All language subtitles for N+_rcisz +_s Psych+_ I (corrected)

Based on "Psyche", by Sándor Weöres.

Scenario by Vilmos Csaplár
and Gábor Bódy.

Psyche

that is, Countess Erzsébet Lónyay

was born in the year 1795...

on the 27th of January...

at Nagylonya, she being the
daughter of Janos Lónyay.

She used her title just for tradition.

Erzsébet Lónyay, born 27th January
1795, at Nagylónya.

The Habsburgs recognized the family's
nobility, but not its rank.

Her mother, a gypsy girl's bastard,
had been adopted by Count Majlath,

thus she was Countess Barbara
Majlath.

Count Majlath regarded Psyche's
mother as his own child.

She considered herself a descendant
of the gypsy kind Szindel.

Her husband studied astronomy
and astrology.

Her interests were piano,
organ and cimbalom playing.

No wonder, therefore, that their first
daughter was named Anna Urania Erato

and the second, Erzsébet
Mária Psyche.

The famous gypsy violinist János
Bihari visited Nagylónya

and the wife of János Lónyay
ran away with him.

She took her daughter with her;

Erzsébet Mária Psyche, then three.

Bihari's relatives lived in the
gypsy settlement near Miskolc.

There Psyche spent her childhood.

Her mother met János Bihari

the gypsy violinist who was
renowned throughout Europe...

Psyche's mother played the cimbalom

making music with János Bihari

until their mutual talents
ran away with each other.

After her mother's death, Psyche was
reared by the violinist's relatives

and by kind-hearted common folk.

One such as László Tóth,
the shoemaker's grandson...

to whom Psyche remained attached
all her life.

Later, her uncle sent her to
a convent school:

St. Catherine of Sienna's
at Regensburg.

She left there at fourteen and then
went to live with her sister.

Anna, known as Ninon, was married
to a landowner, Gaston Haller.

The scene of her happy youth is
Tállya, in northern Hungary.

Joso's mare is wonderful.
I'd rather be riding, too.

What lovely weather!

Mother wishes us to arrive by carriage.

She is stubborn, I hear.

She holds to her ideas; But you
needn't be afraid of her.

I'm not afraid; I've suffered
many things.

If she encounters no resistance
she softens immediately.

She agrees to our engagement,
though she's never met you.

My father was a stubborn fool like her.

My mother is not a fool.

My father was; For years he didn't
want to see me.

He let me live among gypsies and
shoemakers, then one day

he sent a carriage for me and
ordered them to let me go.

True, little one?

Let him sleep.

I love you.

I've written another poem for you.

I hope it's not as bad as the last.

Only you said it was bad;
My mother liked it.

You showed it to her, too?

- Did she like it?
- She praised me.

She doesn't know much about poetry.

Why not? Who does?

I'll show you.

Where are we going?

To Bányácska.

Good, they feed you well there.

Let's not go there now; My mother
expects us by evening.

If we're not there by evening,
we'll be there in the morning.

- Ars longa, vita brevis est.
- That's just what I've been thinking.

My suitor, Isti Terek, writes poems.

He's come for the great critic
to appraise his efforts.

So you will be a poet-pair.

I am a passionate horseman.

And I put my horses into
my love poems, too.

How extraordinary...

You're as lovely as a horse.
You hurt my heart without remorse

I a stallion, you a mare,
Will grow old without a care.

Tell me if it is poor,
I shall not take offence.

Here's the other one.

- Fair Erzsébet, I beg, Harness...
- My old nag?

It rhymes alternately.

Fair Erzsébet, I beg,
harness my horse.

We shall rise side by side
If I harness yours.

The younger lady is a better poet...

than her future husband.

The verses my little Erzsébet
has composed...

make me believe that her poetic
touch, her warming breath...

will be felt in centuries to come!

One I'm especially fond of.

I always have it with me.

As the night is approaching,
I, Psyche, bathe myself.

In rose petals, in rosemary.
In the scent of century.

I adorn my neck with pearls,
My fingers with rings.

Lo, I lie upon my bed,
Bedecked with all my jewels.

For in the coppice of my dreams,
There I shall encounter...

For in the coppice of my dreams,
There I shall encounter...

A gallant, handsome lad
With eyes afire, so bold.

