her heart?
Only one voice in the world, a voice speaking very soft and low.
... inside, in this indissoluble sacrament ...
- Would you silence it? - By that alone I live.
Do you love him so much?
What are you saying? No, I do not love him at all.
Do you regret the time you did not know him?
I live for him now.
How, if your face is forever forbidden him?
My suffering is not.
Do you not want his happiness?
I want him to suffer, too.
He does suffer now.
Never enough.
He calls you, will you not answer?
l am not a voice for him.
Then what are you?
A sword that pierces his heart.
Hurray, my mummy made me pretty, so black and so shiny.
I'm the little fish of the night,
I'm the little spinning top,
the pot that wobbles and bobs in the cold water ever frothing and bubbling.
Sing hey to you, mama papa crocodile,
Sing hey to you, daddy hippo horse!
While the river turns to me,
while the forest turns to me,
while all the villages revolve, round, round to me,
while all the boats turn round to me
because of the hole I make, because of the broth I make,
because of the knot I make in this water that bubbles and troubles.
I have water to rinse me,
I have oil to smoothe me, I have grass to rub me down.
I'm not black, I shine like a mirror,
leap like a pig, duck like a fish,
roll like a little cannon.
Here I am; here I am; here I am.
Come, come, come to me, my little Mister Italian!
Yes, yes, yes, yes,
my little yellow canary,
I put a little coin in your pocket.
Everything that kept you from loving me, I killed,
I broke it with the blood of a chopped chicken.
I only need to turn, turn around. Come to me,
you cannot resist me.
All the threads that bind me to you,
I roll them up, wind them round me like a reel,
You come, I come to you, drawing nearer, twisting round about
like a little cannon, turning like a rope on the winch
that drags the anchor from among the roots.
Here, here, here, here! Ah!
Beardless creature, even clothing your black hide
in this multi coloured integument, I can pierce thee to the soul.
I see your heart drowned out by the teat
like a black clot which casts an evil ray.
I see your liver like an anvil
where demons come to forge lies
and the two lungs above like frightful bellows.
I see your entrails like a bag of reptiles
sending off their infectious and balsmic vapours.
And what else do you see?
I see my money stacked on each side of your spine
like the grain in an ear of maize.
And I'm going to get it back at once!
Oh! Stop, dear love of mine!
If you kill me I will not be able to show you the devil.
Just as you promised me before, and thereby extorted my money.
Never again will your master set eyes on Dona Prouheze.
Unclean alligator! Musky daughter of mud,
fat worm of a low tide!
We will resume this conversation, I warrant you.
Dona Maravilla is in this fortress and Don Balthazar is defending her,
and Don Pelagio is returning tomorrow, or later,
and taking Dona Maravilla to Africa.
And Don Rodrigo will never see her again, tra-la-la-la,
he will never see her again, tra-la-la.
Listen! Senor Rodrigo was wounded
while, sword in hand,
he was defending Saint James from bandits.
- What Saint James? - The silver Saint James.
We have brought him here (I mean Rodrigo)
to the castle of his Lady mother
four leagues from this inn.
Sweet Mother!
Tell her he will die, tell her he wants to see her,
tell her she must visit him soon
regardless of good manners.
But how can she leave here, being guarded on all sides ?
Listen, this morning I met a band of knights.
They were looking for a lady called Musica whom a certain Neapolitan has carried off.
Musica? Heavens!
- You know her? - Continue.
Because of their threats and force I confessed to them that this Musica
was at this seaside inn
- occupied by terrible pirates. - But this is false!
I know, but never mind.
Tomorrow night they will attack Balthazar and his troops.
But they will find nothing.
They will at least find a witch such as I described,
the most dangerous accomplice of the thief with velvet eyes.
I won't go back to the inn!
Then I will kill you myself.
Dona Prouheze will know how to sort everything out.
Tell her to take advantage of the turmoil and escape with you.
Behind the prickly pears, a hundred yards from the inn,
I will wait with my servant and horses for her and for you.
Look at her scramble thorugh the brambles and creepers,
climbing and sliding and recovering, with nails and knees,
trying to climb that steep ascent.
What that desperate heart can hold!
Who said that the Angels cannot weep?
Am I not a creature like her?
Are we not bound by some bond, all God's creatures?
Does what we call suffering happen in a world apart,
shut out from all the rest?
Beyond the vision of angels?
Is it a pleasant thing to countenance even for one who commands what he sees?
