Original subtitles

The play is over!

Act 1.

Short...

The end.

I happened upon a painter last night, the only cunning man of Christendom;

for he can temper poison with his oils,

that whoever looks upon the work he paints will die.

Yes, but it is dangerous, anyone could die.

What if you'll look at it?

Right! But we'll have it covered with a cloth,

and hung up in the study just for him.

No, no. It won't work.

When the picture's drawn, my husband will come and show it me.

No. You'll see he won't.

[The bathroom as a train...]

Don't be jealous, don't ask if she loves you and don't ask how much she loves you.

But, as if you had trust in her,

presently take your horse, and come to London with me.

Don't be jealous, don't ask if she loves you and don't ask how much she loves you.

But, as if you had trust in her, presently take...

Bastard of a whore!

Bastard of a whore!

Bastard of a whore!

Don't be jealous, don't ask if she loves you and don't ask how much she loves you.

But, as if you had trust in her...

Whore!

Whore!

Bastard of a whore!

Whore of a bastard!

The duke of Somerset,

hath freely given to thee and to thine heirs,

all the lands of the abbey.

Here are the deeds.

Love letters past, twixt him and my wife,

and they have meetings in the town.

I have even noticed

on his finger

the ring which the priest

put on her finger

the day of our marriage.

And what is he? A tailor? A patcher of butts at most.

That's it!

Don't be jealous, don't ask if she loves you and don't ask how much she loves you...

But, as if you had trust in her,

presently take your horse, and come to London with me.

Alice! Alice! Alice!

My husband.

This night, you called on him in thy sleep.

- Only because I was asleep. - Yes!

But then you gave a start

and drew close to me.

It was you, it was you...

So...

I'll go to London.

Young man, young man!

I do remember once in secret talk

you told me

how you could compound by art,

a crucifix impoisoned,

such that whomsoever looked upon it

soon should wax blind, and with the scent be stifled,

whoever would keep on praying at it would shortly die poisoned.

Young man, I want one just for me.

For whom is it?

Leave that to me.

You make her blush!

Young man, tell me instead

how you can paint with impoisoned colors and nothing happens to you?

Young man, I want one just for me!

Just for me!

Will you give me your sister?

Because...

we too...because...

like poets...

because...

we too... poets

Because we too, like poets...

Poets.

Poets... poets. Ah! Poets!

We too, like poets...

Because we too, like poets must have a love;

love is the painter's muse,

that makes him frame a speaking countenance.

A weeping eye that witnesses...

that makes him frame a speaking countenance,

a weeping eye that witnesses...

an eye... a weeping eye...

that witnesses the grief...

the grief

of the heart.

Done!

I won't see it!

Young man! Your trick of poisoned pictures we dislike.

Some other poison would do better far.

In this type of cooking, the substantial factor

is the coating;

there is an evident endeavor to glaze surfaces;

to round them off,

to bury the food under the even sediment of sauces,

creams, icing and jellies.

This comes from the very finality of the coating,

which belongs to a visual category,

and cooking, according to Elle, is meant for the eye alone.

As for the lands,

they are mine. I know you seek to rob me of my wife.

What makes thou in her company? Skivvy!

I thought not on her, I came to thee.

But rather than I pocket up this wrong.

What will you do?

Revenge!

You have no rights. Down with craftsmen!

Down with craftsmen!

Use your bodkin, your spanish needle, and your pressing iron...

You, patcher of butts!

... butts. You're nought but that.

You have injured me.

Elle is a highly valuable journal, at least from a historical point of view

since its role is to present to its vast working-class public,

as his, the very dream of cleverness.

Hence a cookery of coatings

and alibis,

ever trying to attenuate

and even to disguise the primary nature of foodstuffs,

the brutality of meat or the abruptness of sea-food.

Canst thou deny thou once were a patcher of butts?

Measure me by what I am, not what I was.

And what art thou now but a patcher of butts?

Hear me: as I intend to live in peace, with God and all his saints in heaven,

I never meant to court her.

