Original subtitles

The crops are-- feeble.

The animals, barren.

Orchards-- meager.

The water low.

Men and women have ceased to play!

And beg.

Ogulation is-- serious business.

And little results.

But sickness-- and sadness.

It is coming!

The first contraction.

One!

One!

It is coming.

It is coming!

What are we going to see this time?

The bellows of Satan.

More disappointment?

Second contraction.

Two.

Two!

The machinery of the devil!

Looks like it belongs in a kitchen.

Or in a stable.

It's for shooting a horse.

Or basting a turkey.

It is coming!

It is coming!

Breathe!

Breathe.

The men are all prickless fools.

It is coming!

Four.

Four!

Women are all sterile shrews.

Five!

Five!

The torture instrument of St. Agatha,

who sacrificed her breasts to make her body pure.

Poor St. Agatha.

It's going to be another phantom pregnancy.

Another empty bag of blood and pus.

It is coming.

There ought to be a physician, sir.

Maybe I could play a physician.

I have excellent--

Six.

Six!

It's coming!

It is coming!

It's coming!

It is coming!

This woman is much too old to be exercising her belly.

She was much too old to be exercising her husband's

prick nine months ago.

Perhaps it wasn't her husband, but the bedpost.

Then we shall have a wooden donkey with knobs.

In this town, God has been forgotten.

This church is in ruins.

It will all end in tears.

And we all have to pay the price.

She has three fine daughters, born years ago.

Why go through all this again?

It is coming!

It is coming!

Hide your eyes, and have the coffin ready

for a lump of lard.

It is coming!

Women this old give birth to maggots.

A corpse.

A naked goose.

With soft webbed feet.

A toad, swimming out on a stream of pile.

Wake up, Carpaccio.

They're talking about your stomach.

All women should not force their husbands

to unbutton their trousers.

Women humiliate themselves to excite their lovers.

And young girls practice with candles to welcome the devil.

It is coming!

Seven!

Seven!

And all they produce are corpses.

Eight.

Eight!

Or gargoyles.

Nine.

Nine.

Manticores.

10!

10!

And worms.

11.

11!

It is alive.

And singing.

God had made such excitement for the womb of women.

It is coming!

12.

The head is so beautiful!

The singing is a trick.

It is coming!

13!

Praise the Lord that the body of a woman can be so eventful.

It has begun.

Are we really born like this?

It's a boy.

So naked.

It has 10 fingers.

And so wet.

It is a perfect--

And that smell.

Isn't he big?

Is God or the devil responsible for such a birth?

It has a heart.

Rub its eyes.

They all blue, like the comet.

Surely I wasn't born like this?

Was I born like this?

Was Christ born like this?

Our of the Virgin Mary?

Did Joseph see God's son like this?

It has 10 toes.

His eyes opened.

He is so beautiful.

His-- his little prick.

So perfect.

He will be tall.

He will be envied.

He will eat.

Well done.

He will be loved by a good woman.

And a bad one.

He will drink.

Well done.

This child will make us wise.

Only country women have them.

You never see them in the town.

And he will make us rich.

It tastes like honey dipped in alcohol.

He will not live long.

He will live-- forever.

He will pee.

Well done.

It is warm!

Like the Virgin Mary's bed.

Shh.

He will shit.

Well done.

On the earth, that will treat him so badly.

You must name the child after me, Cosimo.

Cosimo.

He will make you famous.

He can come with me in the spring

to Vallombrosa to drink the water,

and bathe with me in the river Adjano, which cures heretics.

Heretics!

And the curse of pig fever, scrofula, the gaut.

Incontinence, a bloody flux.

Incontinence, bloody flux.

Heart palpitations.

Palpitations.

Fear of the mortuary.

Fear of the mortuary.

You must meet my mother at Arezzo, and she will kiss you.

God is in all this.

This birth of such a beautiful child, to such an ugly,

and such an old woman is miraculous.

A miracle.

A miracle.

A miracle.

I must write to my brother.

You must write to my father.

I will.

Perhaps I could play a notary here, or-- the child's letter--

I will write to my father, and he will summon

my uncle, Cardinal Vespici.

Who is sure to will be the next pope.

Who is sure to be the next pope.

