All language subtitles for Lava.1989.WEB-DL.1080p.Dream_Legendas01.ENG

For half a century Poland has been
an example of such constant, unflagging

and unrelenting cruelty of tyrants.

However, she has also been an example of
such a limitless sacrifice of her people

and such a stubborn constancy as
has not been known since the days

of the persecution
of the early Christians.

It seems that the kings have
Herod's premonition

about the appearance of
a new light on the Earth

and their own
approaching downfall.

The people still more strongly
believe in their own rebirth

and resurrection.

A Tale of Adam Mickiewicz's
"Forefathers' Eve"

LAVA

stage design

music

camera

screenplay and director

It always seems to me that someone
sees my tears and hears my sighs,

and circles around me still
like a shadow.

How often during the day I hear
The rustle of some flying nymph's feet;

I look up and I see flowers tremble and
move their heads as if someone touched them.

Oft when I sat in my chamber,
reading a book alone,

the book fell from my hands, I looked up
and opposite the mirror there flashed

a light figure.

Her airy dress
rustled in silence.

Oft did I ponder in the night
when my thoughts fly high

I sighed and something signalled
its presence with a sigh.

My heart beat and I felt
the beating of another heart,

Sometimes even a word, distant and unclear,
As if the wings of some night fly

touches my ear gently!

I fell asleep in a light haze,
above and away something shines

however, it takes no distinct shape;
still I can sense

the brightness of the eyes
and the smile on the face!

Where are you, mysterious
daughter of loneliness?

It is dark everywhere,

it is quiet everywhere.

Let us listen attentively,
let us watch closely,

let us hurry to the secret rite.

Let us step slowly
with a muted song.

We are not singing Christmas carols,
we are singing the song of mourning…

When it is dark everywhere,

when it is quiet everywhere.
Let us hurry to the secret rite.

Don't wring your hands,
young damsel,

don't cry,
save your eyes and hands.

Your eyes will look into other eyes,
your hand will shake another hand.

Don't wring your hands,
young damsel,

don't cry,
save your eyes and hands.

The one you cry for
will look at you no more.

He will never shake your hand.

Who suffers from the dreamers' illness
brought his suffering upon himself,

He pointlessly tried to find in front
of himself what he had just in his soul.

You who recall past days,
who dream of the future days,

go from this world to the grave,
go from the sages to the shamans!

Darkness of mysteries surrounds us,
song and faith lead us.

Come to us you who despair,
who remember and who wish.

Who of us in his younger years
does not act with his strong arm,

but with his heart

and his thoughts,

he is lost to the world.

Who like an animal seeks the desert,
flies in the night like an owl,

like a demon knocks on coffins,

he is lost to the world.

Who once in his younger years sung
a mournful song, he will sing it always.

Who when young visits graves,
he will not return from them to the world.

Then let children and fathers go to
the church with their pleas and bread.

We, the young, may stay here,
halfway there under the clear sky.

Who is there?

Who is it knocking?

Who am I? It is still early.
I cannot tell.

I have come from far, I don't know,
whether from hell or from paradise.

I am going to this country.

The heaven and tortures of my youth!
They twisted my wings

and forced them upwards
so that I could not fly any lower.

A lover of delusions I saw only in his dreams,
hating the boring turn of mundane affairs,

detesting creatures of less
fancy provenance, I sought,

oh! I sought the divine lover who
had not yet appeared in this world…

The vision of that farewell
is still on my mind.

I recall it was autumn,
an evening chill;

I was to leave the the next day…
I was wandering in the garden,

I sought in thoughts and
prayers that armour which

I could wear on my heart,
originally so soft,

so that I could withstand
the last bullet of her sight!

I roamed among the rushes
where my eyes would lead me.

It was a most beautiful night!
I can still recall it:

It had rained some
hours earlier,

all the earth shimmered
covered with dew drops.

The valley wore mists
like a sea of snow.

From this side a thick cloud
pushed in more clouds,

from that side the pale
moon shone through.

The stars drowned in the blue sky
after their nightly voyage.

I looked up… and saw the morning
star shining right above me…

I have known it well since,
we greet every day!

I look downwards at the bushes.
I saw her suddenly by the bower!

Her dress was white among dark trees,
she stood immobile like a column on a grave.

Then she ran like a light puff of warm wind.
She cast her eyes to the ground.

She did not look at me!
Her cheeks were very pale.

I turned to her, looked from the side,
I noticed a little tear in her eye.

"Tomorrow", said I,
"tomorrow I am leaving!"

"Farewell!" - she answered quietly,
I could hardly hear her.

Forget! … I will forget?

Oh! How easy it is
to command like that!

Order, my dear,
your shadows to melt away

and forget to follow you
wherever you go!

It is easy to give commands!
Forget!

Although there is sadness
in your confession,

isn't the girl that
you mourn allegedly still alive?

Do not believe it, although the scoffers
may repeat it a thousand times.

