Original subtitles

Next to his house

stood a Moorish palace,

laden with saltiness,

oriental, like a faded reflection,

peeling under its arches and over its domes,

inhabited in winter by complacent Christians

who, during the pagan summer,

rented out the two wings overlooking the sea

so as not to die of hunger.

When the end of the siege was announced,

that palace...

was to become the headquarters of the Turks

whom, among the violets of the sun-filled sky,

had hoisted...

their crescent-adorned flags.

OUR LADY OF THE TURKS

That building

was a synopsis of history.

Or maybe It wasn't!

It was its own converted executioner,

when Its turn came,

500 years ago.

The execution of over 800 martyrs

took place In a wheat field

and those turbaned settlers

harvested golden ears adorned with vermilion,

enraged, by the charm of such an abundance of faith.

On that occasion,

he thought It would be easy to meet her for one last time.

It was a saint praying to her,

so he had written to her:

"Come

This time the matter is serious!"

Her reply had been: "Stay calm!

At the moment, I really cannot come.

You'll see that everything...

will work out well!"

He lay his head on a rock

and dreamed of her.

When he woke up they had not yet decapitated him.

He looked up, seeking his executioner,

and found him crucified.

Then they told him to stand up and walk away.

He did not dare Insist.

They had humiliated him, there's no doubt about It,

but he would see her again. 00:04:2:

If that Moorish palace had been true

It would also be true today that his bones

would be displayed on red velvet

In the crypt of Otranto cathedral,

framed...

In the prodigy that wants them still covered with flesh, after so long.

As In that other miracle of his:

after all, he was still thinking of her.

He stood still,

as Inside the lost urn.

Unlike other martyrs, though,

besides the pieces of liver...

and membranes...

and tendons,

he had preserved...

his eyes!

Yes, It's me.

It wasn't the first time he had thrown himself from the balcony.

This time I'll report them!

I disagree, let's get out of here!

They'd go out onto the terrace.

He was responsible for It,

but they still had no right to misunderstand him.

This isn't the one!

This isn't the one...

Fuck off!

One must remember that at the time,

Otranto had a population of 30,000.

It was huge, for the time.

The landing of the Turks came out of the blue!

The city was literally destroyed after a long siege,

drowning In a sea of blood.

There were two kinds of martyrs:

the ones who fell defending the city walls,

martyrs for their homeland,

and the survivors, 800 In all,

who, faced with the choice of replacing Christ with Mohammed,

refused,

and were taken to a wheat field. That's why ears of wheat appear

among the membranes and bones, you see?

They were executed: decapitated or Impaled.

They were martyrs for their faith.

Preserved In this crypt

are the relics of only 270 martyrs,

since Ferdinand of Aragon moved the bodies of the others...

to Naples.

You can still see

the flesh, the fingers...

This one still has even his eyes!

You've come back!

You've come back!

What are you doing?

You're always crying!

You've come back!

Now, I want...

Now I...

want!

Now another siege was about to begin,

and the village, all white, was preparing to face it.

This siege was to last longer.

The Health Department had stated that the village was not to surrender

until the very last cellar had been tidied and whitewashed.

Thoroughly, and quickly!

And even once everything had been carefully set up,

the siege was not to be lifted before the end of the

disinfestation campaign ordered by the local authorities.

However, the people were tired and worn out.

Despite their being unprepared,

they would have willingly opened their door to the infidel.

Though, since they feared the local authorities,

they resigned to continue the work ordered by the tourist board,

while hoping for a defeat.

..." Except crude and ungrateful people.

Now mingling together, they play instruments and sing.

Let him be happy who wants to be: There's no certainty of tomorrow."

TO: MINISTRY OF TOURISM AND ENTERTAINMENT.

After what I have done, I am wondering...

All the same!

All the same!

This is where Saint Margherita appeared before him.

She gained his terror trough the terraces,

when the Image of the saint’s sweet face

spun around the room as If running on ball bearings,

exhausted by the faith of those devoted to her,

saved through a miracle.

And she repeated like a broken record with a hint of treachery:

"I forgive you, I forgive you!"

That's when the scandal began.

He broke everything In the house and threw It out the window.

And the band played "Amado Mio".