The finest, best of men,
Whose name I cannot speak...

The finest, best of men;
His love is the love I seek.

Capital! The Muses bless you.

If you had a moustache, I'd tweak it.

Dear child, you are disrespectful.

She is but a child.

No longer a child, a woman -
to say the least.

Where are you going? Wait.

Go and write poems to your mother.

And the wedding? Hm?

It will surely happen soon.

To the great delight of my
sister and her husband.

How are things going in Tállya?

It's alright.

What kind of...

company has assembled there?!

- Do gossips reach even Kassa?
- Your repute is not up to much.

Gaston is always out hunting.

At nights he's just sizzling tipsily.

My sister's doing her
job like a yoked ox.

What should I do? Sit at
home and watch them?

Are you in need of anything?

I've got what I need.
And what do I need...?

Nothing, after all... Nothing...

*****************-
************...

Alright then.

En cochon d'Or.

Gold-piglet!

Keep it!

Get thee gone to Isti Terek!

A bride has to be beside her groom!

Succades approaching!

Stop caressing me, Miss!

I am a swordsman, a
horseman, I do not want

a vampire to drain my strength.

I, too, wrote a poem about Erzsébet.

"My Afflation."

The little maiden.

That inspires my verses.

That the Muse gave me,

Is a roguish little scamp.

Countess Erzsébet, I beseech you!

I want to have no dealings
with ladies as yet,

I want to safeguard my chastity
for as long as possible.

My unbroken strength...

What have you done?

Everything from you
leaks onto my pants.

And no one will wash
the stain of shame off me.

A soldier must never be afraid.

Don't be afraid and don't
mind my reputation.

Perfect!

A true masterpiece!

Psyche is not just a poet.

She's also a muse. A muse!

Are you asleep, children?

I'm tired from riding.

I must have dozed off a little.

I was wrong.

Love doesn't drain energy,
but induces it.

If you stay with me, I'll change
from a swordsman to a hero.

If you were my wife...

I would save my poor country.

Your late father pushed his wife into
sorrow, and you'll be no better or worse.

You shall marry no one. Kiss my left hand
when you have it, don't ache my right,

I will not give it to you.
It's fairer if I stay free.

Come indoors, let
us play the clavier!

Time to start, brother.
It's getting dark.

My mare can find her
way home in the dark too.

Krisztinka, why are you limp?

I shall not budge until
you give in to me, Erzsi.

Josó, you came close
with beautiful words.

But a thousand eyes
follow me everywhere.

I can't do all you hope for.

But tonight I shall be up late.

I shall be reading Sappho.

Come to me.

Is it you?!

Let me go! What do you want?

You've stained my dress with blood!

Will you buy me a new one?

Red flowers go well with white.

I'm not your wife.

You make everything worse, not better.

You torturer of women!

You ugly fart of your mother!

I should have never gotten married!

What happened?

All he can do is beat me!

Did he do this?

He bit me.

That animal!

Open up!

Open up!

Come out, or I'll shoot
the lock to pieces!

Come out!

I said come out!

I'll slay the evil spirit that
makes you always miscarry!

Keep quiet...

He'll go away.
He'll soon go away.

I'm going out.

Let him beat me to death.

No, you must stay!

This is horrible.

- You will come to know it, too.
- No, I won't.

I will not live like this.

I hope not.

- May I take the carriage?
- Where to?

To Réde.

All right.

László Tóth also lived and tutored in
the Highland, in the manor of Réde.

Her childhood friend, who wrote
poems in both Hungarian and Greek.

He fervently wished to rise to greatness
from his lowly state, so poetry...

Psyche has known the poet, László Tóth
since the exile of her childhood...

From Avas, alongside Miskolc.

She lived here with her
mother and Bihari's gypsy kin.

Back then he taught
Erzsébet Lónyay to write,

and now he's teaching
her how to poetize.

The gifted pupil followed, admiring
and haunting her teacher

with a child's secret love,
both back then and later too.

With respect...

for the elegant poetry of László Tóth,

with high hopes...

and great expectations...

the noble and rich Rhédey family...

appointed him...

as an instructor.

His pupils were flying around him...

like gentle and sweet doves.

These titled and rich maidens...

vied for the favours...

of the poor descendant of a
clergyman and a shoemaker.