Is it quite separate from the love
and justice of which we are ministers?
What use in being Guardian Angels
if we did not understand it?
Only one who sees all goodness,
can fully understand evil.
They know not what they do.
And I, should I have been chosen to guard her,
without a secret kinship with her?
Finally! She has reached the end of these thistles
and the charitable thorns that try to hold her back.
Here she is on the edge of the cliff.
Yes, you are beautiful, my poor child,
with your hair dishevelled
and that indecent dress and cheeks covered with earth
and blood, and that crazed, determined look
which grieves me.
Ah! It is an honour for me
and a pleasure to show my poor little sister thus.
If only there were none to see us.
- I am alone. - She says she is alone.
- I am free. - Unfortunately.
Nothing has stopped me.
We wanted no other prison for you but honour.
I should have been better guarded, I have been loyal.
I warned Don Balthazar.
He will pay for your escape with his life.
Rodrigo is going to die.
There is still time to lose his soul.
Rodrigo is going to die.
- He lives. - He lives!
Something tells me he is still alive.
There is still time to let him see my face and so keep him from dying.
It will not be your love that keeps him from dying.
At least I can die with him.
Listen how glibly she speaks of ridding
herself of that soul that does not belong to her
and that has cost so much to make and redeem.
There is no one but Rodrigo in the world.
Then try to go to him.
Ah! The effort has been too much.
I am dying. Ah! I thought I should never escape that awful ravine.
I could keep her here if I wanted.
Rodrigo is calling me.
Bring him that heart on which my foot is planted.
I must.
See where you will take me.
- Up Prouheze. - I look to God. - Rodrigo!
Ah, I hear another voice in the fire which says: Prouheze!
Ah! How far it is to that bush.
Longer still to Calvary.
Rodrigo, I am yours.
You are his? You shall fulfill him with your outlawed body?
I know l am his treasure.
One cannot get this idea out of her silly head.
- Forward. - Forward.
Rodrigo, I am yours.
See how I have broken this bitter bond.
Rodrigo, I am yours.
Rodrigo, I am coming to you.
And I, I will accompany her.
When those bastards attack,
order everyone to regroup and defend the gates and passageways.
It is absolutely forbidden to fire
before I remove my hat.
Should I not leave some guards along the ravine?
We should not divide our forces.
On that side the inn is protected by the ravine
making passage impracticable.
- I have tested it myself. - Hum!
What's that you say, Lord Alferez?
Do you believe everything the Chinese man has said?
His presence is enough. I know him.
It was fortunate that in doing my rounds last night
I heard the screams of poor Jobarbara.
She clung to him with nails and teeth,
but I think if I had not been there, he would have split her like a fig.
Rely on me to defend the King's money against these ruffians.
We have more than money to defend.
- Dona Prouheze ... - I said nothing.
But the Chinese man said it is the god of love
and not of thieves who will flutter
through the smoke of your guns.
If I see a feather or hair: Bang!
Yes, Mr Alferez, bring him down, it will do us all a good service.
I am not speaking for myself,
but why must I always be mixed up
in the love affairs of others,
when no one has been interested in mine?
Suppose that you are commissioned to guard someone,
yes, say, a great criminal.
And she loves someone,
and she learns that he is dying and asking to see her:
would it amuse you to listen to her tears and entreaties?
Is it fair to torment me like this
as if I had the freedom not to do what is written
and what I have been ordered to do.
Are you speaking of a man or a woman?
A man, of course.
Pray, what are you thinking of?
A certain prisoner, I said, whose custody I have been entrusted with.
You are all red and upset,
as if you had just emerged from a fight.
I know you are a man of discretion and good sense.
You're only mistake is to wear your moustache like that, against the rules.
If someone in my place had acted differently,
whether distracted by softness of heart,
and failed to perform his duty,
I would say he was a man without honour.
The only solution for him is death.
Life is not pleasant for an old man,
is it not so?
I say that you are not old.
What hurt me most was not those complaints and supplications,
but those words they say to you in a low measured voice
that tear your heart.
When she saw that everything was to no avail,
then there was that silence, that almost smile.
You know, that kind of relief,
when we know that there is nothing more that can be done.
There are mothers who then begin to sing over their children's corpses.
But still,
I could not have expected those lips on my hands or that voice that thanked me.
a group of riders has arrived below, next to the big rock.
One of them is coming towards us waving a handkerchief.
Very good, get everyone to rally onto the bridge.
Even the sentry guarding the ravine?