It played for him, a man who could only try and retreat Into indecency.

He got undressed and, completely naked,

he ranted and raged spewing foul language.

..." In the afternoon at five..."

..."And the bull stood alone, with head held high.

In the afternoon at five.

When the snowy sweat was starting, in the afternoon at five,

when the sand was covered with iodine, in the afternoon at five.

Death laid her eggs in the wound, in the afternoon at five."

"Bones and flutes sound in his ears in the afternoon at five."...

At that point, the saint was no longer standing.

She was In bed, lying between the sheets.

Covered right up to her neck,

she smoked as she leafed through a women's magazine.

You're done for!

Nothing?! Let's go!

If they planned to do what they did In Otranto 500 years ago,

they had another thing coming!

It would be better, more useful and certainly more generous

to hold talks from the other balcony,

the one overlooking the sea, with the Turkish ambassador.

Rather than go to all that trouble, It was better to pretend to be afraid.

Fortunately, at least, he had got up early.

And negotiating would have been pointless:

he couldn't speak Turkish anyway.

And even If he could, why accept a compromise?

Even If only 1/5th of the damage done at the time was true,

why give up today a situation which he had in his hands?

Here we go again...

Here we go again...

Get this, you whore!

It's over!

I forgive you.

I forgive you.

I forgive you.

I forgive you!...

There are Idiots who have seen the Madonna,

and there are Idiots who haven't seen the Madonna.

I am an Idiot who has never seen the Madonna.

Everything comes down to this:

seeing...

or not seeing the Madonna.

St Joseph of Cupertino, a swineherd,

would make his own wings by means of his own clumsiness,

and at night, In prayer, he went to the altars to Our Lady,

open-mouthed,

flying-

The Idiots who see the Madonna

suddenly sprout wings,

they can fly and land on the ground as light as a feather.

The Idiots who don't see the Madonna have no wings...

They're unable to fly, yet they fly all the same,

and Instead of landing, fall to the ground like someone who,

wearing lead shackles of which he wants to free himself,

decides to cut off his feet

and drags himself towards salvation derided by guards

who rightly confide In the loss of blood that will stop him.

But those who see do not see what they see,

those who fly are flight themselves.

No one knows who flies.

Such a miracle obliterates them.

Rather than seeing the Madonna, they "are" the Madonna they see.

This paradoxical, demented Identity is ecstasy...

that robs the orator of his subject,

and in return deludes him with the objectification of himself,

Inside another object.

Everything is different,

It is God.

If you want to hold It you are the coitus,

when you kiss...

you are the mouth.

Illusion is divine.

This is a saint.

It's like that with all saints:

basically unskilled, and actually... hopeless.

Altars move towards them,

mechanized by the feeble mindedness of their psychosis,

or by equilibrating seismic energy,

but this must be counted out.

That is how a saint loses himself,

through uncontrolled idiocy.

An altar begins where a sense of proportion ends.

Being a saint... means losing control,

giving up weight,

and weight is organizing one's own dimension.

Where a witch has passed, so will a fairy.

If Fra Aslno had been given an apple half red, half green,

one half poisoned,

he who was butterfingered...

would have dropped it.

He could neither lose or save his soul,

since he was without willpower, inept.

Maybe he who has never thought of death ls Immortal.

That's how you see the Madonna.

But the Idiots who see the Madonna,

do not see Her;

It's like two eyes staring at each other through a wall.

Transparency is a miracle.

This dementia is a sacrament,

because a blinding faith has opened these eyes wide,

has altered the layers, the layers were of stone

It has turned them Into veils.

And the eyes... have seen sight.

A look.

Either Man is so blind,

or God is objective.

The Idiots that see,

see themselves In a vision,

with the difference that faith brings:

If they are worms, they see themselves as butterflies,

If puddles, clouds...

If the sea, the sky.

And before this alter ego they kneel as before God.

They confess to a second sin.

Everything they have unconsciously learned of themselves

is divine.

They have seen the Madonna.

They are saints!

The Idiots who haven't seen the Madonna...

are horrified by themselves.

They look elsewhere, to women, to their neighbour,

to dally pleasantries turned Into prayers

and this leads to a myriad of altars.