- Elise!
- Laci!

It's ages since you were here.

It was only a week.

How is the honourable and
charming Countess?

What's wrong?

You look as if you've
had a tooth out.

It's worse than that.

Are you ill? What ails you?

A painful and lasting disease.

What sort is it?

Is it your lungs? Or dropsy?

Don't tell me you've got
Lazarus' disease, leprosy.

No, Lidi, none of them.

I have the French disease.

You've got syphilis!

Where do you get that,
you woman-hater?

No man alive has ever seen
go you near a woman.

Was it from Klára Rhédey?

No.

I got it years ago,
in the gypsy settlement.

As a student of Calvinistic theology?

Yes.

In celebration of the great
day of the enrolment.

I thought that I had the right
to some pleasure, too.

So you wanted another gypsy girl...

and yet you cast me aside...

every time when I offered
myself in my ignorant craving.

But... I loved you.

You were a child.
Perhaps you still are.

I didn't dare to touch you, Lidi...

Me a child?

I am your mother,
keep that in mind.

A mother who accepts
you as you are.

Who feeds you when you're hungry.

How much money do you need?

Five or six ducats would be enough

to pay for a cure in Pest.

Here's one hundred and
ten Forints, all my money.

I'll be well again, I'll be crowned
with laurels, and then I'll throw...

myself at your feet and say:
Don't mind the past, our childhood...

the poverty, the suffering
what we've lived in.

We were like brother and sister;
Let us now be lovers.

I have finished my great work.

A tragedy, composed in
rhyme. Its title is:

Narcissus.

Did you get my letters?

Your poems? I did.

No doubt there is a spark
in them. Fire even...

But they are somewhat coarse,
soiled with sensuality.

Be more subtle, more abstract.

Listen to this.

O gods!

What a terrifying, bleak
grove, is here around me.

And what a horrendous
breeze whistles above me...

in the green foliage.

I tremble in my marrow, my knees,
my hands and my every limb.

It seems there is
no nook, no cranny...

in which I could escape
from sight. Ah, I shudder!

Have they read it yet?

Who?

Your pupils.

Hear the latest work by
Hungary's poet of promise.

A tragedy titled Narcissus.

Counts and countesses!
Let the performance begin.

It's no secret.

All right, let's play.
Let's perform it.

What is the story?

It is set in a grove in Thessaly,
when gods still mixed with mortals.

Thou shalt not blind me,

whoever thou art.

I swear.

Some see everything in his
work, but in his life, nothing.

His eyes always look upwards.

Take a look around you, for once.

Psyche?

Where is Psyche?

Laci...

Lidi. Why do you keep away?

- Are you bored already?
- No.

What's the matter?

I am resting.

Resting?

My head is swimming.

Are you dizzy?

What can I do to help?

You? Don't do a thing.

It usually passes after a while.

But what ails you?

Some sort of women's disease.

At times I bleed unexpectedly.

And my head swims.

Such things are not without
cause and consequences.

Is it better over there?

My purity, which held you back,
was destroyed by Gaston.

Gaston, your sister's husband?

I was fourteen and he
often took me incestuously.

I played with him out of boredom,
then he subdued me by force.

Once I even conceived.

Gaston kept hitting my belly then...

I had a miscarriage and
it almost killed me too.

I have been bleeding and
agonizing ever since.

Have you not seen
a doctor to heal you?

- Not yet.
- Why not?

I wanted to find a doctor now.

I thought you would help me.

I'll give you back the
money you gave me.

No. Don't.

It is more urgent that
you cure your syphilis.

Go to Pest as soon as you can.

There you'll surely find
someone to cure me, too.

By then I might have
some money saved again.

Let me in. Let me in!

Leave her. Here's your cloak.
Put it on.

Dear Elise, the sisters are
looking for you.

They're taking you with them.

We must find our inner peace.

It is most important.

We've always provided
for you, haven't we?

You know that we forget the good things
and remember only the bad things.

Or vice versa...

Poor thing.

I'm not going! Let me go!

- Get in the coach.
- I'm not going.

Let me go!

Go away, Palkó.

- I want to go with her.
- Lise has to go away.

A girl's place is
in the convent.

You could wield
a sword before long.

Gaston had enough of Psyche's
juvenal nymphomania for young lads.