Listen to what your heart tells you:
Maryla lives no more!

The stars move towards one another
even though they are hidden in the mist.

The mist will disappear and the stars
will come together for eternity.

The chains that bind you here
will disappear with the Earth,

and there up above you will
recognize each other,

and God will forgive you
your excessive passion.

When the Sun lights up the world,
when the night wears her dark robes,

I am looking for her, I am chasing her,
she is always near me but never with me!

The clock strikes ten and
the cock crows for the first time.

Time flies, life passes…

… and the first light has gone out,

Two more hours…

I am so cold!

Cold wind blows through the chinks…
It is so cold in here!

- Where am I?
- In the house of a friend.

- My son!
- Son?

This voice like the flash of lightning
pulls my mind from the darkening shadows.

Yes, I know now where I am,
whose house this is.

Yes, you are my second father,
this is my fatherland!

I recognize this dear house!
How everything changes!

The children are grown now
and your hair turned grey!

Gustaw! You are Gustaw!
Gustaw! Oh, my God!

My disciple! My son!

Father, I can still hug you!

Because later… Soon…
I will depart for a distant land.

Oh! You will have to undertake
this journey as well.

We shall hug then
but for eternity.

How can it be?

I have recently visited the
house of my late mother,

I could hardly recognize it!
There is so little left!

Wherever you look -
ruins, void, and destruction!

The fence fell apart,
stones taken from the floor,

moss grows in the yard,
with wormwood and thistle.

The silence reminded me of
a graveyard at midnight!

The place used to look so different
once when I returned there.

Cry! Alas, the pain of memory torments us
but changes nothing around us!

I went to the garden as well...

the same season,
autumn, the chill of the evening,

The same skies shaded by clouds,
the same pale moon and dew drops like pearls,

and the mist that
seemed like lightly falling snow;

and the stars drowned in the blue
after their nightly voyage,

and the same morning star right above me
that I saw then, that I see daily.

In these same places I was
tortured by the same feeling.

Everything was as it used to -
only she was not there!

I come up to the bower,
some rustling at the entrance.

Is it her? … No! It is the wind
pushing yellow leaves.

Oh bower!
The cradle and the grave of my love,

There I got to know her
and there I said goodbye!

Oh! What did I feel there!

Maybe she had sat there
the previous evening.

She had breathed the same air!

I am listening, I am looking around,
but to no avail.

I saw only a small
spider above me,

hanging from a small leaf
on a frail thread.

He and I equally feebly
attached to the world!

I leaned against a tree,
suddenly at the bench

I noticed bouquets,
grass, a leaf in the grass,

This very leaf,
a half of my little leaf

which reminded me of
our last farewell!

An old friend of mine,
we greeted cordially,

I talked to him for a long time
and asked many questions:

When does she wake up?
How does she play in the morning?

Which songs does she usually
play on her piano?

To which source does she go for a walk?
In which room does she like to stay best?

Does she blush modestly
when she remembers me?

Does she remember me
sometimes against her own wishes?

Woman! You fickle,
wayward creature!

Angels are envious of your looks,
but your soul is worse than…

My God!
You have been so blinded by gold!

And the empty
gay bubble of honours!

Oh! May everything you touch
change into gold,

wherever you turn your heart and lips,
kiss, touch cold gold!

I sigh!

Why do I sigh?
Ah! I sighed for her.

No! I cannot forget
her even when I am dead.

But I see her,
she stands here!

She cries for me...
what an honest tear!

Listen and mark this,
according to the divine command

who once visited paradise alive

after death will not
get there immediately.

The souls in purgatory!
Wherever you are,

come together.

May you all gather here.

We celebrate Forefathers' Eve!
Come to this holy temple.

We have alms, we have prayers,
There is food and drink as well.

It is dark everywhere,
it is quiet everywhere,

What is going to happen?

What do you need, little soul,
to get to heaven?

We do not need anything.
We are unhappy because of

too much happiness we experienced
on Earth. We need no masses.

We ask for no sweets, milk, or cookies,
give us two seeds of mustard,

This meagre service
will be enough for us.

Listen and mark this,
according to the divine command;

who never experienced
bitterness on the Earth,

- Will not get to the sweetness of heaven.
- Let us listen and mark this,

according to the divine command;
who never experienced bitterness,

will not get to the sweetness
of heaven.

Little angel, little soul!
Here you are what you both asked for.

Here is a seed, here is a seed.
Now go away with the Lord.

Who will not listen to our request,

in the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost?

Can you see the Lord's Cross?
You don't need any food or drink

then leave us in peace!
Begone! Begone!

It is dark everywhere, it is quiet everywhere,
what is going to happen?

Ravens, owls, eagles!
Oh, you cursed gluttons!

Let me come up to the chapel,
let me come near...

Tell us what you need.
Who of you is hungry? Who is thirsty?

Children! Don't you know me, children?

Look at me closely,

remember me!
I am your late master, children!