Communication Passionists,

they don't bring God to others to find themselves,

but bring themselves to others to find God.

Humility is a "conditio prima".

Our contemporaries are stupid,

but prostrating oneself at the feet of the stupidest among them...

means praying-

That's how people pray today.

As ever.

However, mixing with the most gifted...

doesn't necessarily mean drawing towards the absolute.

Being kinder than the kindest.

Finally being the greatest Idiot.

"Religion" is an ancient word.

Today, let's call It...

education.

I was asked why, after making the film,

I played Della Rovere in the theatre...

Everyone here feels like being part of a family...

I don't.

I'm the only son of a whore!

...that I deem much more valid even on a poetic level.

The play wasn't written in a dispute against the cinema.

It simply presented another human figure

that is not a relation of the one shown by Rossellini and De Sica

even three times removed,

and whom I find more peculiar on a psychological level.

I'm saying 'I find', as the judge will be the public

and I don't know what they will say.

I only know that anyone who saw della Rovere played by De Sica

will find him very different from the della Rovere of Carotenuto,

whose inner story is very different,

even if brought about by similar circumstances.

We're all afraid to die.

Me too, you know? Me too.

But there's something that should frighten us even more!

And that's the opinion the Germans have of us Italians.

You know what the Germans think of the Italians, don't you?

But they're wrong!

We all have one main duty, eventually:

to show these German gentlemen...

just how wrong they are!

Friends...

Stage music...

Italians!

Italians, listen!

This is General della Rovere! Listen!

...back trough the valleys from where he had just come down

with proud confidence!"...

Surrounding their hideout!

Well done, Italians!

Your general

is proud of you.

Long live Italy!

He would sleep.

When he was tired, he slept with his mouth open,

like a fool.

He would have been glad to know that.

He would have spent his nights admiring himself while he slept.

Living simply means overseeing a misfortune or a happy time,

taking part,

but being Involved only up to a certain point,

acting as witnesses,

but nothing more.

You just have to cut off the air supply,

no longer count on your muscles,

not walk just because you have legs.

Flying! Existing!

Existing with all your being!

Observing with all your being!

Becoming fond, as of someone else's affair.

Being ashamed of your own woes!

Being indulgent!

Being good to yourself!

Where a prison Is...

Freeing a butterfly!

Killing one of them Instead of leaving!

Flying! Sleeping!

Flying while asleep!

To love without being loved or loved back!

Deciding, especially when It doesn't depend on us,

and when It does depend on us...

obeying!

In any case, sleeping...

or simply...

betraying.

There were letters he never sent:

words of prayer

that ingratitude for a remedy that came at last would have erased.

There was to be, In those writings...

a need that was so easy to satisfy...

as to be negligible, never repaid,

even with the love of his love

that had re-opened him to two thoughts...

or, if you wish, enclosed him within a single force...

saying: "I'm coming, without this letter of mine".

Or "I'm staying here, with this letter of mine".

He needed to re-read those letters.

He needed to re-read those letters.

Are you tired?

Come on up!

Come on up here!

How can you dislike fireworks? Come on up!

You can't see anything from down there!

How come you don't like anything? Come on up here!

Come on up! Come on!

You can't see anything from down there!

How is that possible... For you, nothing is pleasant!

You can see nothing down there. Come up here!

You can better appreciate the fireworks.

When you come back... I don't know If you'll find me here.

Much sooner than you think,

you'll hear such things about me...

and I don't think they will please you.

Thanks very much.

You understand this job. Your instinct is good.

You want to publish those letters.

Please, don't apologize.

I thought you were dead

but you're alive,

then I don't know If It'll be successful.

What does It matter?

We'll never make money again, but the expenses must be...

covered again!

For me, It's a question of...

peace of mind.

You know It's not normal to give beginners an advance.

No matter!

We'll take comfort In the quality.

Why did you repaint the walls?

The epistolary novel is finished.

You'll tell me It doesn't concern you,

It doesn't concern "us", If I may say so.

You'll say your letters weren't addressed to anyone.

But I trust you, I'm not jealous.

If that's really true and you write to no one...

you may as well move the audience all the same.