I will let you see my New Testament,

written on sheets of elephant ivory, with crimson cochineal--

Cochineal!

--ink from Brazil. And the eyelashes--

How can such an ugly woman produce

such beautiful children?

Aw, he is so beautiful.

Aw.

A woman this old has no right producing

such a beautiful child.

Is this child really my brother?

Is this child really hers?

Did he really see it come from her belly?

Or did we find it?

A waif.

- A shed. - An orphan.

- Under the bed. - In the closet.

On the doorstep.

In the laundry basket.

Under the stairs!

Why does she have such success when we are so barren?

He is so beautiful.

What little feet.

What little hands.

His little cock and balls are perfect.

Hold him tight.

Let me kiss him.

Can I keep him?

He looks like me.

I could almost be his mother.

She was the one who suffered for it.

You can suffer for yours later.

Is he heavy?

Hold him tight!

He is mine to keep.

I want a child like this.

Then get yourself a husband.

I want to be the child's mother.

In this town, you'd be better off using your own finger!

You could try mine, Danielle!

Don't be ungrateful, Danielle.

This town has served you well.

Get off!

Get off.

This is my part.

I'm the father.

And I've used more than a finger.

Let me see my child.

I have a boy.

At last.

You see, my medicines work!

My cures are proven.

and they are for sale.

I could play the father better than this vulgar

dunderhead, sir.

Perhaps, uh, you could insist that I play the part?

However, it is not just the medicine.

What have you got that makes such miraculous babies?

We could arrange a demonstration.

He is just a driveling little tail.

His quackery is useless.

It's not him who is responsible, but her!

I might even exchange her ugliness for a child like this.

You must show my husband how to do it.

It'd be more effective if I showed you.

He's a fake!

And the last person to use his own remedies.

He knows they're useless.

Now I have produced such a healthy son,

he must be fed properly.

I want to feed him.

There are certain things, child,

you have to do to make that possible.

I want a healthy son!

Show me what you've to make me a healthy son.

Too small.

Too small.

Too big.

Too big.

Let me taste.

Too bitter.

Too bitter.

Too sweet.

Too sweet!

Too salty.

Too salty.

Roman charity, sir?

Rare thing to be seen, sir.

Even rarer to be experienced.

Too slow.

Too slow.

This child needs as much milk as he can drink.

We should present him with a cow-- a holy cow.

That's what cows are for, isn't it?

Aren't they?

This innocent is just the right one.

This is the one to feed my son, and make

his father proud of him.

Look at this child.

Isn't he beautiful?

He will buy us good fortune.

In a country of such barren-ness, he is an example.

I am the midwife who brought him into this world.

And now I can feel my breast swell.

I am the midwife who helped him into this world,

and now I feel the blood seeping back into my womb.

I am the midwife who examined the afterbirth,

and now I feel like I can pay for the world.

I am the father, and this child is a miracle!

I can sell you the success of fertility!

Through me you can become as fertile as the Jordan Valley!

The garden of Eden!

Paradise!

Heaven!

When I am married, I will drink your remedies.

And I will have a son as handsome as yours.

Look at this miracle.

Isn't he beautiful?

What have you done to lift the misery from the people?

This child will work miracles.

Be careful, my child.

Prophecy is not an easy art.

And what does your son think?

He with his skepticism, and his new sciences.

I have heard that you make fire burn cold,

and hot water turn wheels to make fields fertile.

What sort of a miracle is that?

Does that feed us?

With your books and your instruments,

what can you hope to achieve when

we women bring fine children into the world

to make it a better place?

I think you should make miracles

before you boast of them.

Wait and see, skeptic.

Wait and see.

We are seeing already, child.

God's mysteries are being revealed.

We must have no more fancy superstitions when we can

find proof of God's miracles.

Now man can assist God in His works.

Man can indeed make everlasting fire and light.

We now know, child, that God has not put the Earth

at the center of all things.

The sun is now the center, and the universe

revolves around the sun.

And the Earth has been calculated

to be older than Adam.

Adam still needed a woman to do God's work.

Man cannot make babies on his own.

Neither can a woman.

The Virgin Mary did not need an Adam.

Do you not think, my child, that man and woman making

babies is enough of a miracle?

It used to be.

It can be now.

This is the proof.