What does your soul need

to avoid the torments?

- Do you ask for the mercy of heaven?
- To heaven? It's a pointless blasphemy.

No! I don't want to go to heaven;
I only want my soul to drag out of

my body as soon as possible.
I would very much rather go to hell

to suffer all its torments,
I want to be down in hell rather

then to roam the earth
with other evil spirits for ever.

Oh, how he suffers from thirst!
If only he could get some water!

If we only gave him
two mere grains of wheat!

Let us tear the food into pieces,
and when there is no food left,

let us tear the flesh into pieces,

- Revealing his bare bones!
- Yes, I must suffer for centuries,

it is a just verdict divine!

Because no man can help someone
who was not human even once.

If there is nothing that can help you,
begone, poor thing.

Who will not listen to our request,

in the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Can you see the Lord's Cross?

You will not take
any food or drink?

Then leave us in peace!
Begone! Begone!

It is dark everywhere, it is quiet everywhere,
What is going to happen?

Tell us what you need.
Who of you is hungry? Who is thirsty?

Nothing makes me sad,

nothing hurts,

I can do whatever miracles I desire.

I spin dresses made of rainbows,
I turn transparent tears of the morning

into butterflies and turtledoves.

And yet I don't know where
this boredom comes from:

Every rustle makes me
look for someone.

And I am always alone!

It makes me sad that so ceaselessly
the wind blows me hither and thither.

I do not know whether I belong to
this

or the other world.

Where I come near, the wind blows me away,
It carries me up, down, at an angle.

So among the fleeting waves
I fly the eternal way.

I can neither fly up to heaven,

nor can I touch the ground.

What do you need, little soul,

in order to get to heaven?

I need nothing, I need nothing!

May the youths come up to me,

may they catch my hands,
may they drag me down to the earth,

let me play with them for a while.

Listen and mark this,
according to the divine command;

who never touched the earth,
will never get to heaven.

Fly away with the Lord.
Who will not listen to our request,

In the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Can you see the Lord's Cross?
You won't take any food or drink?

Then leave us in peace!

Begone! Begone!

It is dark everywhere, it is quiet everywhere,
what is going to happen?

What do you need, young ghost?

Do you ask for the glory of heaven?

Do you ask to partake
in the sacred feast?

What do you need, young ghost,
in order to get to heaven?

- He neither goes away nor speaks.
- Soul cursed or blessed,

leave this holy rite!
The floor is open

leave the way you entered here,
or I will curse you in the name of the Lord.

Begone to the forests, to the rivers,
begone for eternity!

The heart has stopped, the bosom is cold as ice,
the mouth is stiff and the eyes are closed.

In the world still though not for the world!
What man is that? The deceased.

Look how the spirit of hope keeps him alive,
the star of memory gives its rays.

The deceased returns to the land of his youth
to seek the dearest face.

Naughty candle! Did you have to flicker out
right now? I couldn't finish my reading.

How can I go to sleep now?

Valerie! Gustave! Angelic Gustave!

I have daydreamt about you so often,

And God knows I will meet
you again in my dreams!

Such a sad story!

The source of such sad knowledge!

Why do I read?

I can tell the ending already!

What other fate could
such lovers expect here?

Valerie!

Among all the mortals you are
worthy of jealousy!

You were ravished by a lover

of whom others only
dream in vain all their lives.

Whose features they seek
in every new face,

and in every new voice they hopelessly search
for the tone which responds to their own souls.

Because all the faces
are dead as stone,

they are like Medusa's, their words
are colder than chilly autumn rain!

Every day

filled with memories of boring people and events
I return to my solitude,

to books

and dreams.

Like a traveller lost on a desert island,
who daily walks and seeks everywhere

but meeting no human being

nightly returns to his cave in despair.

When the night had put you to sleep,
I watched over your passionate dream

like a white lily leaning
over a muddy stream.

Many a time I grew disgusted with your soul
but among the throng of evil thoughts

I sought a good one as they seek
grains of incense in an anthill.

Oh, silent night,

when you arrive who asks
where you come from;

when you spread your stars

who can read from them
secrets of your future paths?

"The sun has set"
astronomers announce from the tower,

Why it has set, no one tells.

Darkness covers
the earth and the people are asleep,

but why people sleep nobody wants to know.

They will wake up senseless
as they slept senseless.

Nobody wonders at the sun's strange
though daily voyage;

light replaces darkness
like the changing of the guards,

but where are the commanders
who gave these orders?

We begged God to put you in
the hands of your enemies.

Solitude is the master of sages.
So in this lonely prison,

like a prophet in the desert,
ponder upon your destiny.

You who torment, imprison,
and murder your neighbours,

and smile during the day,
and feast in the evening,

do you remember in the morning
the dream you had at night,

and if you should remember it,
do you comprehend it?

We came to announce that
you will be free again.

I shall be free - shall I?
I do not know whence the news,

but I do know what freedom
from the hands of a Muscovite means.