It's true: I loved her once;

Pardon me, my good friend, but I could not choose.

Her beauty bewitched me!

Now... it's over.

May you enjoy her for a long time.

May I die if I'll dishonour her.

But above all, coatings prepare and support

one of the major developments of distinguished cookery:

ornamentation.

Glazing, in Elle, serves as background for unbridled beautification:

chiselled mushrooms, sprinkled cherries,

motifs of carved lemon, shavings of truffle, silver pastilles.

The underlying coat...

Because here, as in all petit-bourgeois art,

the irrepressible tendency towards extreme realism

is countered or balanced,

by one of the eternal imperatives of journalism for women's magazines

what, at L'Express,

is gloriously called: 'having ideas'.

Cookery in Elle

is a cookery of ideas...

Forget the injuries I dealt you.

I had cause to insult you.

Since everyone in the village makes common table-talk of her and thee.

Calumny is a little breeze.

That's why I should forbear this house.

Forbear this house? Forbear this house?

Are we crazy? Are we crazy?

Here you should stay, here you should stay.

So everyone will see and will be silent.

Therefore will I stay here, until they'll cease.

And I will lie at London to let them see how I don't care for them.

He's not jealous...

There's something in the broth...

that is not wholesome.

Didst thou make it, Alice?

You dislike it because I made it. Nothing that I do pleases your tastes;

You were best to say...

This is an openly dream-like cookery,

as proved in fact by the photographs in Elle

which never show the dishes except from a high angle,

as objects at once near and inaccessible,

whose consumption can perfectly well be accomplished

simply by looking.

He's not jealous.

So can I not be ill?

I'll take an enema... you never know.

If we leave, you shall do well.

No woman loved her husband better than I do thee.

Stop crying or I'll cry too.

Come on... Holy Mary!

If you really have business, then leave... You can leave.

But write me... write me.

I'll write unto thee every 24 hours, with tide. Farewell!

Farewell.

I've given this kiss to you in the hope that you'll hasten him home.

- No, no! We can't! - Yes!

I swore not to court you anymore.

- I swore not to court you anymore. - It will be I who courts you.

I will... I swore on the altar when I married him...

But what would it mean? Oaths are just words,

and words in the wind, and wind... is changeable.

You are right...

but I...

want to keep my oath

whilst he lives.

And you should keep it.

Keep it faithfully.

Since he won't live long.

We'll have him murdered as he walks the streets in London.

Yes.

Pardon me, but I must speak.

My lands are all... all my life.

But your husband...

Have him killed!

Here's 20000 Liras for your expenses.

And when he is dead

you shall have twenty more besides the lands.

Master, master, master...

I never live good day with him alone: when he is at home, then have I forward looks,

Hard words and blows, to mend the match withal;

And though I might content as good a man,

Yet doth he keep in every corner trulls,

And weary with his trugs at home, then rides he straight to London,

there forsooth he revels it among such filthy ones,

as counsel him to make away his wife;

Thus I live daily in continual fear, in sorrow, so despairing of redress

as every day I wish with hearty prayer, that he or I were taken from the world.

Jesus, Jesus!

With all the dowry you brought to him.

What? It grieves me you would be so forgetful of our state

to make recount of it to every groom.

What? To acquaint each stranger with our drifts,

Chiefly in case of murder,

why, 'tis the way to make it open unto your husband's self

and bring thyself and me to ruin.

Forewarned, forearmed!

- But.. but... but... - Baby!

But you should kill someone else.

Here's the money and the plan.

No plans, just the money.

As soon as he stands pissing against a wall, I'll stab him.

- Pray for us sinners... - Bad baby, baby!

- Now and at the hour of our death. - Is it sure?

Sure?

Bambino!

I have trouble paying my pension contribution.

... us sinners. Now and at...

Besides, who do you think has made mincemeat of Gonzales' kneecap

with a plastic hammer?

- Me! - Our Father who art in Heavens...

Baby!

And who do you think has torn out every tooth

with electrician pliers?

Him!