He sent her back to the convent
of St. Catherine of Siena...

Psyche's adolescent nymphomania...

was too much for her
brother-in-law, her first lover.

They sent her back...

to the Dominican nuns...

to Regensburg.
THE YEARS OF WANDERING.

Where she has spent...

some...

cruel years as a child.

Wait, Laci...

I want to say something...

Come back to Réde soon.

- It was foolish of you to come here.
- I don't care.

- This could taint a countess's reputation.
- I don't care.

Józsi Szilassy will care

I won't marry him, anyway.

You will. Everyone wishes it so.

- Only I don't.
- Let go!

I shouldn't be late.

The Archbishop is expecting me.

Laci, stay at Réde, don't leave me.

Why should we make such a contract?

The social difference between
us is insurmountable.

I will ask my father to obtain
a scholarship for you.

You could study at Pest university.

I already have a scholarship, by
the grace of the Archbishop.

I see.

So that is the reason for your
coldness towards me?

I have never been different.

You desert those who no
longer serve your interests.

But you abjured your faith
too for 500 silver Forints.

I believe in neither the Roman
nor the Helvetian God.

Only in the aesthetic and historic
authority of the Greek-Latin gods.

Therefore, I am not abjuring my faith,

only my matriculation certificate.

I wasn't born a Count Rhédey...

or a Baron Fischer.

My poverty spurs me...

to do everything that will
advance my ambitions.

I'll follow you to Pest, anyway!

Don't you dare!

Klára, if you do so, I shall
inform your father at once.

I shall make my own way, without
any burdens. Do you understand me?

His Grace Archbishop Fischer
summons Mr. László Tóth.

The groups labouring above
the main entrance...

illustrate the scientific departments
of the Faculty of Arts.

Here are the professional scholars...

of land-surveying, astronomy,

military and...

political geography,
chemistry and optics.

The laterna magika can also be
found amongst the instruments.

On the left...

a Hungarian-suited man...

holds up our country's
compilation of laws.

On the estrade, there
is the Superior Court.

Unfortunately the sitting judiciary.
Besides some heads

are concealed by the
high chair-backs.

At the head above the window,

the fathers and greats of our church...

are listening to the declaimer of...

some theological term
earnestly and with decorum.

Little angels flitter above...

propagating, that...

In the beginning was the Word.

The last grouping...

shows us the state the Art of Medicine.

We can not deny...

the great importance of
the dissection of the body.

With the nun's permission,
Psyche could break her journey.

At the house of relatives,
she has met Baron Zedlitz...

on her way, she met Baron
Maximilian Freiher von Zedlitz...

The eccentric, lame,
Freemason scholar...

reminded Psyche of her father.

Unable to bear the austere convent,
she turned to the Baron...

She wrote in a letter that he must
free her from Regensburg at all costs.

She promised to compensate
him for her freedom.

Zedlitz, leading a gaudy company,
came to the convent and, as her fiancé...

asked for the release of the
young Countess, his betrothed.

You have come from the convent into
the very heart of Europe, Countess.

Everyone here is victorious.

Victorious and immortal.

But take care, because
every third victor,

every third celebrant,
is a paid agent.

That is why there is such a crowd.

I love you, Countess, not Europe.

- The betrothal...
- Such a pretty tune, Baron.

And even the spies
are so cheerful.

Well, the Titan has been defeated.

Recipes replace ideas.

And I too would rather dine
separately with you.

Let us ignore the interrelations.

Allow me this paradox:

French rationalism and the
English theory of dead-lock

which means that anyone who wants
to move has to be dead-locked.

You are scintillating today, though
treaties always mean the end of peace.

Is it true, my dove?

Let us flee from the quadrille.

Have you ever been in love?

- Sincerely or professedly?
- Sincerely.

You're beautiful.

Let us dawdle a little.

Offer your arm to me.

May I?

Let's go.

What are you doing here?
Are you mad?

Get lost!

Poorness is an ornament
to world-history, Countess...

and also a pledge of
the freedom to come.

But the ambassadors
don't have letters

of procuration in their
pockets for the poor.

Aber was machen Sie?

What happened to you?

Picayune. Don't excite
yourself, Baron.

I slapped an over-excited rooster.

You look over-excited, too.