Him also. And get me the Chinese.
Good day, master.
I am sorry to hear the news that you bring from Don Rodrigo.
Don Rodrigo has nothing to do with this.
Have you not been his servant?
I am the man that Providence has put near to him,
to give him the chance of salvation.
How so?
If he procures holy baptism for me,
will there not be immense joy in heaven,
where one converted Chinese is honoured
more than ninety-nine Spaniards who persevere in their faith?
No doubt.
Such merit, that depends on me alone to earn for him,
when and as it pleases me, deserves much care
and sedulity on his part,
I will not so easily cede to him my soul,
and for a song.
So that, properly speaking,
he is rather my servant than I his.
Still, it seems to me, my son, you give him very good service.
But for now that is not important;
and since you have spoken of song,
all I want to know is if you can sing.
What, sing?
Why, yes, Ah - ah - ah ...Sing it.
I have no guitar, but you can easily keep the beat
with a knife on this plate, as you wish.
Make it something pretty.
Don't you want to know what I was doing last night
talking with that black devil?
I have no desire in the world but to hear your beautiful voice.
Lord, spare me, I will tell you all!
Nothing scares people so much as what they don't understand.
"A song that rises to the lips
is like a drop of honey
that overflows the heart ..."
The truth is that when I was prowling around the castle
looking after the interests of Don Rodrigo,
I came upon a party of horsemen
who asked me if I had heard tell of a certain Dona Musica.
Musica, you say?
They told me that you knew her.
Of a certain Dona Musica
who had fled with an Italian sergeant, and who they were looking for.
Then I had the idea of pointing out
this castle as full of pirates, so that under cover of their attack and noise
I could carry off the people you are guarding.
You would do better not to talk of Musica, and sing as I asked.
Lord, have mercy!
Senor, a man at the gate, without taking off his hat,
and in very blunt terms,
asks that we let him search
for a Dona Musica, whom we are guarding.
Tell him, without removing your hat, and in very blunt terms,
we are keeping our music here.
As you see, I did not lie.
Dona Musica will not be better guarded, wherever she is,
than Dona Prouheze will be by me today.
I see! You think we are all in cahoots
and that it is Dona Prouheze we want. Oh, oh!
"I dreamt I was in heaven
and woke up in your arms ..."
Come on, Come on!
What is this?
It is your supper, which we have brought as ordered.
Well, here it will be pleasant,
eating in the shade while those gentlemen
will see about making a show for us.
You will be quite uncomfortable.
All the shots they fire through the door will be for you.
Not at all, our Chinese friend will take them.
Look you, if your friends shoot, it is you who will die.
I am afraid of nothing.
Until I am baptized no bullet can harm me.
Meanwhile, on this table, we have
the finest fruits of land and sea,
sweet and salty,
midnight blue shellfish,
a beautiful pink trout
under his silver skin like an edible nymph,
the scarlet lobster, that honeycomb,
these translucent grapes,
these overripe figs bursting,
those peaches like globes of nectar ...
Captain, a group of armed men is
heading for the door with axes and ladders.
What should we do?
Well, let them come on, I have given my orders.
Where was I ...?
These peaches like globes of nectar ...
that ham already carved,
this wine of delicious bouquet in a glittering decanter,
this pastry like a tomb stuffed
with strong spices that rise again in the stomach
with warmth and well-being.
Let us contemplate it all once more,
my friend, for we shall never taste any of this again.
- What do you want? - We want Dona Musica!
- You want music? Sing, Chinese. - I cannot sing.
I tell you to sing!
If a man should hear me sing he would think I'm very gay.
I am like the little bird
That was singing as he died.
Give us Dona Musica!
No use, she has just set sail for Barbary.
Sing, Chinese. That will cheer them up.
I embarked on a hazelnut to go to Barbary
To try to find the hair of a frog
Because there's none in Spain.
Open up, or we will shoot.
Sing, China!
I went to the fields to ask the violet
If for the pain of love there was any remedy.
And she replied ...
and she replied ... and she replied ...
Well, what did she reply?
That for the woes of love
Never has there been a remedy.
Heavens! What do I see?
- What do you see? - See for yourself!
Don't look at me, they look at us,
to see if you are looking at me.
Captain, captain! Should we fire?
Only when I give the order.
What do you see, Chinese?
I see a boat going out to sea.
On board is that damn black witch with her yellow devil.
See for yourself!
Turning around is too tiring.
Lord, take cover.They shall shoot!