The rascals take away the fetters
only from your hands,

but put them on the soul - I will be exiled!

I will be lost in a throng of foreigners,
of enemies.

I am a singer - and nobody will understand

anything of my song
but a shapeless and worthless sound.

Rascals, they could not tear
this weapon away from me,

and yet they spoiled it,
broke it in my hands.

Although alive I shall be dead
for my fatherland,

and my thought shall be locked
in the shadows of my soul

like a diamond hidden in a dirty stone.

Oh, man!
If you could know how great is your power!

When a thought in your head,
like a spark in a cloud,

shines invisible, it gathers clouds
and brings fruitful rain or thunders and storms.

If you could know that
when you light up one thought

they wait in silence
like the elements await thunder.

So devils and angels wait for your thought -
will you hit hell or light up heaven;

and you are like an errant cloud,

you burn and you don't know
yourself where you fly,

you don't know what you may achieve.

People! Each of you,
although imprisoned and alone,

can overthrow and raise thrones
with your thought and faith.

He is drunk but he does not want to sleep.
Will I have to stand like this for long?

You rascal, keep quiet!
Does a hedgehog prick him?

Put some opiate in his eyes.

- He is asleep, I'll jump at him like an animal.
- Like a falcon on a sparrow.

- Let's drag his soul to hell,
- Castigate it with snakes, burn.

Begone!

- Who are you, fellow?
- Beelzebub!

- So what?
- Do not frighten off my prey.

But when this rascal falls asleep,
his dreams belong to me.

If he sees the night and the fire,
numerous and harsh punishments,

he may be afraid of these scenes.
He may recall the dream tomorrow,

and mend his ways.
His death is far away still.

Let me have some fun -
What are you afraid of?

Should he mend his ways,
I will take holy orders

- and the Holy Cross in my hands.
- If you frighten him once too much

he may remember the dream.
He may fool us.

Will you let my prey fly away?

This little fellow here
is my favourite son,

Is he to sleep without torments?
Don't you want to? I can do it on my own.

Rascal! Do you know my rank?
I answer only to the Tzar!

A letter!

Addressed to me - from
His Imperial Highness. Hand-written.

Ha! Ha! Ha!
Hundred thousand roubles.

Order! Where?
Put it here. Princely title.

Ah! Grand Marshal.
Ah! They will die of jealousy.

To the Emperor!
The vestibule - they are all standing.

They all hate me, they bow,
they are afraid.

Marshal - Grand Controleur -
hard to recognize in a mask.

What a sweet murmur.
Sweet murmur everywhere.

The senator is in good graces,
good graces, good graces.

Ah! Let me die,
let me die among this murmur,

As if my lovers were tickling me!

Everyone bows,
I am the heart and soul of the party.

They look at me,
they are jealous - I am putting on airs.

Oh delight! I am dying,
I am dying of delight!

The Emperor!

His Imperial Majesty - oh!

The Emperor comes in.
Ah!

What?

He does not look!
He knits his brow - he looks askance?

Ah! Your Majesty - ah!

I cannot speak - Voice dies in my throat -ah!
I shiver and sweat! Ah! Cold shivers!

Ah! Marshal! What?

He turns his back on me.
His back! Ah! Senators, court officials!

Ah! I am dying, I am dead,
I am buried, I am lost...

What a terrible murmur!
Laughter and screams.

The Senator has fallen out of favour!
Out of favour! Out of favour!

Before the third cock crows, we must bring
this tired petty soul back from its torment.

Rivet it back to his senses as if to a chain
and lock it in his body like in a dirty kennel.

- Can we meet now?
- The guards drink vodka, the corporal likes us.

- What time is it?
- It is almost midnight.

But if the guards find us,
they'll lash the corporal to death.

Blow out this candle; can you see
the flame reflected in the windows?

The guards are nothing!

They have to knock on the gate first,
give the password, look for the keys.

The corridor is long,
before the guards find us,

we'll be back in our cells undressed,
close the doors and pretend to snore.

Good evening.

And you are here!?

- And you are here?
- And I am here.

Let us go to your cell, Żegota.

We have a new prisoner in this novitiate,
you have a fire-place, we will have some fire,

and some novelty - it is good
to see some new walls.

Żegota! How are you?
And you're here, my dear!

My cell is only three steps wide
and you are so many.

Let us rather go to Konrad's cell.

It is the furthest away from the entrance
and attached to the church wall.

No one will hear anything from there
even if we sing or scream.

I intend to talk loud tonight
and I want to sing a lot.

Out there they'll think
that people sing in the church.

Tomorrow is Christmas.

Oh, my friends,

- I have some bottles.
- Does the corporal know about it?

The corporal is a decent fellow,
he drinks from them as well.

He is Polish,
he used to be a legionnaire under Napoleon,

but the Tzar turned him
by force into a Muscovite.

The corporal is a good Roman Catholic
and he allows

the prisoners to spend
Christmas Eve together.