Countess...

- Do you know who you slapped?
- Who?

- The Minister of Police.
- Really?

Is that such a sacrilege that you
dare not invite me to dance?

You are burning like
a flame, Countess.

Our betrothal can not remain knavery.

I shall travel to my parents for their
approval right away, if you want me to.

Stay where you are, Baron.

The ball-season is not yet over.

When an adolescent,

the Archduke of Lothringen...

wanted to marry her,

she was exiled from
the capital, as a fraud.

The boy fell for Elise
at first sight, and...

was unsuspecting and meant no harm.

Archduke Salvatore Xavier
saw them together...

The boy was sentenced
for three months in the...

casern prison, so he couldn't
meet his sweetheart.

The incident with the
Minister of Police

remained a secret, covered by
the heavy leaves of the palms...

But soon policemen called at her
lodgings with the Minister's order:

"Elise Lonya, who falsely purports
to be Princess of Transylvania..."

is a gypsy adventuress

"who shall be expelled from the capital".

Baron Zedlitz followed his
fake-fiancée into exile too.

You two-headed armour-animals!

Crawl inside here!

Damn you all to hell...

At some post-house.

What the...?

Why the hell are you here?
Leave me in peace!

Don't follow me everywhere!

Rent a room and order dinner.

Don't stand gaping.
The night is falling.

Seeing as you're here...

Why won't you eat?
What's wrong, Baron?

I went to see my parents at Kramow...

to ask their assent to
our intended marriage.

I was there for almost a month.

In vain.

I'd not have married you even if...

your family had sent
the best man for me.

I have a great love. I do not know
whether he is alive or dead...

but I always think of him when
we're apart, ever since childhood.

He's with me even now.

He taught me
to write a neat c and a y.

Quick-greying, uniting,
shild-bearding

decent ingle, milk-smell, swaddle-niff

I'll never be a milk-cow, not me,
forever mourning my wandering.

Won't you have some of this
fruit, Freiherr von Zedlitz?

Do you deny perhaps, that...

a new life is beginning?

What life would that be?

After the revolutions...

Napoleon...

after devastating wars...

after fights that shook
many empires...

we must have a new world.

If by that you mean marriage,
I'll have none of it.

Let's go!

Are you leaving?

Ride!

Adieu.

Does a László Tóth live here?

László Tóth... I don't know.
What do you take me for?

Sir, I'm looking for László Tóth.

Who? Tóth?

Go that way. To the left. You'll
find him in there, if he's at home.

Quicker!

Move your legs!

- Is this Mr. Tóth's lodging?
- That door.

I hope the clout rots on you...

Laci!

I had difficulty finding you.

Really?

Everyone seems to do so lately.

Sorry, I knocked it off.

What is this?

The bone-saw.

I've changed over to medicine.

Poetry is but eating air
or swimming in fog.

It is knowledge, not poetry, that the
Olympians enwreathe in our days.

Poetry stills haunts you.

Man's creation.

Pour acrid onto clay...

releasing this way the coal-spirit...

and transformed the clay will be.

Destroy my dust-frame,

let my soul evaporate.

My clay will be transformed
into a different, new body.

Now I write nothing but epigrams.

Perhaps. But they're equal
in value to Faust.

I'd like to bathe.

To wash my dust-frame.

This place is no good for one...

who is used to castles.

I wash myself in this, you see.

I'll be right back.

Faster!

Move your feet!

And you?

Hurry up!

Mr. Quill-driver...

A little urge to work?

Move over! Did you cut yourself?

Don't bleed all over the place!

Remember how you
taught me to write?

I've grown up, eh?

The learned poet
is now done with me.

You've grown up indeed.

Into a great whore.

There'll always be men's hands
to paw you, as you desire.

What did you say, you syphilitic?!

You dared not take my virginity,
which would have been God-given.

And your famous purity drove you
to gypsy trollops at the creek!

Now you can't lie with any woman who's
not like you, so you pretend virtue.

You're afraid to show your love,
but not your jealousy.

You are all twisted

and yet you dare to
call me crooked!

- What are you doing?
- Sleeping.

Why make two nests in such a hovel?

I'd rather find an inn.

Lidi...

Stay.

Let's sleep together,
like we did in the shack.

Let's sleep together.

Whatever.