If you do write letters and I publish them,

the most sincere relationship will be between the two of us,

and since I won't be able to reply, because I do a different job,

allow me to suggest, without undermining our love,

how to do the shopping.

It would be nice to break free from the slavery of the market,

print a handful of numbered copies.

You would write them for nobody, and I would publish them...

just for me.

But I can't overfill my house with them.

We need to sell...

We need to sell!

Otherwise I'll start writing myself, and It would be over between us.

You...

don't want It to be over...

do you?

I believe In the genius In you.

You must write!

You must write to me more often... Write to me!

It'll be our secret! I promise you...

the entire deficit!

You will write to me, won't you?

What did you make of the other palm tree?

May I have... this dance?

You'll write to me every day...

How It's flown! Time, I mean.

How It's flown!

Time, I mean.

How It's flown!

It's time... I went.

In a totally personal capacity I will give you an advance.

How time has flown! How It's flown!

Time...

How time has flown!

It's time for me to go!

Write to me!

Write to me!

It's time for me to go!

I have to go.

Write to me!

Write to me!

It was lovely, wasn't It?

I'll change your bandages.

I'll change your bandages, all right?

Tonight, you're staying with me...

Shall we play some music?

We'll keep It low, ok?

Come,

I'll take you to see...

the sea.

Do you think that a mortal woman could love you like this?

In the drawer...

No! Not that one... With roses on!

Nor the one with the lion at the zoo!

Yes, that's the one.

For you...

I left heaven for you!

You see? He died because of you.

For all the time you stole from me to make me gaze on you.

Margherita?

Shall I change your bandages?

I know that what I'm to ask you is ridiculous.

It would take a miracle.

She would only have to take a train.

Listen!

Listen...

I'm asking you this...

out of love:

to play the one who repented

like before you were made a saint.

You can pretend to take a fast train.

I mean, don't come flying at my door.

Act like you've never been there.

You could take a carriage... You surely don't have to fly.

You'd ask the driver to go slowly, touched by the horse.

You might question the driver, ask about me...

"Who ls he? What's he like? What does he do?"

- Who is he? - Good, that's fine...

Fling a wrong number, ok?

Then ask my exact number to the neighbours...

Ask about me, and... All over again! Same as before...

Oh sure, If by any chance you saw the two palm trees...

No, you can only see one of them from where she comes In...

Then, outraged, you'd say: "Where's the other one?"

Understood? You try now: "Where is It?!"

You can only see one, remember.

"Where ls It?! Hello? Hello?"

- Where ls It? - Not too abrupt, no, more like...

- "Where is the other palm tree?" - "Where might the other tree be?"

Margherita?... And I go: "Darling... the birds... they sing.

- "Where is it? I... The birds!" -The neighbours... want to cut it...

Careful: as you hear the word "cut"...

- Cut - No! Say It more... "cut!"

Showing contempt to the neighbours

- A deep contempt, yes, you got It - Where is It?! Where is It?!

No, not too over-dramatic, there's no need, she'd never...

Don't be over-friendly, she was never like that at all.

And change the red of your cheeks... Paler, If you want to look like her:

she had problems with her liver, paler, paler.

Now listen, Margherita, get hold of a little bottle of blood...

...In case you Injured yourself - Blood! Blood!

Exactly... you don't have It...

Who knows, maybe while getting off the carriage

I could get you a scratch, nothing serious.

Did you get it? Me, as I... As I love her, I love "you"! I love her!

"Ouch! Ouch", and I go: "Darling, are you ok?"

- Shall I remove your bandages? - Are you hurt? Shall I treat you?

No, of course! Independent, yes! Be Independent!

"No, do not worry, I'll deal with It, I'll take care myself."

- "Don't worry... I'll take care myself..." - "Where is It"...

Up, up, UP"-

Sure, you should give me news of our son,

even If you're sterile,

even If with all that excitement I forgot to ask you.

Margherita, what news ls there of our son?

- You'll have to give me news of him. - The kid... The kid...

Yes, you can choose the tone. Margerita, now look, listen...

Aren't you going to ask me... Margherita?

Forgive me If I'll step on your foot sometimes,

I'll do that to remind you of your role.

Thank you!

Give me your hand, your hand,. your hand...

