Original subtitles

THE DEATH OF MARIA MALIBRAN.

Every day the lovely daughter of the Sultan

took a walk in the evening

at the fountain where the pale waters play.

Daily stood the youthful slave, in the evening

at the fountain where the pale waters play.

Daily he grew pale and paler.

Then one evening came the princess to him,

speaking rapid words:

"Tell me what your name is, where you come from, your clan!"

And the slave spoke: "know then Mohammed am I.

I come from Yemen and my clan is that of Asra,

who must die whenever they love."

And my clan is that of Asra, who must die whenever they love.

The mad woman comes prancing

vaguely remembering something from her past.

The children mock and stone her

as if she were a blackbird.

She raises her stick

and threatens to pursue them

but then she goes her way.

On the way she loses a shoe,

but she does not notice.

Long spider legs move about her neck,

but it is just her hair.

Her visage has no human features

and she suddenly bursts out laughing

like a hyena.

She mumbles scraps of phrases

which very few could make sense of, even if they were to try.

Her skirt, full of holes,

jerks about her scrawny, dirt-spattered legs.

She goes on her way,

borne away like a poplar leaf.

She, her youth,

her hopes and former happiness,

on which she looks back through the mist of her mind,

shattered by the turmoil of unarmed powers.

Her gracefulness is gone,

her former beauty.

Her gait is crude

and her breath reeks of brandy.

If people were happy on this earth,

it would astonish us.

The mad woman reproaches no one.

She is too proud

to complain, and will die

without revealing her secret to those who are interested in her.

But she has forbidden them

to address one word to her.

The children pursue and stone her

as if she were a blackbird.

She has dropped a roll of paper from her bosom.

A stranger picks it up,

locks himself up at night

and reads the manuscript

which runs as follows:

But when you say I love you

my eyes are filled with bitter tears.

Let me

in to you

before it is

too late.

Your longing means nothing to me.

The apparition vanishes.

I seek the laws.

When you embrace me I experience humility,

and can bear without pain your esteem of me.

She is dead.

Maria!

I implore you, God of Love, take her in your arms.

A sailor dressed in white walked along the road

with the rolling gait of a seaman.

I looked at him without really knowing why.

He was much younger than I had ever been,

and more handsome and fairer.

And his manliness was so evident

that I felt a moment's pang.

Our paths crossed,

and as if he had seen a tell-tale flicker in my eyes,

he cast me a knowing, inviting glance.

Such a glance as he probably cast

at any of those carefully made-up

habitués of the cafés.

If this glance had lasted one more second

words would surely have been spoken

like the usual thing: Hey, baby, don't I know you?

My face glowed and my heart was in my mouth

as I hurried on and tried to stare in front of me.

He had caught me unawares for a moment

because I had not really thought of him,

but of the letter in my pocket

and of Helmut.

As I crossed the street

I wondered what he could have seen in me.

I was no longer so young as to believe

my walk or the way I held my hands could have attracted him.

No, it had to be something else,

something I dared not look in the eye.

For that would be like looking into the dazzling sun!

Something I dared not look in the eye.

For that would be like looking into the dazzling sun!

It was half past nine

and he hoped to be home by ten.

It was very presumptuous of him

to act as if he were sure

of knowing the future.

It was very presumptuous of him

to act as if he were sure

of knowing the future.

Might some unforeseen obstacle bar his path?

And would such circumstances

be so extraordinary

that he dared interpret it as an exception?

Why does he not consider it rather

an abnormal fact

that so far he had been able to feel free of unease,

and happy, so to speak?

Indeed,

with what right could he say

he would reach home unharmed,

if someone watched and followed him

as if he were their future prey?

I long for you so much!

I long for you so much!

This means death for me.

This means death for me.

Judgments on people

are more valuable

than the people themselves.

If I allow people

to despise me

they should not forget to say

that this is all

I can do for them.

What shall I do now?

What shall I do now?

I should not have given him

my love!

He is dead!

He is dead!

Let's put it off till tomorrow.

Let's put it off till tomorrow.

Let's put it off till tomorrow.

FEDERICO GARCIA, MARIA MALIBRAN'S FATHER.

God be with you.

God be with you.

Where are you bound?

For Eisenstadt.

Then we can keep each other company.

I think that for a young man

the best way of meeting his needs

is to ply the needle.

To bind the tread of firm footwear

is the noblest task of a southerner.

But it is my belief that the article I deal in

is equivalent to fine, warm clothing.

Clothing the naked is senseless,

for I know that the tread of he who wears my footwear

is so firm

that he needs no warmth.

I would advise you to get a stock of provisions.

For my part, I shall obtain enough bread in that hamlet.

The way is short. We shall reach our destination before dusk.

I am not afraid, Hugo.

You will regret it!

If you give me

one of your bright blue eyes

I will give you

something to eat.

You may eat your fill

but in return, I will pluck out an eye.

Where are we?

In a place

where you may finally rest.

There is an alder by the pond. A blue flower grows at its roots.

Whoever makes a potion of it and gives it to a sick man

would soon make him whole.

You know many things, but my science is greater and could help many.

In the capital they're dying of drought, the fools!

Yet they could have enough water.

But how? - Before the east gate stands a beech.

A white horse browses on its leaves.

Ride the horse thrice around the market place

so that sparks fly! And you?

All the blind could see again at once

if they washed their eyes with this morning's dew!

I can

see again!

If you give me one of your eyes...

I don't know you.

I have never been here before.

I am a singer.

You, too?

I'm a singer, too.

I'm a singer, too.

Perhaps we shall meet again.

IN THE YEAR 1814.

When your foot slides over a frog,

you feel disgust.

But if you run your finger just lightly over a human body,

the skin of your finger will crack like the scales of a slab of mica,

shattered with a hammer.

And like the heart of a shark, already an hour dead,

still beats on the bridge tenaciously.

Thus our innards still writhe long after being touched,

to the last fibers.

So great is the horror

inspired by man in his fellow man.

So great is the horror

inspired by man in his fellow man!

The ancient temple of Denderah

lies one and a half hours

from the left bank of the Nile!

Today, countless multitudes of wasps

have invaded the waters and roads along the banks!

They swarm about the columns

like the dense waves of a black head of hair!

The only inhabitants of the cold aisle,

they guard the entrance to the forecourts

as if it were their inherited right!

I compare the buzzing of their metallic wings

with the ceaseless grinding of ice floes

that clash during the ice thaw in the Arctic seas!

But when I think of the behavior of him,

whom providence granted the throne of this earth,

the three wing-tips of my pain

resound with a louder buzzing!

But he is dead.

Maria, he is dead,

dead, dead,

dead.

EVEN HIS GRAVE IS HIDDEN FROM ME.

TEN YEARS LATER.

Can you

imagine it?

I am not aware of any guilt.

I say it for the last time, I'll not work with him anymore.

But please, I only want the best for you,

the best for you.

I cannot work with Federico anymore.

I do not want to, nor can I.

I can't! - Please, Madame Malibran.

You must sing. - It's impossible!

You promised. - It is madness!

It is madness to force me!

Madame Malibran,

your daughter has just taken her own life.

Now no one can compel you anymore

but I tell you, it's for your own good!

You must do it, even if only for my sake!

Soon you will be an angel in heaven.

I shall die, but my death will avenge me at least!

I shall not die alone and someone will follow me.

Subtitles: TITELWERK, Annie Grossjohann