Give me a touch of his head.

Let me taste his lips.

Give me a piece of his clothing.

Cut me a lace of his swaddling.

So he will try and bless me with his fertility.

Let the child lie with his head like that, to bless me.

You can touch him.

Do not be frightened.

Hold him in your skirts, that he may

feel the warmth of your body, and bless you accordingly.

We have a phenomenon.

Such a mystery.

A chance to investigate.

Your faith is in question.

It's all superstition.

What if it should work?

Your science will be wanting.

It's a seven day wonder.

A mere carnal produce.

The Church should be careful to keep its faith free

of false portence in miracles.

And also, Father, from losing the chance of doing some good.

With this child, Father, you could

repair the reputation of the Church,

and the ruins of your cathedral.

Let me have a touch of this baby on my hands,

so that my bed may be a place of duty and pleasure.

I will reward you.

We can help you.

I am a barren woman.

I am without child.

I have tried much to conceive a baby.

I have exhausted my husband, and taken lovers,

and slept with drunkards.

Humiliated myself at the military whorehouse.

How can I persuade this child to help me?

Oh, let me touch him.

Let me kiss his little mouth.

Collect spittle for me, that I may drink it.

That I might take it to my womb, and-- and bless my future.

I will-- I will pay you.

I will pay you daily.

What have we here?

This child complements my ambitions.

He suits my good looks.

He is an accessory to my good fortune.

He makes me a lady of value, a woman of virtue,

boldly spoken of in fine society.

I could be rich.

This child complements my ambitions!

He's an accessory to my good fortune.

I could be rich.

I could be rich!

I could be rich!

For a few crowns, sir, I believe I may be given a part.

Do I have your permission, sir?

If they go so far as to give you a part, which I doubt,

we'll pay for your costume.

They would consider it an honor.

I could be rich.

I could be rich.

If only.

I need it hotter than that.

I could be rich.

God.

Empty lines.

Fetch me something to drink?

You wanted this part so badly, you'd have paid them.

What?

Who are you?

A spear carrier?

No.

It's a halberd.

Imagine a time when walking on the earth was a pleasure.

Remind yourself of the ecstasy of living.

The sashs of humility, cut from a shroud.

200,000 silver threads.

72 pearls.

12 diamonds.

32 pieces of silver.

Value.

Mind you don't fall.

10,000 crowns.

Hold your head up, and look straight ahead.

Like this.

The best of chastity, sowed by virgins.

14 ounces of beaten gold.

28 diamonds.

Value.

12,000 marks.

Hold on tight.

Lift your hand up and bless.

Imagine a time--

Like this.

When walking on the earth was a pleasure.

Remind yourself of the ecstacy of living.

The coat of prudence, bought from the Turk.

Baghdad.

Assurbanipal, Cadossa, Barbarossa.

Value.

500 slaves.

Are you cold, child?

The robe of piety.

Given by a thief who stole from his father, raped his sister,

killed his mother.

Value.

9 escdoes.

Are you shivering, child?

Stand straight, and be regal.

The crown of strength.

Made of iron, smelted from the wedding rings of martyrs.

And the broach pins of widows.

Value.

A smith's wages.

Is it heavy?

Don't you dare let it drop.

Remember the grass being long, and the orchard trees heavy.

Remember when sleep with your partner was contentment.

The beads of poverty, made of glass.

Just glass.

Just glass.

Just glass.

Value.

Value-less.

And weep.

Remind yourself of the ecstacy of living.

Remember when sleep with your partner was contentment.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

May the boy bless my pigsty, and I'll promise

you 1/10 of all our litters.

1/10 is not enough.

One quarter is lucky to ask from a child

who has next to nothing.

Bless, brother, this man's pigsty.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

May the child bless my hive, and-- and I will keep

you in hoeny for three years.

Not enough.

We need to be kept sweet for a lifetime.

Bless, brother, this man's honey harvest.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

May this child bless my cows, and you shall have

as much milk as you can drink.

And as much cheese and butter as we can eat.

Bless, brother, this man's cow herd.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

I bless this white cow, and present it to you

for your continued sustenence.

May the child bless me, for I am sick.

What can you give the child as a token of your thanks?

Nothing.

Then the child will bless you, to show

you how magnanimous we are.