Come, step down, down, down...

Come on, It was my turn to show you through, my turn...

I'd really like to know...

What did you pack In this trunk?

What the hell are you doing? You weren't told to do this...

- The palm trees! - I know, palm trees, palm trees...

- Don't get stressed! Palm trees... - Yes, fine, I got It...

Yes, I paid for It, I paid... The neighbors...

Come on, what did you pay? Your line, your line... contempt!

- I paid for It, I paid... - Contempt of the neighbours...

Enough with this tricks!

The blood... where's the blood?

Don't worry, I'm here, It's alright...

Don't let yourself, no... Independent! She was Independent!

- A lullaby... - Gentle! Gentle...

Don't worry! I'm here!

Ouch! Alcohol, get some alcohol!

Dress me!

How is the little boy?

Rita... news... of our son...

How is the little boy?

Rita! Rita! Howls the boy?

Rita, our son!

You call me Rita, now?

You haven't changed!

You haven't changed!

You haven't changed!

You haven't changed a bit!

I wish...

I had someone to talk to,

someone... there...

to tell:

"I haven't had anyone to talk to for so long."

Why did he let those two women carry on like that?

He who had a friend like that,

a love... like that.

What? Are you looking at the cards?

They belong to the dummy!

The other ones are yours!

And why are you looking at his?

You have only your way to bridge the gap.

It's all encounters and assessments.

You see, It's a verbal game.

What importance might have this perversion of yours,

other then some onomatopoeic odds.

It's not by acting craftily...

that you'll turn Into an Idiot.

Send them away!

Send them away!

It's our turn to play.

For some time, now, he had turned his pride Into a monk

who would start out by mistreating him,

and then, feeling humiliated, he'd go back to who knows where.

And anyway, monks...

are good cooks.

She loves me...

You've come back!

Father, this morning you must leave me alone.

Then I'll leave you alone! You bloody pig!

Please, forgive me!

Leave me alone!

Where did he go?

I'm not going to lose my temper...

I'm not going to lose my temper.

Forgive me, father! Forgive me!

You must give me a hand with moving the table.

Father, we can't get to the table! We can't get to the table!

Take the chair, father!

Leave the chair!

Be careful, father!

A rag, pass me another rag... Move!

- I need another one! - That's fine, father, calm down!

- Do you need any water? - Get me another rag!

I'll tear It In two!

Father! Father! Have one of my bandages

Treat yourself, father!

Cure yourself, father! Take this for me.

There!

I don't give a thought to the maid!

I don't.

Look at all this!

If only we were somewhat higher-up.

Tell me everything, Lodovlco!

Even If I won't like It!

You must tell me everything!

If I treated you like this...

Then you'd have a reason to fear me.

I even taught you to drink.

Yet when I started caring for your soul,

you used to enjoy snow mixed with heated wine.

Here! Drink!

Here! Go to the well... and fill It with water.

Very well.

I advise you to undress...

You'll catch a cold wearing wet clothes.

In fact, undress straight away! Get naked, If you wish...

You know I'd enjoy that.

It's nice wandering around the house naked...

when It's raining outside.

Why do you always make me angry?

Hurry up! I told you to sweep quickly!

I'll make Ice out of this bloody water,

then I'll smash It with a hammer.

Come on, will you move?!

Why do you make me swear!

Stay still! Stay still!

Stay still! That's enough!

Naughty boy!

I'm cheerful today...

It must be because of the bad weather.

We're playing a game, right?

So to work with gladdened hearts!

- That's good, father - Don't Interrupt me when I speak!

You mustn't Interrupt me.

When I speak... you must shut up... Look at me when I'm talking to you.

- No, you're hurting me! - Just stand up!

I won't lay a hand on you.

- Please father! My hair hurts! - Stand on your feet...

Father, my ha... my hair!

You must allow me to speak... When I start my speech...

What were we saying?

Oh, the game...

The game, the game! We were playing a game!

Working with gladdened hearts...

Will you stop It?!

When I'm talking, don't make me swear!

Working... with a gladdened heart, sure...

Okay, fath...

When lightning strikes,

you take my hand to kiss It,

but I...

pull It away.