A tear, a tear from your eyes, A tear from your lovely eyes ...
Ah, what a beautiful voice!
I have never heard anything so beautiful.
Runs down your face
And into your heart it falls ... Into the depth of your heart it falls ...
The tear from your eyes ... The tear from your eyes ...
At Cadiz.
You have prospered in Flanders, Don Gil!
The Panama crossing will reduce you.
Bah! I have room in my belly to put all of America.
Still no news of our Achilles?
It seems that Achilles is in Skiros,
not between the legs of a woman
but pursuing her, sword in hand, and no news of her husband.
I swear that I will not set off without Don Rodrigo.
Me neither.
Even if I have to pay rent here for a full year
and it costs me more than a rabbi's inheritance.
Rodrigo is a just man with everyone.
With his eyes open when necessary,
and closed when necessary.
He knows the soldier.
Enough said! He is my close friend.
None of this fucking red violet!
None of this raspberry juice!
None of this sour wine that gives you a belly ache!
I want a red bright as that which runs through the veins of a gentleman.
I have used all the insects that inhabit the islands of the Hesperides.
My employees all day long
are stuck in a bath of fire and slaughter,
removing from their vats
rags dripping vermilion sauce, redder than the sea that swallowed the Pharoah.
And all this is not enough. I am overwhelmed, gentlemen,
by knights from the four corners of Spain
coming to take the colours of our crusade.
In red, we shall take the faith,
take food and the sun, to those human worms,
those lizard faces,
those discolored images that swarm in the steamy shadows,
or wander the frozen desolate heights.
It is just like the bullfight.
On our terrestrial sphere one side is in the sun and one side in shade.
I will complete your thought:
One part real and one that fails to be quite real.
Yes, that is the idea that I bring back from my expeditions.
Listen to what they say, these old farts!
The gold you get there is real enough.
I am not so sure.
The gold in our pockets has quickly melted away.
We are not going out there to save the shadows of souls.
Nor are they shadows of bodies working in our plantations.
Nor the shadow of a stick to warm the shadow of their rears
if they do not work hard.
We must waken these sleepy heads.
No matter if their skins catch it a bit.
Have we spared our own?
It is worth more being alive than being in limbo.
We have crossed the sea to that land
which had no right to exist without us,
and opened for it the gates of morn.
It has taken all the ages since the creation of the world
to get to them along roads
strewn with hot coals and broken glass.
Now it is their turn to suffer a little.
- Customers, we are there! - Red!
The color of our Lord on the cross.
There are people we shall bring the cross to in every way.
Haven't we got it on our own backs, poor adventurers?
Well strapped on with leather, along with the other luggage?
In red, in red! We go only in red!
It is the vow we took along with the blessing of Brother Lopez.
In red! Under the command of Don Rodrigo.
We will wait as long as we must.
It is yet five months to the month of the Precious Blood.
Come along, rednecks, the public is getting impatient!
Hurry, Come on, I beg you! Hurry - their - prrst - presto!
Take this away! Clear the floor!
"Rednecks" is theatre. Theatre ... cinema ...theatre ... cinema ...
It's all the same.
I should have waited for my costume,
but I lacked the patience to moulder in that room
where the author imprisoned me.
But I am not so easy to keep down,
I escape like gas below a door
and explode in the middle of the work.
Look out, things are about to begin.
I am off on my magic steed.
We are no longer in Cadiz,
we are in the Sierra something or other ...
in the midst of one of those beautiful forests
which have made the name of Cataloña.
A peak! The Castle of Don Rodrigo is nearby,
and there Don Rodrigo is, very ill,
his wound hurts, I think he will die ...
Or am I wrong, he will heal, otherwise the play would be over.
I present the mother of Don Rodrigo.
Get back!
Wait until I come for you!
Marry, who told you to come?
Be off, be off!
The mother of Don Rodrigo, Dona who? ...
Will Honoria suit you?
She had to come,
just when I was going to describe her.
I hate the way these things always happen.
That's why I couldn't be a painter.
My characters suddenly exist
before any part of them has been finished.
Look! I am drawing Dona Honoria.
before I have even started
she will be asking me questions
and coming off the back of this employee
like Marguerite from the skull of Jupiter.
When I do a dog,
before I've finished his backside he begins to wag his tail
and trots off on three legs without waiting for his head.
Well, good, you are going to see her presently.
Now it is no longer the morning sun,
it is getting late and there is a beautiful light
la la la, la la la, la la la la ...