Does the same thing
happen also in Lithuania?

It is even worse,
we have bloodshed!

Bloodshed?

Not on the battle-field,
it is the hangman's work.

Not swords but batons
and whips are used there.

Was the ball fine
and were there many military men?

I was told there was
almost no one there.

- Quite on the contrary, a lot of people…
- And was it fine?

It is a long story.

The service was numerous
although most awkward;

I did not get a glass of wine,
a slice of pate,

the entry to the dining room
was completely blocked.

There was disorder on the dance floor,
people were stepping on each other's toes.

It was just a private soiree.

Excuse me, it was a ball.
I still have the tickets.

Then it is even worse,
people were grouped together haphazardly,

one could not appraise
their garments.

Ever since Nowosilcow left Warsaw
no one has known how to arrange a decent ball.

I have not seen a single beautiful ball since,

he knew how to make a ball
look like a pretty picture.

You may laugh, gentlemen, say what you will,
but in Warsaw he was a badly needed person.

- Was Cichowski set free?
- I know Cichowski.

I have just been there to get the news directly
from him to tell everyone in Lithuania.

We should all come together and unite,

otherwise, we shall die miserably
each on our own.

How terribly he suffered!

- Read something to us, do not make me beg you!
- I do not know anything by heart.

You used to carry your poems around. You have
something under your vest - I can see the cover.

The ladies would like
to hear something.

The ladies? Ah!
They are literature lovers.

They know more French
poems by heart than me.

Please, do not laugh, ladies.

We shall have a reading?

I am sorry - although
I know Polish,

I do not comprehend Polish poems.

She is quite right - they are rather boring.
He wrote a thousand lines about growing peas.

Read now,
if we do not listen to you.,

look there - this hack
will gladly read his rhymes,

That would be a great service
to all these listeners,

look how he begs,
how he smiles, how he winks.

His open mouth looks like
a dead oyster,

he turns to us his eye as big
and sweet as a fig.

They are leaving. My poems are long
and I am short of breath.

It's a good thing that he doesn't want
to read, he'd have bored us to death.

This is a terrible story - listen, gentlemen!
Please, tell them the story of Cichowski.

- Was Cichowski set free?
- He spent so many years in prison…

I thought he was already dead.

It is dangerous to listen to such things

and it would be rude to leave
in the middle of the story.

- Set free? How strange.
- They did not find any fault with him.

Who talks of fault?
There are other reasons.

Whoever has spent a long time in prison
must have seen and heard a lot.

The government has its plans, its long-term aims
which it must hide. This is a matter of state.

Political secrets - cabinet thought.

This is the way it goes
everywhere - state secrets.

But you've come from Lithuania.

Ah! It seems strange to you.
You live in the country and you would like to

know as much about the empire
as you know about your farms.

You come from Lithuania
and you can speak Polish?

I do not understand it,
I thought you were all Muscovites.

By God, I know less about Lithuania
than about China.

The Constitutionnel once mentioned
the Lithuanians

but there was not a word in
other French newspapers.

Do tell us all about it -
it is an important, national matter.

He was the heart
and soul of the company,

wherever he appeared he would amuse us
with his stories and anecdotes.

He liked children,
he would often take me in his lap…

And then he would not come for a long time,
I was told at home

that he disappeared
God knows where, ran away.

The government looked for him
but found no trace

and then they said
that he had killed himself, drowned.

Police confirmed the allegation when they
found his coat on the banks of the Vistula…

It was brought to his wife. She recognized it.
He was dead.

But the body was not found,
and so a year passed.

And then they knocked
on his wife's door at night

when the door opened,
they saw an officer and an armed guard.

And the prisoner...

It was him - they asked for pen and paper,

told them to sign that he was brought
alive from the Belvedere palace.

They took the signature
and they warned "If you tell…"

They did not complete the warning,
they left as they came.

It was him.

I ran to see him but a friend warned:

"Don't go today or you will meet
a spy at his door."

The sages claim that
a dream is just a remembrance.

Oh cursed sages!

Can't I tell dreams from memory?
They'll try to convince me that my prison

is but a reminiscence.

They claim that the nightly feeling of

delight and suffering is just
a play of the imagination.

Fools! They know imagination only from hearsay
and they talk nonsense to us, the seers!

I have visited it,
I have measured its spaces,

I know what lies beyond
its boundaries - the dream.

Sooner day becomes night,
delight becomes torment,

than dream will be memory,
nightmares will be imagination.

I cannot rest,
these dreams frighten or lure me.

How these dreams tire me!

I went there a month later,

I hoped he would be himself again
and his memory would return.

But so many thousands of days
he was under investigation,

so many thousands of nights
he spent talking to himself,

so many years he was questioned
and tortured by tyrants,

so many years he spent among
eavesdropping walls.

And silence was his only defence,
And shadows were his only company.

