All language subtitles for LA MORT (1) (1) (1) (1)

When people told themselves their past
with stories, explained their present

with stories, foretold the future with
stories, the best place

by the fire was kept for the
storyteller.

What's in your bag?

I can smell biscuits.

Imagination. Let me see.

Certainly not.

There are important things in this bag.

And besides, I need those biscuits for
my story.

Well, tell your story. Then we can eat
them. Is it an old story?

Ancient. Antique.

Oh, stale biscuits, then.

It begins a thousand miles from
anywhere.

after 20 years of war with a soldier, an
honest soul, with nothing but a

shilling in his pocket and three dried
biscuits for the long trudge home.

This was his regiment, the Royal
Hussars.

Oh, yes, a thousand miles the soldier
marched, whistling his tuneless whistle,

and he spent his shilling and was down
to the three dried biscuits when one day

he comes across an old beggar.

And the soldiers stopped and joined in
with the beggars' fiddle. The one

couldn't fiddle, the other couldn't
whistle. And quite happy they both were.

A merry tune.

Is it worth a farthing?

More. No, I can give you nothing.

I do have a biscuit you can have.

Then you're a good man, father.

And I'll thank you.

Go on, eat.

You're a good man who deserves a better
whistle. And off the soldier went and

took up with his tuneless tune, but
funny, peculiar and strange indeedy. He

a whistle like... Well, imagine what
rubies would sound like if they

He kept it up all the way down the road
until he met another old boy down in his

lock and ward at the edges. And this old
man, he played one, he played knick

-knack on his drum.

And the soldier stood and whistled his
ruby whistle and did a little jig in his

weary boot, a stumble and a hopping.

And then he swaps a second biscuit.

And now look at his dance.

Oh, yes, a fine Terpsichore. Good as
new, a tip and a hop down the road.

At length he comes to a third old folk,
worn to a whisper, and playing a game of

cards by the road.

And the soldier looks as the fellow
shuffled the pack and dealt out the

one after the other, a perfect hand, and
gave him a huge clap.

A splendid game.

Worse a farting?

More, though I have nothing to give you.

Now, the soldier had but a single
biscuit in his bag, and he was hungry as

So he thought on it.

But I have a biscuit you can share with
me. And the soldier held out his last

drive biscuit and broke it in two.

But it didn't feel good, did it,
dearest, to give the old boy less than

other. So he gave him both of them.

You're a good man, and deserve more luck
than to be on your last biscuit.

Here, take my card, sure enough.

And may they never lose for you.

Take this sack also.

An ugly thing, but remarkable.

Order a bird in, or a beast, or anything
you like, and it'll be there in a

twinkle. And off he went, a -skippin' a
whistle and a light heart and an empty

sack, and walked a warm night and a
bright day, and came to a river.

That's a nice whistle.

I got it off a poor soul down on his
luck.

Home from the war, are you?

Aye. And a sack full of spoils.

No.

This is three geese I trapped yesterday.

I want one for me supper.

If you'll cook it for me and give me a
bed, you can have the other two for your

trouble. I like a nice bird.

Be sure to bring back the sack.

And the landlord roasted him the goose
in clove and honey and brought it back

with a bottle of best wine. And the
soldier ate it all and sucked the bones

drank the wine and danced until the
morning when he sank.

Swam, plopped into bed.

Three days later, he woke up and looked
out of the window and there on the hill

he saw a palace.

Thought I heard you.

Slept well, soldier?

Not bad, not bad.

Whose palace is that?

Why are the windows all smashed?

That's the Tsar's palace.

It was once a place of waltzes and
chandeliers and fabulous parties.

Now the devils have it for their card
games.

Devils? Devils.

Every night they tumble in and scream
and shout and play at cards.

No decent folk go near, they're so
devilish.

It's a nice palace.

So much to deal with, those devils. An
army tried.

In the morning, there was nothing left
but shadows, and that's the truth.

These are devilish devils. And gamblers,
too.

I think I'll take a closer look.

Well, that's folly.

Folly or not, the soldier goes, sack on
his shoulder, whistle on his lip, into

the palace.

And inside, it's very quiet.

as if the walls were holding their
breath.

I hear you like a

game of cards. I like a game of cards.

What shall we play for?

A collective?

Fair enough.

And what will you stake?

We've got 40 barrels of gold. Any good?

Very good.

Fetch the coffers!

Good.

Let's play, then.

And with that, they settled down to
business.

The soldier dealt the cards.

And won.

Myron, eh?

And won again.

Is he cheating?

Well, I am, and I'm still losing.

Me too.

Deal again.

Certainly. And he did, and he won.

And the devil's got into the kind of...
Fume only devils can get in.

Fume, fume, fume.

He won game after game while the devils
cheated to high heaven and low hell to

no avail.

By the first bells of morning, the
haughty barrels of gold were stacked

the chair of the soldier who whittled.
And he won.

Well, my friends.

I suppose we'd better call it a day.

No, we will not.

We will call it a breakfast and you the
meal.

First, make sure who eats who.

What do you call this?

It's a sack. It's a sack. Just a sack.

Is it?

Then by the grace of God, get in it.

serve me faithfully. I swear, I swear.

I'll hold you to your promise.

Hey,

my foot's cut off.

That's right.

Now off you go and remember where you
left it.

The devils rushed to hell and slammed
shut the doors for fear of being

by the soldier and his back.