Bless, brother, this woman's illness.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

I might be sick, too.

Bless me, child, so that I may be fruitful.

I do not think of myself, but may

this child bless the others.

What can you give the child as a token of your thanks?

Nothing.

The child is generous, but you do not deceive us,

for you have something to give.

You have four daughters.

Two may receive a blessing, and two must go into prostitution

to pay for my father's supper.

No!

No!

No!

And one must lay with my father to keep him amused.

Bless, brother, this man's daughter.

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

I-- I bless-- I--

And one more daughter must enter a nunnery,

to be a companion for Christ.

No! No!

I bless this work, and may it be fruitful.

Now you can see just what miracles are.

Miracles belong in the jurisdiction of the church.

So that you can benefit from them personally?

So that people can benefit from them without favor.

The child is beautiful.

Is he not?

Even you can see that.

But he's your toy.

And you are his mouthpiece.

He is God's mouthpiece.

Where is the child's mother?

You are so like his mother.

So, where is the child's mother?

You are so like his mother.

And where is the child's mother?

You are so like his mother.

I am his mother.

You're not married.

Who, then, is the father?

It was a virgin birth.

Ha!

Impossible.

My dear, your naivety excels your pride.

The Christ child was a virgin birth.

It can happen again.

There is no such thing as a virgin birth.

She is a virgin.

Then this cannot be her child.

Why not?

It has been known.

Not for 1,600 years.

Examine me.

And I will shame you.

Are you frightened to learn the truth?

This child deserves more than your contemptuous skepticism!

My purity should make all doubting women ashamed!

And make scornful men blush!

I never looked like that.

Even when I was 13.

She is.

Yes, indeed.

The child is a virgin.

Yes.

She is.

You stand to gain from her lies.

How can we believe you?

See for yourself.

I do not know what to look for.

It is all so long ago.

Her anatomy is charming.

I'm non-plussed.

She is indeed what she says she is.

I'm not convinced.

You silly old fool.

We should ask a higher authority.

Perhaps you, sir, would give us your opinion?

Ow!

It is true.

I agree.

She is a virgin.

I can tell at a glance.

I can see a vision of a fruitful country, where there

is blossom and dancing, and women sleep

at peace with their husbands.

I can see a vision of a fruitful country, where there

is blossom and dancing, and women sleep

at peace with their husbands.

I can see the most daring and eventful future for both of us.

I can see the most daring and dangerous

future for both of us.

I can see the dismay of all our enemies.

I can see the delight of all our enemies.

I can see fame.

I can see infamy.

I can see gold.

I can see death.

We will be rich.

You will be wretched.

Joy will be mine.

Misery will be yours.

And why not for you?

For I will be dead.

What do you know?

You are only a child.

And what do you know?

You are only a prince.

Mother.

You are to stay out of sight.

You're sick.

I'll stay in the dark.

They will laugh.

An old woman who still sleeps in the same bed

with her husband?

They will laugh at you, and say that the child is not yours.

For your own good, you are always to deny

that the child is yours.

What of my baby?

You can live in comfort for the rest of your days,

if you stay silent, you fool.

If we are to prosper, you must trust me.

The child is strong.

He is blessed with strength.

But hide.

You must stay hidden!

Who will believe you are the mother of a saint?

My baby!

You bring your brother shame, isn't he?

You eat white bread, and you drink white wine,

and you sit with your toes to the fire.

You benefit.

The child is fine.

You exploit that child like a pimp with a whore!

Father.

He pimps for you.

You finger the body of a maid he paid for.

Do you want to lose your pleasures?

You must stay hidden.

And who would believe you are the father of a saint?

I am the father of the child!

And he's to learn my trade.

That child is a baby!

You use him cruelly.

He pays for your pleasures.

He is only a child!

You can keep quiet.

You are no more than a milkmaid's milkmaid.

You stand to gain and must.

We have dragged you out of the cow's shit,

because my lecherous father took a fancy to your breasts!

We took you from nowhere to nurse the saint.

Prisoners between the sheets.

Forever warring.

The world locked up in a bed.

Incompatible prisoners between the sheets.

Forever warring.

The world locked up in a bed.

Let me out!

Incompatible prisoners between the sheets.