And then you...

without therefore losing heart...

you kiss my other hand,

and I let you do so.

Quickly, quickly... Be quick to set the table

Now I'll give you your maids...

Whores! Whores!

You must leave them alone, understood?

No, father! She ls not a whore!

She's just a little girl!

Give me your hand! Lightning, father!

Look what we'll eat tonight!

What did you just do?!

This games...

can't be played with... little girls.

Probably with whores, It could...

but you couldn't abuse them as much as you could me.

What a day, what a day...

Where ls It? Where did I put It?

We're never going to eat...

Let me through! Let me through!

Always In the way... Will you keep out of the way?!

I've prepared a nice evening for you, you know?

Tonight...

Tonight, there's a full moon.

This downpour will stop.

When these black clouds have moved on,

you'll go for a little boat trip...

with the saint.

I don't like It, I'm busy!

That saint is a woman.

She can always turn handy. Think what you save...

on phone bills

00:33:48; She's cured you from lots of ailments.

Healed Not "cured"! That's different.

Up there she gets bored

The only way she can go astray is wasting her time on me.

Yet I think I'm going to die In a few days,

or maybe I'll be fine!

Either way, It'll be the end of me.

If I die, they won't allow her to revive me.

If I'll survive...

she'll fall out of love with me.

One of these days...

I'm going to leave you.

I'll be off, you know, and things will be worse for you.

All you can do ls be like me. To look alike...

Such an ugly word!

But that won't happen.

I eat... you eat, we eat

People like us are conjugated, not declined.

I can dedicate my wounds to whichever I want.

You want to gradually persuade me to admit

that my encounter with that wretch was made In heaven.

But I went out horse riding with her at night,

talking to her about you.

You'll bathe In love together.

There'd be no harm In that.

It's something else that's macabre and you will tell her,

that ls: the whole truth,

and of course, she won't understand, but you will.

She looks like someone In danger...

who won't make it.

You might catch an Infection...

Do you fancy an omelette?

To us, weeping.

If not vanity, what is love?

If It isn't love...

then, what could It be?

But I'm still deliberately kneeling before...

before my own eyes,

In my wakeful sleep, I ask...

I wonder over and over:

Is a maid... good enough for you?

Is she good enough?

Is she?

Is It enough...

one maid?

Is It?

She's more than good enough.

A maid is more than good enough.

If not, there's always the baker's boy,

and even If he lasted only a short time,

there's always the baker himself.

Enough ls never enough!

But then who knows, maybe tonight

I'll take your place on the boat trip with the saint,

because I enjoy acting like a pig a bit more than you do...

It's a priceless formula!

You turn demons Into pigs and then you eat them.

No need to thank me...

Thank you, father, thank you!

No need to thank me! Go to bed! Go to bed!

I don't believe In the novels you write,

but people could never Imagine how regular your diary Isl

Today's biographers of saints...

But now quick... help me with the make up!

This evening, when I take your place I want to be beautiful, for God's sake!

You know that I'm blind, don't you?

Watch out, you better be careful.

I'll take care of It... Let me do It...

I can see.

- I can see. - No problem, I'll take care...

You should see how ridiculous you look!

With this black mark on your forehead...

- No problem, I'll take care... - Stay still, a moment...

I'll do It!

Let me do it.

You'd have starved to death... by now.

You'd be better off cancelling.

It takes you too long to get made up.

Oh, sure... Still, still...

We're nearly ready...

Seeing you talk so much...

This evening,

you're going out like that.

What's the matter now? How come you're not ready yet?

It was for this evening, wasn't it?

No, no...

No, I'm not the one. He's In there.

The patie... the doctor.

The doctor...

The doctor?

The doctor.

Yes, immobility! immobility! immobility!

You may go, my good man.

As you can see, I did well to come. I'll cure him In a trice!

What is It that's hurting you?

Nothing! I'm fine, dear lady. It's he who's unwell.

I just hope you die, you coward!

I stopped a storm so you could get some fresh air.

Or do you think the rain stopped on its own?

At least...

tell him I'm here.

Come back tomorrow.

Tomorrow, tomorrow.

You bastard!

Just Imagine that Otranto had a population of 30,000.

It was huge for that time.

The landing of the Turks came out of the blue.