Attention, up there!
Let down the wings' cloths and lights!
The front spotlight on the garden side!
Now that we have the desired atmosphere
let me introduce Dona Prouheze.
What a name!
It gives her a certain credibility.
Dona Prouheze arrived in the same dress you have already seen a few days ago,
or as long as you like,
for on the stage we handle time like an accordion,
as we like, the hours expand and days disappear.
Nothing easier to set up several different times
going together in all directions.
To speak truthfully,
I fear that the nerves of the lady have succumbed to so many emotions.
I'm not saying she has suffered a collapse,
nor that she is off her head,
but she has fixed ideas, no free thought.
Has she already seen her lover?
Not at all.
Rodrigo is cared for by his mother, who cares for them both.
The two, separated by thick walls,
are trying to meet, running up
and down the stairways of delirium.
I'll get them.
Speak, Prouheze.
Let this crowd that surrounds you unbeknown hear your voice.
Speak, tell us what weighs down your guilty heart.
He has gone out hunting.
I mean his body is there, the other side of those red bricks
that you can see across the courtyard.
But he spends hours in dreams trying to emerge from that tangled thicket
which he hears stirring before him,
crushing him under the weight of an invisible presence:
Is it you?
In vain trying to say your name, softly,
as you said his just now.
No one answers.
In a moment he will appear in this clearing of dead trees
covered with immemorial moss.
Everything is strangely white against the black background of trees,
even that butterfly that has crossed momentarily
into that one ghastly ray of sunshine;
no one is there.
Come now, Honoria,
now is the moment for your appearance!
Let this suffering person
feel her suffering love is enfolded into your own motherly love
and that your mother's heart reasons with her lover's heart.
The hour of trial arrives.
I have only to draw before you a window frame...
and see what piece of Spain comes to fill it.
Hills covered with dense forests,
more matted than the buffalo's coat,
the moonlit night,
the wings of the great mill to our right
that every second intercepts the rays of the moon,
and down there
by the shaded roads,
Don Pelagio, preceded by his page,
is climbing ponderously toward us.
Everything is in order. Come.
I have tried not to cause any bustle.
Only, in the stables, your horses do not get on with mine.
It was not necessary for you to speak loudly.
Everything living in the castle knew immediately that you were here.
Let us say that I was expected.
That is true.
At this banquet of sorrow your place was set.
How is she?
Things are bad.
This morning the doctor came and was worried.
It is not the wound which he received in his side ...
do not mind if I weep,
he is my son, you know ...
but rather this awful internal inflammation ...
It is fifteen days since he was conscious.
This night will be decisive.
It is of her whom I speak.
And how should we be when he is dying?
I understand that she relieves you
- at the bedside of this gentleman. - No.
She has not seen him. She has not demanded to see him.
Her chamber is in the courtyard just opposite to ours.
Antano would once have installed my lady in a place lower down.
Your father once showed me the prison, very strong and secure.
- My duty is to keep my child alive. - Is it this criminal love that will save him?
While she is there, he can not die.
Nor recover, perhaps.
I do not know.
It is her name, not mine, which he incessantly murmurs in his dreams.
He was on his way to meet her.
I was not surprised to see her arrive here.
And me, should I then leave?
Perhaps your arrival was also necessary.
All the same, it would have been preferable
if my horse had stumbled on the way here just now
and flung His Majesty's Judge
into one of those ravines that beckoned to him.
There are things that chance should not be allowed to end.
"Rodrigo!" she would have said,
if in such a case you had let her approach him.
I can see her placing her hand on his forehead:
"Live! The old man is dead."
This thought has not for a moment sullied our hearts.
Do you think my soul was not great enough to set her free,
if I could have done so without committing a crime?
But what God has joined together no man can put asunder.
It is not love which makes a marriage, but consent.
Not the child that I have never had,
nor the good of society,
but the joint agreement in the presence of God, in faith:
To my very end,
until the last particle of that consent
that two beings are capable of yielding to each other,
for better or for worse,
what she has given to me I cannot give back, even if I would.
She asks for nothing,
she does not complain, she has explained nothing to me,
she is silent,
here with me far from the sight of men.
And that is my fault.
Yes, you naturally believe it is I who have done wrong
to marry her, I already so old and she so young
and not knowing what she was consenting to.
I do not think of you.
But I think am thinking of her
and every word I say, one by one,
it seems to me she hears in her silence.
I loved her.