Baby!

And who do you think has cut in two,

- with a saw, Giovanna Ardes? - ...give us today our daily bread.

Me! Baby!

And who do you think has pulled out Marinaro's eyes with a fork?

Him! Baby.

Baby!

Baby!

Baby!

Then is it sure?

I will eat him!

Don't be jealous, don't ask if she loves you and don't ask how much she loves you...

But, as if you had trust in her,

presently take your horse, and come to London...

with me.

You did it for me!

local train, coming from Albano, now arriving at platform 24

local train, coming from Albano, now arriving at platform 24

My husband...

Let's pretend to be in love,

and let's stand in his way marching arm in arm like loving friends

and let's face him, so he gets angry, he provokes you, and we kill him.

Whore! Cut that hag!

Whore! Whore!

Perjurer!

Perjurer!

Perjurer yes... And yet not a cuckold; The cuckold is you!

Perjurer!

Whore!

It's a joke, it's a joke!

I won't believe it! I won't believe it!

Come on... Holy Mary!

I swear, I swear...

I won't believe it!

I won't believe it!

I swear, I swear...

Really? Then it must be so!

Since I climbed the top of the tree, my bed is in danger.

He is not dead and she still lives.

I may not trust you, Alice.

You have supplanted your husband for my sake,

then you'll be able to supplant me to plant another.

You have to die too.

Here... she comes. Let's pretend... to flatter her.

Oh, ungentle Alice.

Thy sorrow is my sore.

Thou knows it well, and you forge distressful looks

to wound a heart that dies of it.

It is not love that loves to anger love.

It is not love that loves to murder love.

What do you mean by that?

Thou knowest how dearly my husband loved me.

And then?

And then let's not talk about it anymore.

Let our springtime wither so.

What? Are you therefore changed?

Yes!

To come back to my former happy life,

To be the honest wife

of my husband, and not the wife of an honest husband.

It's you who deprived me of that honor,

who stained my reputation.

A mean conman, a low born name...

I was bewitched.

Be damned the day I was enchanted!

I repent for what I have lost too.

I left aside my business,

I didn't marry an honest maiden, richer than you, more virtuous

and nicer than you. Whore!

And all this certain good I bartered for an uncertain evil.

And I have completely lost all my credit.

In your company.

I... I am the bewitched.

And thou hast enchanted me.

But I will break thy spells and exorcisms,

And put another sight upon these eyes

that showed my heart a dove, there...

where it was just a raven.

Whore!

No, thou art not fair, I viewed thee not till now;

No, thou... thou art not kind,

till now I knew thee not;

Whore!

And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt,

thy worthless copper shows thee to be counterfeit. Whore!

It grieves me not to see how foul thou art,

But I must have been mad that ever I loved you

and thought thee fair.

Whore!

Whore! Whore!...

You loved me not but for my wealth.

I never wanted to believe it.

Hear me, look on me, or I'll kill myself.

I will do penance for offending thee,

and burn...

this prayer book.

I will tear away the leaves,

all the leaves,

and in this golden cover

shall dwell instead all thy sweet phrases

and thy letters...

Wilt thou not look?

Wilt thou not hear?

Why speaks thou not?

Thou hast been sighted as the eagle is.

No, I am a base faker.

I've become... a criminal.

Anyway the issue is to be sexier.

You should be sexier.

Because...

only in this way can you convince people that we...

We could... we could also run away, right now, I don't know...

anyway, "to be or not to be"

and Rome is not that bad.

Sexier...

Sexier... kiss him on his lips, maybe the child is a little tough...

Anyway...

here we are... here we are... and so... being here...

we should act in order to let them think that...

Don't draw attention, don't draw attention,

Take care we don't draw attention,

One thing to really avoid is to draw attention, you know.

Anyway we... who knows... we could even avoid the attention...

But you should be... you're a little tough, though.

I want you to be sexier. Sexier... sexier...

We could head into the sunset, maybe.

The sunset... the sunset...

The sunset... my baby, the sunset.