Forever warring.

The world locked up in a bed.

The world locked up in a bed.

The world locked up in a bed.

Incompatible prisoners between the sheets.

Forever warring.

Incompatible prisoners--

In a bed.

The world locked up in a bed.

Incompatible prisoners between the sheets.

Forever warring.

Incompatible prisoners between the sheets.

Forever warring.

The world locked in a bed.

Incompatible prisoners between the sheets.

You do not believe in the power of this child, do you?

What I cannot see, I cannot believe.

You are too interested in proofs.

Too many proofs spoil the truth.

You used the method of proof for the examination

of your virginity.

Does it mean that the sands of the desert

disappear because you, a little priest's son,

have not seen them?

Where is your faith?

I can believe that there are sands

in the desert because I have reliable information this

is is so.

And I have reliable information that there

are such things as miracles.

There is also the weight of common sense,

of observation, science.

You cannot stake your claim both ways.

Either you are a virgin, and the child is not yours--

or you are not a virgin, then the child may be yours.

Why may be?

Because you could have stolen it.

But people believe this child is mine,

and that he can create miracles.

It is you that has persuaded them to believe both lies.

And you cannot now believe that the fields are fruitful,

and babies are being produced like a honeycomb of bees.

It's coincidence.

Coincidence?

Or God is moving in ways that are irrelevant to you

and the child.

So you believe in God?

He is the great scientist.

You are jealous of your success,

when your father's brain did not alter the famine and misery.

Your father has been made to look

like the little priest he is.

Do you think the child is beautiful?

I do.

Do you think that I am beautiful?

Some say that you are.

And what do you say?

Aren't you attracted to our success?

Aren't you fascinated by the effect

the child has on the people?

Why not regard us an interesting experiment?

I would make myself available for your observation.

You could experiment your scientific curiosity on me.

I could prove, even to you, that I am a virgin.

Surely as an unbeliever demanding proof,

you ought to take up the offer.

The first contraction!

They-- they might offer me a part on stage, and you can keep

your money for your costumes.

I shan't be needing one.

I am to play myself.

The crops were meager, and are no longer.

The animals barren, now breed the orchards bare.

Our fruitful, married women pray in bed,

and children are forthcoming.

In looking at the Virgin Mary, you blaspheme.

The Church is full of many icons of the virgin,

and her child.

We have given them credence.

That is all.

You could join us.

You could be Joseph.

If this child is yours, then you

have already met your Joseph.

And by all accounts, Joseph was deceived.

Cuckolded by God.

I do not believe in your story of a virgin birth.

If this child is yours, and you suggest it is,

then you have whored, and I could never think of marrying

a deflowered virgin.

All that has been up there is this little finger.

Just a little curious for the sensations of marriage.

My father would never allow it.

Your father?

You are your own master.

Do not wait for his permission.

I am prepared to enter the Church, and with his help,

find quick profferment.

Joseph?

You are a hypocrite.

I have watched you looking at the wet nurse when she took out

her breast to suckle the child.

I have watched you looking at me.

If your conscience is troubled, but your desire is not,

I will tell you a secret that you must not divulge.

Come with me.

This is my mother.

And the mother of the child, my brother.

This cannot be.

She is certainly not the mother of the child.

She is.

She is not.

I will never believe this is the mother of the child.

You are still deceiving me.

Fool.

This woman is my mother, and mother of the child.

Mother, say you are the mother of the child.

No.

Mother, say you are!

No!

Mother, say you are!

You told me not to!

Yes.

I am the mother of the child.

You lie!

How can you force this woman to say

she is the mother of the child, when she obviously cannot be?

She is too old, too ugly-- too wretched.

You are a whore.

It would take a miracle for me to believe

this was the child's mother.

Then let me show you a miracle.

This is the place I have chosen for you

to make me into a holy matron.

Joseph.

You're mad.

And a blasphemer.

Do you care about blasphemy?

Since you are the mother of that child,

and there is no legitimate father, that makes you a whore.

You are blind and stupid.

And a very miserable scientist.

So, you should be treated like a whore.

All right.

Treat me like a whore.

And you will see me bleed, and then you will believe me.

And then we can marry.

I'll never marry you.

You're an exploiter of little children.