When I saw her I was bathed in sunshine,
soon, my entire soul came out of the mist to meet her,
like a palace hitherto undreamed of.
Must I not wait for my palace
to be completed before love entered into it?
I was full of works and desires.
It was all awaiting her.
Where could she have found such a home to harbour her?
The architrave was set upon the column.
Grand as another's roof may be,
we love better that which we have helped to build.
There is sense in what you say.
But, did I not know better than she what would make her happy?
Was I so ignorant of that life which she knew not at all?
Who knows a plant better:
Itself, which has grown by chance,
or the gardener who plants it where appropriate?
She looked so young
in that foreign Madrid, without a mother and with a legendary father,
surrounded by fortune hunters ...
For me to marry her, did it show a lack of love or understanding?
What matters it if she love me?
What I felt for her, it was not to my dignity to tell her,
it was the world of God's wisdom that would speak on my behalf.
What matters if she love me,
if I can teach a single being what I know,
and fill a single heart with joy and understanding.
All this has lead to a lost child
who escapes from its prison like an animal on all fours
that crosses the ditch and the bush.
Why did she flee like that?
Had I not set her in Paradise, among all things excellent?
Paradise is not for sinners.
In fact the only time I saw her freely smile
was during those hard months she spent with me in Africa.
- You gave her no children. - God denied them to me.
At least you could not deny her suffering.
Perhaps mine was not enough for her?
You are not in her shoes.
It was necessary that something opened her soul
and this body in which we drown.
What thought can she entertain
in her eyes before that window opposite?
You are not absent,
she is still your captive.
Am I not her husband?
Is it not my mission to stand by her?
Shall I forsake her in her agony?
I know what is good for that generous soul.
All that you have said to me I wanted you to say,
and I have understood.
It is not flowers and fruits that she expects of me,
it is a burden.
What are you bringing her?
Instead of one temptation, another and greater temptation.
Take me to her room.
Take me to her room.
I was awaiting you.
In part.
Besides, the thought of returning to Africa
where once you had been with me ...
What wonder, if your heart failed you?
The continual and hopeless war,
Islam, like an expedition into a country cursed, against people betwitched;
water rationed;
below us, treason, above us, slander,
with us, the ill-will of those always asking for money,
the means for everything lacking;
jealousy at Court, hatred from those whom we cost so dear,
boredom of the King, all this, you and I
have tasted drop by drop.
I remember that boat which
with endless troubles we used to get in during the siege.
And instead of flour or money brought us only reprimands.
I was a thief who had to justify himself.
Next day, the tribes, attacked in the rear,
thanks to that wizard whom we won over, scattered.
I charged by your side, sword in hand.
Of all that, you have had enough.
Why do you say this unjust thing to me?
Nevertheless l return there all alone.
Is it so urgent that you must depart now?
The news recalling us from Spain is no better.
I have lost too much time already,
and honour bids me follow to the death a task
in which I no longer believe.
What, you no longer believe in Africa?
Suddenly I saw the truth.
Africa is one of those things in which I no longer have faith.
Still, less faithless than others,
you were not deceived. You knew the shores you were landing on.
Yes, I have loved her.
I longed for her disconsolate face.
It was for her that, since the king allowed,
I left my post of judge errant.
As my ancestors looked to Granada ...
As my ancestors looked to Granada ...
As my ancestors looked to Granada,
so I look to the iron ramparts of that other Arabia closed
and empty, which the legions of Satan tried to prevent us entering,
as if only the damned could live in the flames.
There, in the greatest light that this flesh can bear,
to proclaim that there is another God than Allah,
and that Muhammad is not his prophet!
For me the crusade has not finished.
God has not made man to live alone.
In the absence of this wife
I must not forget the enemy that he has given me.
Moor and Spaniad must not forget that they were made for each other.
Nor those two hearts slacken their grip,
who have long fought so fiercely against each other.
The Wind!
I hear the autumn wind
which with great racket sweeps the earth and the sea.
Suddenly it ceases. And then? Yes,
it is the cricket that thinly tries to resume its song of summer days ...
We know that will not be for long.
You no longer believe in your calling?
I was the builder of a dream.
Is there any woman who is not a dream?
Always the same!
What is woman, frail creature?
It is not because of women that life loses its savour.
Ah! If I were a man
no woman would make me renounce Africa.
That is something that resists. Enough for a lifetime.
- Do you hope to overcome it? - It's not hoping for things that is splendid,
but knowing one has it forever.