Because these days Poland lives
and flourishes only among shadows,

her history takes place in Siberia,
fortresses, and prisons.

And how did he respond to my questions?

That he knew nothing any more
about his own sufferings,

He forgot them. His memory was like a book
rottening under ground in Herculanum.

Even its resurrected author
is unable to read it.

He just said:

"I will ask God what happened,

he ordered it, he will
tell me everything."

Why don't want you to write about it,
gentlemen?

Old Niemcewicz may add it to his memoirs,

I heard that he
collected old rubbish.

- What a story!
- Terrible.

By God, excellent.

People listen to such stories
but who would read about them?

Please, tell me,
how should one write about current events

instead of mythology
when there are witnesses?

And then there is the clear holy rule of the art
that poets should wait until… until…

Until?

How many years should one wait

until a current subject
will mature enough like a noble wine?

- There are no specific rules.
- A hundred years.

Not enough!

- A thousand years. A couple of thousands.
- And I am inclined to think that

it is not a problem that the subject is new,
pity it is not Polish, national.

Our nation prides itself in simplicity,

hospitality, our nation does not like
terrifying, violent scenes.

We should sing about courtship
of country boys,

their stock, the shadows.
We Slavs, we love idylls.

If you could put a good word
in the ear of the governor,

my wife could be the first lady-in-waiting.

But all is pointless,
the highest ranks are not meant for us!

Only aristocrats are in good
graces of the court.

Aristocracy is always
the supporter of liberties,

you should heed
the example of Great Britain.

- Oh, rascals! Where is a stick?
- O The noose rather!

I would show them the court,
I would teach them good taste.

Look, friends, look. What can we do?

These are the people
who are on the top of our nation.

You should rather say - on the surface.

Our nation is like lava cold and hard
on the surface, dry and disgusting,

yet even a century
cannot cool off the inner fire:

let us spit on the surface
and get to the core.

May the rascals be first killed by
Jesus and Mary.

And the tzar like a wild beast.
Jesus and Mary! Jesus and Mary!

Here Nowosilcow like an adder,
Jesus and Mary!

Jesus and Mary, Jesus and Mary!

As long as the tzar lives on,
Jesus and Mary, Jesus and Mary.

As long as Nowosilcow enjoys his drinks
Jesus and Mary.

I won't believe we are protected by
Jesus and Mary. Jesus and Mary!

Listen! You must not mention
these names when we drink.

I do not know what happened to my faith.

I have nothing in common with all the saints,

but I will not allow any blasphemies
against the Virgin Mary.

- Were you arrested suddenly?
- I had long heard about

some investigation in Vilnius. My house is near
the main road, I saw the covered sledges,

Every night we were frightened
by the ominous sound of trumpets.

I haven't belonged to any conspiracy yet.

I think that the government invented
this investigation for profit.

They hope that the prisoners
will pay for their freedom

- and they will be sent back home.
- You hope so?

I do, they will not exile
us to Siberia if we are innocent,

and what fault they can find
or invent with us?

You are silent.
Please, explain what is going on here?

What are we accused of?
Why the case?

Because Nowosilcow came here from Warsaw.
You must already know the Senator.

You know that he lost the Emperor's favour,

he wasted away all the profits
from his earlier crimes,

he was refused credit
and got into trouble.

So that he could rob unpunished in Lithuania,
and win back the imperial graces,

he has to make our societies
into a major conspiracy,

and give the Tzar many new victims.

- But we can prove our innocence.
- It is pointless to try to defend ourselves.

Both the investigation and the court
proceedings are secret.

No one is told what they accuse him of.

The prosecutor is also the judge. They want
to punish us, we cannot avoid punishment.

There is one way out - sad but the only one.
We must sacrifice some of us to the enemy.

They must take all the blame upon themselves.
I was the leader of your society,

it is my duty to suffer for you, friends.
Choose from among you a few more brothers,

choose orphans and singles, their loss
will be painful for few hearts in Lithuania,

and it will save the younger, more
needed ones from the enemy.

- So this has gone this far?
- Look how sad he is,

He did not realize he might
have left his home for ever.

Jacek here left his wife in labour
and he does not cry.

Should he cry? Praise the Lord.

If she gives birth to a son,
let me prophesy his future.

Give me your hand.
I am something of a palmist,

I will tell you the future
of your little infant.

If he is decent,
under the Muscovite government

he will certainly find
himself in the court and in exile;

Who knows? Maybe he will find us all still here.
I like sons, they are our future companions.

- Have you been here long?
- How can we know?

We have no calendar, nobody writes to us.

The worse part is that we
do not know how long we are to stay here.

I have wooden curtains in my window,
I cannot even tell day from night.

Ask, Tomasz, the patriarch of our misery,

he is the biggest fish,
he was caught first.

He welcomed us all here
and he will be the last to leave.

He knows about everyone,
who came, where from and when.

I would rather be under ground,
in hunger and illness,

bear beating and investigation
which is worse than clubs,

If only I were not here - in a better prison
but having you as neighbours.