What are you doing here.

I have come to see you do no harm.

What harm can I do?

Pay no attention to him.

He's only a child.

Kiss me.

Consider what you may gain by kissing me.

Hold my breasts.

Breasts that have never swollen with milk-- to feed a baby,

because the baby did not come from my womb.

But from my mother's.

Go on, suck.

Taste my milk.

You cannot.

There is none.

The child is not mine.

I am a virgin!

Look what you can have.

For the asking.

Now take me, and your prick will be covered in blood.

In the name of your unborn offspring,

protect my innocence, and the sanctity of my birth.

It is not you who must bleed, but him.

Your blood is too precious.

Who will believe you if you are no longer a virgin?

Your purity is the sacrifice you must make for your success.

No!

What have you done?

You have united your virginity to my birth.

This is how you put your power to use?

Hold on to your virginity.

It may save you from a violent death.

You are not a blessing!

You are a curse!

Sister, kill that animal, and even

I, who has so much to forgive you for, could not forgive you.

That animal is only the instrument.

I am the message.

Kill me.

No!

Oh my god!

Your son-- he's dead.

And you have killed him.

It was the child that made it happen.

She blames the child.

She blames the child.

She blames the child.

How can a child make such a thing happen?

You are not fit to be the guardian of that child.

You have seduced my son.

And killed him.

I am the protector of this child.

The child needs me!

That child must be taken away from her.

She isn't the creature to govern its welfare.

I am the mother of this child!

You're not fit to be its mother!

The child needs me. You cannot separate us!

You are no longer the mother of that child.

I will prove this child is mine.

It needs me.

Come to me, child.

You do not care for the child, but only for yourself.

This child should be cared for by the Church.

Let the child decide.

Come to me, child.

Ungrateful child.

I created you!

You are my creation!

The world worships at your feet, because of me!

A curse on your ungratitude!

And a curse on those who take you from me!

No!

A curse on your ungratitude!

And a curse on those who take you from me!

Amen.

I bless, sanctify, and consecrate this holy cow,

and declare it to be a cardinal.

Amen.

They-- they've given me a part to play.

Good lord, how much did you pay them?

Nothing.

Well-- a few-- a few crowns.

I am to play the part of-- guess who?

You have to be able to stand pain.

I can't stand pain.

Tell me my lines.

Ten crimes a word.

Is that painful enough?

I'm Famine.

How do I look?

Ha ha ha!

This child will be a sign unto you,

that you are not forsaken.

One vial of the child's spittle.

500 to staff.

600.

700.

800!

This is a fluid of my body.

These are the liquids of my life.

This child will be a sign unto you, that you are--

900.

Forsaken.

1,000.

Gone.

All my body.

All my life.

This child will be a sign unto you, that you are not forsaken.

One golden vial of the child's urine.

800 to start.

This is fluid of my body.

These are the liquids of my life.

All out.

Can't even pee without somebody hovering

around him with a pale.

1,200.

They've got barrels and vats of the stuff.

1,300.

1,400!

1,500!

1,600!

Gone.

Of my body.

Of my life.

This child will be a sign unto you that you are not forsaken.

A vial of the child's breath, condensed

on a cold, silver spoon.

God in Heaven!

They let the child out at night.

5,000 to start.

This is a fluid of my body.

7,000!

8,000!

A crown!

10,000!

The freedom of the city of Macon!

12,000!

Yes, but not.

Done.

Of my body.

Of my life.

This child will be a sign unto you, that you are not forsaken.

One vial of the child's tears.

Pinched and whipped out of him, I shouldn't wonder!

18,000 to start.

My body.

20,000.

These are the--

21,000.

Of my life.

22,000.

The daughter may have been a witch,

but even she didn't stick pins into the child!

That bishop is enjoying his wardship.

What is he enjoying most?

The pain, or the money?

30,000.

The fuller the torture, the more they pay.

What other despicable things have they done to this boy?

50,000!

Gone.

Of my body.

Of my life.

This child will be a sign unto you, that you are not forsaken.

One small cloth of gold, stained with the child's blood.

25,000 to start.

26,000.

There you are.

Blood of a child.

30,000.

35,000.

45,000.

48,000.

Taken from its tongue, so no one would see the pinprick.