Deformatio dorsalis.

The back side.

Deformatio caudalis.

Deformatio generealis.

A totally deformed body.

Is this a normal body?

Normal Gestalt.

None of them seemed normal to me.

Were you really in love with me?

Always, and I still love you.

Take it off.

- What for?
- Take it off.

I'd stain the bed with blood.

Dancing makes my bleeding worse.

You've always loved me, yet
you've never been mine, Lidi.

Blame yourself and your harlots.

Girls sleep with me now, too.
They don't catch the disease, it's milder.

I'm afraid. Don't experiment with me.

Nothing will happen to you,
you'll see. Nothing.

Let me...

Laci, don't.

You gypsy whore!

Psyche!

Gypsy...

whore...

I prepared a bath.

Go and wash yourself.

A little water won't harm you.

You smell of carcasses.
Were you autopsying again?

Leave me alone, Lidi.

Can't you see I'm writing?

One light,

one gleam,

and one image is drawn by truth.

One image is drawn by truth.

Lidi. Lidi!

Look what I've brought
from the university.

One light, one gleam,

and one image is drawn by truth.

And yet it stands in front
of us in its thousand forms.

No wonder, because a condense mind breaks
the gleam elseways towards its end and...

destination, as a sparse one.

And yet it stands in front
of us in its thousand forms.

No wonder...

because a condense mind
breaks the gleam elseways...

towards its end and
destination, as a sparse one.

Give it to me.

One light,

one gleam,

and one image is drawn by truth.

Yet it stands in front
of us in its thousand forms.

No wonder, because a condense
mind breaks the gleam...

elseways towards its end and
destination, as a sparse one.

I want my writing to have smell,
taste - something tactile.

Make them think I lay with them,
when I mention my hips or breasts.

Or at least that I'm close to them.

- Where are you going?
- Right here.

Why do you sit apart?

You might be a whore, but I'm not.

Life is overfilled with whoredom.

So I despise and avoid it in my poems.

Though I must serve
it in everyday life,

I won't serve it with my poetry.

They think you're in love with me.

If life dishonours me and everyone...

than I shall dishonour life too.

My hymns soar above dust and mud.

They abdicate and
defeat the subordinate.

That's why I don't
scribble poems to girls.

Not anymore.

Not even to you, Lidi.

He who soars in poetry,
flounders in a hole in nature.

And whomsover is clean in nature,
shows his arse in poetry.

Just like you.

Dredge the scabs out from
under your nails instead.

These English gentlemen might form
a bad opinion of the native medicine.

Herein.

Herr Professor...

It's ten past ten.

I've sent my assistant
to make a delivery.

I'm sorry.

Oh, Countess...

Very well, then.

Herr Tóth has told me of
your anomalous bleedings.

I'll examine you and we'll
see what we can do.

Don't be afraid.

Have a seat here.

Laci!

Don't go away.

Ja bitte...

A clever rocking-chair, isn't it?

I had it made to my own plans
for three gold Forints...

by the best craftsman in Vienna...

who provides furniture for
His Majesty as well.

A real aristocratic vessel,
a true Japanese vase...

we'll see what has caused it to
split, and after that I'll operate.

Whoops!

Does it hurt?

It shouldn't hurt.

Of course it doesn't hurt.

Nature responds to
offence with offence.

Ich habe einen Polipus gefunden.

I've found a polyp, madam.

It's most likely the cause
of all your troubles.

But do not worry. If we excise it,
there'll be peace in the vase.

This should do it.

No...

No!

- We'll remove it.
- No!

Indeed we will.

No!

Calm down.

Professor...

Herr Professor.

Will you operate right now?

Why should we wait?

We'll pinch off the
small dragon head.

Let's hope that it
won't grow back.

If you want to be rid of your
trouble, you must consent.

No.

Why won't you understand?

We'll put one leg up here...

The other one here...

Come help me, Lancelot.

Tie her leg down real tight.

I'll do the other one.

Put your hand in here,
Countess. Right here.

Tie her hands firmly too.

I'm scared.

Leave me!

Don't go, Laci!

All done.

We're ready.

Untie her, amice.

Ripped by gogbad, translated by malenkij
Proofed by MENiSCUS.

For corrections, please contact me at
bateman00@gmail.com