Just to grip the enemy by the neck, is that not enough?
He is held!
And he not only forces us to use all our strength
but we feel this same one
will compel us to use it four times over.
Always something new is needful.
What good is it, all this labour? - said the lord chancellor to me.
Spain is poor.
All this money I pour out there on barren sand,
could flourish here in roads, canals,
in crowds of happy children.
That is how Protestants talk, who look to eat and get rich
and they want their instant reward.
But you have taught me to think:
Woe to him who looks only to himself!
- Well then, what should one look to? - Say it yourself.
- This enemy that God has given me! - This is your work on earth.
It is not my enemy I am looking at now.
Look at me, then.
Why not use your eyes
to look at things that are impossible?
Am I still myself?
Not a single movement of my body
but says that I am no longer yours.
You are mine as long as you can serve me.
What service? When even he I see is dying before my eyes.
Do you deem it a service to prevent his death?
I do not want him to die!
You will not suffice him, you can only give him finite things.
The desire I have for him is not so.
You yourself, what do you ask of him? And what can you give him in return?
Nothing that will suffice him that he will ever cease to crave me.
It is the longing of the damned.
Has this longing been given me for evil?
How can something so fundamental be evil?
What does no good can only be evil.
Is it true I was born only to bring him to his doom?
No, why should you not be fit to do him good?
What good?
What is itself good will do him good.
It is better to do evil
than to be useless, in that garden where you have shut me up.
That is true.
I know of only one castle where it is good to be shut in.
What castle?
A castle that the King has given you to hold to the death.
This is what I have come to tell you of, a task commensurate to your soul:
you must sooner die than surrender the keys.
Do you say die, sir?
I thought with that word that your heart would listen.
But to live could be harder still.
Does the King gives this castle to me?
I give it to you in his name.
- Which one? - Mogador, in Africa.
That place which Don Camillo conquered and now occupies?
Yes, I mistrust that officer.
You must take his place and make him your lieutenant.
- You are not coming with me? - I can not.
I must defend the northern strongholds.
What will you give me to help me in this ?
Not a man or a dime.
How long must I keep your castle?
As long as is necessary.
Do you know the things Don Camillo said to me and I listened to,
the day before his departure?
I can imagine.
Have you such confidence in me?
I am a woman.
Must I be warden of that place lost between the sea and sand?
And at the side of a traitor who wants only to insult you?
I have nobody else.
- I can not accept this task - You have already accepted it.
- Give me time to reflect. - The horses are ready.
Get up! Change your clothes.
Roman Campagna on the Appian Way.
However, the Chancellor of France
is quietly returning with his troops back along the Via Nomentana.
Having traveled north along
the same road that we have just travelled southwards on.
I told him to think of us when he last looked at Saint Peter's
so that our eyes would accompany his.
He has no need of Saint Peter's
to keep in mind Your Highness.
Do you believe I got the better of him?
Bah! One of those unsatisfactory treaties
that one needs to renegotiate every few years
backed up by some firepower
so as to bring a little order into our tangled inheritance.
The legacy of the brave!
Have we have not added some small pieces?
The tailors who have pieced them together have fallen out.
I have bad news from the Indies.
Really! Why couldn't they send Your Highness there?
Instead of that elusive Don Rodrigo
the King insists on pursuing.
My place is here, at the foot of this column in the sea
which upholds all of Europe and is the center of the Universe.
And Islam will not tear it down,
nor will those angry northern peoples snatch this Italy
to which all roads lead, crossing the crown of the Alps,
and which gathers up in one cloth every thread and every fibre.
The strong man of Europe is the man who most needs Italy,
and whom Italy most needs.
Once more, thanks to Your Highness,
peace is returning to Rome;
The French have withdrawn their grumbling opposition
and while the furred Russian ambassadors
mingle on the steps of the Vatican with those of India and Japan,
the papal legates prepare their journey to Trent.
And very soon, the new dome of Saint Peter,
like a great stack of corn, will rise over an indivisible Europe.
Rome is all right where she is.
As for me, I am happy to see Naples again,
and its noisy people whom Apollo and Neptune do not cease to agitate
like a niggard fumbling with both hands in a bag of coins.
But your business, learned sir,
is it not rather with the dead than with the living?
Call you dead those living things of marble and metal
that I removed from the lava?
More than living, they are immortal!
Our titles, in God's image, entrusted for centuries
to the archives of a volcano,
these superb Ideas
of which we are but a spongy translation!