Or under the hair, on its skull.

Or from up its backside.

50,000.

Done.

And we are all undone.

Felling the blood of a child for gain?

We will all be punished.

As we should be.

These are the fluids of my body.

These are the liquids of my life.

You are a child.

Her days passed.

The nights pass.

The weeks pass.

You can suffer later, when you're a man.

The days pass.

The nights pass.

The weeks pass.

These days and nights, and weeks are for you as a child.

These are the fluids of my body.

These are the liquids of my life.

With me, you could have been so beautiful.

Beautiful child.

Beauty fades at death.

With me, you could have been a saint.

Beautiful child.

Saints are forgotten.

With me, you could have commanded

the love of the world.

But you put your--

Love passes quickly.

Love passes quickly.

With me, you could have lived forever-- beautiful child.

With me, you could have been so beautiful.

With me, you could have been a saint.

You could have commanded the love of the world.

You could have lived forever.

Beautiful child.

So small a life cut dead.

So lately started.

So soon departed.

Was God impatient?

He was only a child.

It is only a play.

With music.

Do not distress yourself, sir.

It is only a play, with music?

Does God say the same with every death?

It is only a play, with music?

When I die, will someone say the same?

He was only a prince.

He died.

It is only a play with music?

Sir.

Be grateful for the music.

Most of us die in silence.

The child is dead!

She killed him.

She must be punished!

She's a murderess!

She should die!

Have mercy on her.

She is provoked.

Then she is not the child's mother.

She is a virgin still.

And she cannot be hung.

For virgins cannot be hung.

In this sanctuary.

And in this city.

She's no virgin.

She seduced and lay with my son.

You cannot kill me, for I am a virgin,

and virgins cannot be hung, by order of this

sanctuary and this city.

And you can see and prove that I tell the truth.

We cannot examine you in this place.

You idolator.

Why not?

This cathedral is dedicated to a virgin birth.

Why shouldn't I be examined here?

What are you afraid of?

The power of virginity?

She mustn't escape the consequences of her crime!

She is a virgin.

By my eyes, she cannot be executed in the city.

She tells us lies! Cheats us all.

She is a virgin.

By my breasts, she cannot be executed in this city.

She squirms before the Lord.

She is a virgin.

By my head, she cannot be executed in this city.

If she is a virgin, she can forever avoid

the consequence of her killing.

I will be a virgin forever!

Forever forego the joys of love, so you can

not reap your revenge on me.

For you wish to kill me because of the death of your son.

Will someone not find a way out of this dilemma?

Who can rid us of this turbulent whore?

I hand over the custody of this virginal murderess

to the militia.

I will-- she will be guarded, with due respect for

her person, in the guard house.

I will preside and bless all those

who seek to remedy the injustices

done here tonight, to make her qualify for a just execution.

No!

You can't do that!

Shame!

Shame!

No!

But my punishment is not merciful.

My punishment is not mercy.

Sir, your advice has been impeccable.

Your sense of fitness for justice admirable.

We take our sole license from you,

knowing that you have approved.

Shame on you!

Shame on you!

Shame!

Shame!

Shame!

Shame!

Shame!

Shame!

You cannot hang me.

You cannot touch me.

How many times did Caligula's sister

serve the Roman senators?

13 times.

13 times.

For infanticide, this daughter of the devil deserves as much.

You cannot hang me.

You cannot touch me.

How many times did Dioclesian abuse

the daughters of Maxentius?

13 times, plus 13 times.

13 times plus 13 times.

For exploitation, this daughter of the devil deserves as much.

How many times did the Christian virgins suffer

the abuses of the Maccabees?

13 times.

13 times.

Yes, my son.

13 times.

13 times.

For greed, this daughter of the devil deserves as much.

You cannot hang me.

You cannot touch me.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven--

You cannot touch or hang me!

You are forgiven--

I am the child's right hand!

You are forgiven, my son--

No!

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making--

Yeah.

All right, you oaf.

No need to act when the audience cannot see you, fool.

You wanted this rowel so badly.

You're to see it through.

Come on, lad. Hurry up.

You're privileged to be the first.

Which is a waste.

Get off, you bastards.

For God's sake, you're hurting my arm.

I don't want to see what you've got.

Put it away.