Rascals! They want to put
us all to one grave.

- Is there any news from the city?
- News? No news?

Jan was interrogated today,

he was in the city for an hour, but he is sad
and silent - you can read it from his face,

he does not feel like talking.

What is the news, Jan?

Bad news. Twenty kibitkas were
dispatched to Siberia today.

- Who? Ours?
- Students from Samogitia.

To Siberia?

They did it in style!
There were lots of people.

- They were exiled!
- I saw it with my own eyes.

You saw it? Did they take
my brother away as well?

They took them all - each and every one.

I saw it.

On the way back
I begged the corporal to stop.

He allowed me to wait a moment,

I stood far away,
hidden behind columns of a church.

They were just saying mass in the church.

Many people gathered there,
suddenly they all rushed past me,

towards the prison. I stood in the door.
The church was so empty that I saw at the altar,

the priest with a chalice
and an altar boy with a bell.

The people surrounded
the prison like an immobile wall.

Two rows of armed soldiers came from
the prison gates into the square,

with drums as if during some celebrations.

In the middle of the square the kibitkas,
sledges for prisoners.

The commander arrived on horseback.

His face announces that
he is a great man and this is a major triumph.

Triumph of the emperor of the north,
victory over children.

Soon he gave a sign and the gates
of the town-hall were opened.

I saw them - each one was followed
by a guard with a bayonet.

Just boys, haggard,
with heads shorn like recruits.

They had fetters on their legs.

Poor boys!

They youngest, ten years old, poor baby,
complained that he could not carry the chain,

and he showed his feet bloody and bare.

The commander came up to him,
asked him severely - what he wanted?

He is a human being,
took a close look at the chain:

"Ten pounds, all according to the law."

They brought Janczewski,

I recognised him,

He looked thin, his face darkened
but it made him look strangely noble.

Just a year ago he was a handsome
mischievous little boy,

he looked from the kibitka
as if the Emperor from a distant rock.

His eye was dry, quiet, and steady,
he seemed to comfort his companions.

He bid farewell to the people with his smile,
bitter but kind,

as if he meant to say:
I did not hurt that much.

And then it seemed to me he met my eye.
Not knowing that the corporal held me fast,

he thought I had been set free,

he blew me a kiss,
as if to bid farewell and congratulate me.

And everybody's eyes turned towards me,
the corporal pulled me to hide myself.

I refused,

I moved closer to a column,

I watched the prisoner's figure
and movements.

He noticed that people cried
when they saw the chains,

he shook his chain
to show it was not too heavy for him.

The sledge, the kibitka moved on,
he took off his hat, stood up and spoke up,

He shouted thrice:
"Poland is not dead yet!"...

Off they went - but his hand
was raised towards the sky,

his hat black like a funeral banner,
his head shorn by the shameless power,

head that knew no shame, proud,
visible from afar,

showing to all his innocence
and his disgrace

which stood out from the black throng
of so many other heads

like the head of a dolphin
which forecasts the coming storm.

I still remember the hand and the head,

on the paths of my life
they will be like a compass,

they will show me the way towards virtue.
If I ever forget them, dear Lord in heavens,

forget about me.

- Amen to you all.
- And for me.

- And for me.
- And for me.

Konrad!

Look! He turned pale and now
he blushes. Is he unwell?

My song was already in its grave,

it was cold but it sensed the smell of blood
and it looks up from the ground again.

Like a vampire it rises hungry from the grave,
and demands blood, more and more blood.

Yes! We want revenge on our enemy,
with God or even against God!

The song says - I shall go in the evening,

first I need to bite my brothers
and compatriots.

When I bite one on the soul,
he will have to be a vampire like me.

Yes! We want revenge on our enemy,
with God or even against God!

Then we shall go,
we shall drink our enemy's blood,

we shall hack his body into pieces.

We shall nail his hands and legs to his coffin,
so that he could not come back as a vampire.

Yes! We want revenge on our enemy,
with God or even against God!

We shall have to carry his soul to hell,
we shall all sit on the soul.

And we shall squeeze
its immortality out of it,

we shall keep on biting it
as long as it can feel.

Yes! We want revenge on our enemy,
with God or even against God!

Enough, may God be with us.

The bell! Can't you hear the bell?
It's the guard at the gate!

Put out the fire
and go back to your cells!

Loneliness.

What is the use of people?
Am I a singer for the people?

Where is the man who can hear
all the thought hidden in my song,

Who will comprehend
all the radiance of its spirit?

Miserable he who tires his voice
and his tongue for the people,

The tongue belies the voice,
the voice belies the thoughts.

The thought flies swiftly
from the soul ere it break into words,

and the words engulf the thought
and they quiver over it

as the Earth over a river
that flows invisible underground.

Will people tell from the trembling
the existence of the stream,

will they guess where it flows to?

I am a master. I, the master,
I stretch my hands!