The city was literally destroyed after a long siege,

drowning In a sea of blood.

There were two kinds of martyrs:

the ones who fell defending the city walls,

martyrs for their homeland, and the survivors, 800 In all,

who, faced with the choice of replacing Christ with Mohammed

refused...

...they were executed...

Are you looking at me?

Can you see me?

What can I do for you?

Speak to me!

I'll do anything you like.

Bury me.

Where?

When?

This evening, at ten o'clock,

at my home.

Where do you live? Is It far?

- No! It's close to your house. - How will I...

recognize you?

I'll recognize you.

See you this evening.

See you this evening!

See you this evening!

The knight of a mysterious order,

once the adventure was decided upon,

broke the lance he used to joust to obtain a magic wand

to throw Into the lake.

Unarmed and disarming, he began spinning around.

That was better than waving about the jaw bone of a donkey.

From childhood, a monk

had taught him that there is no such thing as Injustice or enemies.

Since everything is a vast pinewood,

sleep, let's replace the flowers.

Margherita...

back then, you were a meadow covered In camomile,

when her last summer was still sleeping,

unless she wasn't, even without me, anyway,

a meadow full of camomile.

Sleep! How sweet In a summer of majestic beauty

rippled by a touch of migraine and always overcome,

as the head was the last thing, and the last thing to fall.

Sleep!

If only she had been more patient!

Sleep! It is my head but It doesn't belong to me.

It's here in the reliquary,

In the blood of the reddest petals, of the most beautiful geraniums,

In the crypt where nothing rots, when It isn't Illusion.

Or, then, Inside my head...

Sleep!

That Idiot thought that he left.

He left, and he likes flowers.

He's brainless,

but he still thinks of her, since they don't live together.

He stopped In a field of camomile and poppies.

It's the thought that counts!

Sleep!

We'll never catch up with those two on horseback.

They will stop at the body of she who waits,

or maybe she is simply waiting for flowers.

My dear, I have got time, anyway... Spring posy In the neck...

This, In the meantime, then a restoration will take place.

Our love will bear the color of the mushroom,

concise, handcrafted,

sheltered from every approximation of art.

Florence... was never a maritime republic.

That is It

- Where is that girl? - Where has she gone?!

- I'm asking you, where is she? - They came for her!

- They came to pick her up! - Who came for her?!

Let them go... let them... They'll be back, you'll see!

- No, they won't be back. - You'll see, they can't go far!

They are short of money. Let them go!

Let them, they'll be back!

They are short of money. Let them go, they'll be back!

Leave me alone!

On a rainy morning,

the arches, like swallows aligned, their wings outspread,

the double lancet windows full of life,

the Moorish palace takes its leave.

It returns home, to be among other flights of folly,

authentic, this time, set In a busy street In Tunis,

unconscious home to extraordinary ordinary events.

It leaves, floating on the water,

corroded by western cultures,

itinerant sanctuary

In search of priests, provided they Invent It,

Indifferent to the African congregation.

And where It lands beyond the sea,

It will naturally stand as If It never left there,

and Turks will live In It cheaply.

Sleep!

Let's replace the flowers.

If I weren't a palace,

people would believe me.

Five centuries ago, In Otranto,

you would have liked to die.

Today, you'd like to live, wouldn't you?

This tournament of yours is rigged.

Don't count on my colours any more.

Rather, think of paying your telephone bill!

This gory luxury doesn't suit you.

And evil isn't here where, taking me for a whore,

you tried to turn me Into your own personal pimp.

This is what I hoped for you,

when I first saw you from my altar.

I must have been blinded by the Incense.

The evil Is... In you, poor fellow.

Worse for you, If you know that!

But you don't know how to pray.

You don't know how to desire, to touch.

You see everything, but can change nothing.

You'd like to come with me. They won't let you In.

It's a wonder they put up with me!

They keep me thanks to my past merits.

You need to be surrounded...

by savageries.

Fortunes...

that no longer occur.

Young lady!

Young lady... Young lady...

Young lady...

Up there,

among the red lilies on her balcony,

he was on the point of loving her again.

Young lady...

he was on the point of

calling out to her.

He was on the point of calling out to her.