How long is this scene?

10 minutes.

Well, hurry up, boy.

There's 30 more waiting behind you.

Yeah, no time for anything complicated.

Oh, God, you're not really-- you bastards!

You can't!

No!

Let go of me!

Imagine, an audience of 300, and none of them

knows you're not acting.

I am a virgin.

You can't do this.

What are you doing?

Please!

No!

No!

I really-- I'm a virgin!

No!

You are forgiven, my son.

No!

Please, no!

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making--

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son--

Help!

No!

No!

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven--

No!

No!

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

You are forgiven, my son, in making rightful vengeance.

She is a virgin.

Rubbish, lad.

You just scratched your prick on her buckle.

Go on, get out of here.

Next!

No!

No!

Go on!

No!

Please don't!

Please stop!

Please stop!

Oh, god!

No!

Next!

Two!

Please!

Please!

Stop it!

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Please!

Please!

- Next! - No!

No!

No!

Please!

Three.

Please!

Please!

No!

Help me!

Someone, please, help me!

Someone, please!

Please!

Next!

Please!

Four!

No!

No!

Stop it!

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Please!

Please!

No!

Please!

Please, help me!

Stop it, please!

No!

Next!

Five.

Please!

Somebody help me!

Somebody help me!

Please!

No!

Oh, god!

Let go of me!

Someone help me!

Please!

Please, no!

Please!

Next!

Six.

Someone help me, please!

No!

No!

Next!

Seven!

No!

Well

You have no earthly means of support,

and all people must earn their keep on earth.

You are sentenced to a life of prostitution.

No!

No!

Hey!

Get off of me!

No!

Help me!

Help me!

No!

No!

Get away!

Help!

Next!

Nine!

Somebody help me!

Somebody help!

Please!

No!

Next!

10!

The family has been destroyed.

The sins of the children always begin with the mother.

- Next! - Stop!

No!

11!

Please, no!

No!

No!

Next!

12!

The family has been destroyed.

Next!

The sons of the children always begin with the father.

13!

206.

Next!

207.

208.

13 times, plus 13 times, plus 13.

Plus 13 times 13.

It is over.

She is ready for execution.

She's dead already.

A very fine actress, indeed.

I have sinned.

She was a sinner.

But not to die like that.

She was a murderess!

But she did not deserve to die like that!

Nor did the child.

Your decree was a justful punishment.

You are forgiven.

I am?

The child returned with Maker after

the tribulations of Earth.

We were blessed by his presence.

This child has been taken from us too soon.

Had he lived, he would have blessed me.

And my children.

And my children's children.

Future blessings have been denied us,

due to the greed of the Church.

This child was meant for us.

He would not forsake us.

We have been denied his beauty.

We have been denied his presence.

He will not begrudge us a touch of his clothing.

A button from his robing.

A thread.

The beads of poverty.

The beads of poverty.

The crown of strength.

The crown of strength.

The shoes of perseverance.

Perseverance.

The robe of piety.

Robe of piety.

The coat of prudence, bought from the Turk,

Baghdad, Assurbanipal, Cadossa, Barbarossa.

The coat of prudence.

The vest of chastity.

The vest of chastity.

The sash of humility.

The sash of humility.

This child leaves the world in--

Child, bless me with the hair from your head.

As many--

Child, bless me with your little legs

that walked with God.

Child, bless me with the little fingers of your hands.

Child, bless me with your little feet

that walked the Earth.

Child, bless me with your little legs

that walked with God.

Child, bless me with your little hands

that prayed to God.

Child, bless me with your little arms

that could have held me tight.

Child, bless me with your little hands

that prayed to God.

Child, bless me with your little feet

that walked the Earth.

Child, bless me with your little arms

that could have held me tight.

Child, bless me with the little toes of your feet.

Child, bless me with your little mouth.

Child, bless me with your body.

Bless us all.

My god.

Famine cannot be that fat.

He'd look like a Greek.

And he stinks like one.

I paid ten hundred crownds--

Tonight it's my turn.

Why is it all the good evil parts are so over-subscribed?

And ruin.

Have ceased to play.

They're dead.

Again!

Ovulation is a serious business.

Little results, but sickness and sadness--

Ah-- what a beautiful head.