And they trembled and quivered and
fumed, fumed, fumed.

But the soldier had no time for devils.

He was the toast of the town and the
star of the Tsar.

But howsoever life smiles on us, the
last laugh is reserved for death.

Oh, yes.

Everything is dandy with our friend the
good soldier and his magic sack.

Rewarded by the Tsar, he's a rich
gentleman now, a husband and a father, a

living... in the castle.

Blessed, creft, and couldn't be better.

Until one day, because fate is fickle,
one day, because fortune

is cruel, his son falls into a terrible
fever.

He's worse.

And they cause for quacks and
apothecaries and healers, and soon the

is full with grey beards and shaking of
heads.

But... Still the fever rages and the boy
passes into a swoon.

And, oh dear, the grey beards are
replaced by grief, mumbling and praying.

And a man in black comes to measure a
coffin.

Oh, what shall we do?

My lips are sore with praying and my
knees are weary of kneeling.

And I've lost my whistle from worrying.

It's the very devil, I say.

The very devil.

Now, where the devil's that devil of
mine?

I'm here, Your Excellency.

Where have you sprung from?

Not so much sprung as hopped, sir. You
have my foot.

Cure my son, and you can have it back.

This is my good wife, by the way, and
this is my devil.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Yes, I saw your son was ill.

Let me have a look at him.

Look in here, Your Excellency.

I see a small creature.

Death, death, Excellency. Where does he
stand?

At my son's feet.

Ah, good.

He will recover.

It's when he comes to the head you must
worry.

Now, sprinkle some of the water from the
glass on your child.

You're a marvel.

Well, we do our best.

Could I have my foot back then? Most
certainly.

Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Will there be anything else, sir?

Give me that glass and I'll release you
from your promise.

Really? Oh, thank you.

Quite nice, Blackfly. And so the soldier
set up in his new trade as Miracleman

and travelled the world on a camel with
his magic glass.

Show him a sick man and he would hold up
the glass.

If death sat at the foot of the bed, a
quick splish -splash and up the invalid

would sit pouring out blessings.

If death stood staring at the other end,
the soldier would shake his head

solemnly and depart and the relatives
would mutter what a pity he came too

and pay him all the same.

But as often as not, he left with all
happy and amazed and praising him.

It went well for the soldier until one
day, far from anywhere, he gets a

from home to say the old Tsar has fallen
ill and sends for him.

I've come too late.

You say beggars and thieves and...

and dock, yet you won't save your
master.

If death needs a new friend, I cannot
fight him.

Then let me go in his place.

No.

The Tsar has been my friend and father.

If anyone should go...

Take me and spare the Tsar.

I beg you.

Is it all up with you?

Do you know what this is?

A sack.

Well, if this is a sack, then get in it.

50 wives to the other, spread through
the town as fast as gossip, which is

it was, and nothing spread faster.

And within four and a half minutes, the
whole town knew.

And within 17 minutes, the whole country
knew.

And by the following morning, it was the
talking point of a thousand languages.

Death a prisoner.

Muerte un prisionero.

Tot ein Gefangener.

Schmiert us nizze.

I've forgot the Greek.

Exactly.

And the soldier, to be on the safe side,
set off with death in his sack and

found the thickest forest and the
highest tree and clambered up it and

death from the longest branch and
promptly fell off.

But there's nothing like death of duty
to cushion a fall.

So nothing died?

Nothing. The oddest back.

There were wars going on in most places
and they were very strange.

At the end of a day's carnage, flashing
swords and explosions, the air thick

with arrows and savage swoosh of axes,
nobody had died.

The armies would look at each other
exhausted and intact.

Duels at dawn went on till midnight when
the rivals would go home confused.

Crossed lovers would throw themselves
off cliffs and have a long climb back.

And my friend the soldier was the most
famous man in the world because suddenly

everyone could live forever.

He sat in his palace and whistled his
ruby whistle.

And then one day, looking down from his
window, he sees his courtyard full of

poor souls wandering.

Old scrags of folk barely held together.

They were waiting, waiting for death.

For death's relief, and it would not
come.

And the soldier could not bear their
sorrow.

Back he went to the forest.

Death, I've led you a merry dance, but
now you must have me and set the

world to rights.

had fear of the soldier and his sack and
would not come back.

He was condemned to watch while others
aged and died, but death would not come

for him.

No, the soldier, old chipper, dried
beef, lived on and

on and on until he could stand it no
longer and dragged his dust and

across to the edge of the earth.

And slowly down to hell.

Yes? A sinful soul comes to surrender
his life.

Yes. What's that you're carrying?

Nothing. An old sack.

what this is.

I am the soldier who took death
prisoner, and I have brought 200 souls

in the hope that God will forgive me and
let me in with them.

The souls may enter, but alone.

Go, then, and be blessed.

Take this, friend.

Once inside, call me into the sack.

Remember, I delivered you from the
furnace.

But you see, there is no memory in
heaven.

Souls forget.

The soldier waited and waited, an inch
from paradise.

Until after a long time, forgotten, he
turned and walked slowly back to Earth.

And for all I know, he wanders still.

So sad.

Oh, he's a rare boy, my friend the
soldier.

He's somewhere about his business.

You sure?

Come on.

You can have your biscuit.

Do you know what this is?

A sack.

Well, if it's a sack, then get in it.

Just checking.