Ah! It is those dead who have taught me how to watch the living!
It is true. In that human eruption of Naples,
our friend has also discovered some statues.
The loveliest of all! How I wished you had kept it for yourself!
I will plug my ears.
A splendid woman, I cannot deny.
Daughter of a fisherman, do you say? I call her a daughter of the sea,
worthy of a god and a king.
That is why I gave her to my friend Pierre-Paul Rubens.
Is it she we saw on board that boat
laden with statues, pictures,
and all sorts of curiosities that you were sending to the Duke of Alba?
Accompanied by her mother, like a plant and its root.
So much beauty for the North!
It is like mixing wine and beer.
What I love I like to keep for myself.
What should I have got from this beautiful young girl?
Some selfish pleasure, a small dilettante thrill.
Beauty is made for other use than pleasure.
Pierre-Paul Rubens has eyes only for his large iridescent blondes.
Gentlemen, do you take me for a fool?
Our friend Rubens is too proud.
It isn't as a model that I send him this daughter of the sun, but as a challenge.
I would rather send gunpowder and cannons to the Duke of Alba.
I don't think Rubens will much help the King of Spain keep Flanders.
Rubens will keep Flanders for Christianity
against the heretic.
What is beautiful brings harmony, what is beautiful comes from God,
I can only call it catholic.
It is not that good theology, Master Chaplain?
I should not have thought Rubens was a preacher of the Gospel.
Who has glorified Flesh and Blood better than Rubens;
the very flesh and the blood that God chose to wear,
as the instrument of our redemption?
Are you convinced, heretic?
I hear the bells of Rome, which forbid me from answering,
and among them those of my convent of Santa Sabina
saying for me farewell and hallelujah.
And you, Lucio, do you believe me?
Everything you say is true.
We are proud of our Captain.
Not because you love me am I right.
It is because you speak the truth that we love you,
and from this we have learned to know one another.
And to form this band of brothers at your side.
Why should I get married, with such friends about me?
You have nothing but praise for everything,
but it vexes me to see you use nothing
and so easily do without everything.
If I use anything, I must destroy it,
and then neither you nor I will have got very far.
I have not been made to destroy.
I would like to immortalize everything I touch,make it a treasure.
Come! I need only you!
The joy in the eyes of these men
tells me they are glad I am here.
To horse! We must finish this stage before dark.
Way of Saint James.
Pilgrim of the West,
for a long while a sea deeper than my staff
held me on this turret on four massive blocks of earth,
on this pink Atlantic
that at the end of the primal continent
closes up Europe's inland basin,
and every evening, sovereign vestal,
bathes in the blood of the slaughtered sun.
And there, on that half sunken mole,
for fourteen centuries I slept in Christ,
until the day that I took the road, once again,
at the bow of the sailing ship of Columbus.
I drew him with a thread of light,
while a mysterious wind
filled his sails day and night,
until in the black water he saw the long and russet braids
of those hidden nymphs
the sailors call tropical grapes.
And now, in the skies, yet never leaving Spain,
I pace my circular beat,
whether a shepherd on the Castilian plane
finds me in the Bible of the night
between the Virgin and the Dragon,
or a lookout man sights me behind Tenerife,
already submerged in sea up to my shoulders.
I am the lighthouse between two worlds,
and those that are sundered by the abyss
need but to look at me to come together.
I take up too much space in the sky
for any eye to be mistaken,
and yet am less than a beating heart,
or a thought that in darkness
comes and goes.
With the sea at my feet,
which reflects back my scallop shells,
and whose timeless dream throbs simultaneously
against both Africa and America,
I see the white wake left by two souls
at once fleeing and pursuing.
One ship goes straight towards America,
the other, against an unknown current
and an adverse swell, can barely keep its course.
A man and a woman,
both look on me and weep.
I will not forsake you.
The happy and contented do not see me.
That great hole through the world
where I plant my semaphore, has been created by sorrow.
When the earth only serves to uproot you,
it is in the heavens that you will take root again.
All the walls that separate your hearts,
can not prevent your existing at the one time.
You find me like a meeting place.
Your double restlessness joins in my eternal motion.
When I disappear from your eyes,
it is because I have gone to the other side of the world
to bring you news,
but soon to be back with you for the whole winter.
Fot though I seem motionless,
I never cease for a moment
from this ecstatic roundabout that holds me.
Lift up your eyes to me, my children,
to me, grand apostle of the firmament,
abiding in this ecstasy.