I stretch them towards the sky
and place them on the stars

as if on the crystal wheels
of a harmonica.

With a moment quick or slow
I revolve the stars with my spirit.

A million sounds streams on, in this million
I created each sound, I know of every one.

I harmonize them, divide and join into a rainbow,
I braid them into tones and stanzas.

I pour them forth in sounds
and ribbons of lightnings.

I took away my hands,

I raise them above
the boundaries of the world

and the wheels of my harmonica
stopped in their race.

I sing alone, I hear my song - long and
drawling like the blowing of a mighty wind,

it blows over oceans of humanity,
moans with grief, roars with the storm,

and centuries echo the sound.
And each sound plays and burns together,

I have it in my ear, I have it in my eye,
like the wind that rolls the waves,

I can hear its flight through the world,
I can see it dressed in a robe of clouds.

It is a song worthy of God and nature!
It is great, it is the song-creation.

Such a song is power, courage,
such a song is immortality!

I feel immortality,

I create immortality.

What more can you achieve, o God?

Look as I emit these
thoughts from myself,

I body forth my songs in words, they fly,
they scatter all over the sky,

they roll, they play and shine;
distant now, I can feel them still,

I am delighted with their beauty,
I can feel their round shapes with my hand,

I can guess their movements with my thoughts.
I love you, my prophetic children!

My thoughts! My stars!
My feelings! My gales!

I stand among you like a father
among his family. You are all mine!

I will shed my body and as a spirit
only take on plumage.

I need to fly,

I will fly out of the sphere
of planets and stars,

and reach the place where
the Creator and nature meet.

I have them,
I have these two pinions.

They will suffice - I will spread
them from east to west,

I will strike the past with the left one,
and the future with the right one,

and I will reach You
on the rays of feeling!

I will look into your feelings.

O You!

Of whom they tell that
you are the feeling in the sky.

I am here, I have arrived,
you can see my might!

My pinion reaches this far.

But I am human
and my body is left there on Earth;

I loved there,
my heart remained in my fatherland.

Yet this love of mine in the world
did not repose on one person only

like an insect on a rose bud.

It did not concentrate on a single family,
or a single century.

I love the whole nation!

I embraced all the past
and future generations.

I pressed them to my bosom,
as a friend, lover, husband, like a father.

I want to lift it, I want to make it happy,
I want the world to glorify it.

I have no way to achieve this
so I came here to find it.

I have come here armed with my thought.

The thought that stole from
the heavens your mighty lightnings,

that followed the course of
your planets, sliced open the seas.

I have more - the Power
which comes not from people.

I have the feeling which often hides
within itself like a volcano,

it smokes only sometime through words.

I did not get the power from the Tree of Eden,
from the Fruit of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Neither from books nor stories,
nor from solving riddles,

nor from searches of wizards.
I was born a creator.

My powers came from
where your powers came from.

Because you didn't
seek yours either!

This power that I have over all the creation
I want to excercise on human souls.

As I can control birds
and stars with just a gesture

I must govern my neighbours.

Not with sword - it can be fought with a sword,
not with song - they grow too slowly,

not with science - it rots too quickly,
not with miracles - they are too loud.

I want to govern with the love
I have inside me.

Govern over all as you have
for ever and secretly.

May they guess immediately what I want,
comply with my wish and it will make them happy,

or should they disobey
may they suffer and vanish.

May people be for me like thoughts and words,
from which, should I want it, songs can be built.

They say this is the way You govern!

You know I did not spoil thoughts,
I did not kill words.

If you give me an equal power over souls,

I would create my nation
as a living song and

I would devise a mightier miracle
than any of yours.

I would sing a happy song!

Give me the power over souls!

I detest so much this dead structure that people
call the world and they are used to praise

that I have never tried whether my word
would be enough to destroy it.

And yet I feel it in me that if I could squeeze
all my will, shoot it all in a concentrated light,

I would be able to put out a hundred stars
and then light up another hundred.

Because I am immortal!
In the circle of creation

there are other immortals.
I have not met higher ones.

The highest presides over heaven!

I have sought you here,

I, the highest among
those feeling on the Earth.

I have not met You yet,

I guess your existence;

Let me meet you and feel your superiority.

I want power,
give it to me or show me the way to it!

I have heard of prophets,
the rulers of souls,

and I believe but I also can do
what they could.

I want the power you possess,
I want to govern souls as You do.

You are silent!

I have seen you through,

I have understood what you are
and how you govern.

Liar! Who called you love?
You are only wisdom.

People can trace your paths with
their thoughts not their hearts.

With thought, not with heart,
they will discover your arsenals.

Only he who delved in books,
in metal, numbers, corpses,

only he succeeded in
appropriating a part of your power.

He will discover poison, gun powder, steam,
he will find lights, smokes, and noises,

he will find laws and evil faith for
the would-be wise and the uneducated.

You have given the use of the world to thoughts,
hearts must suffer eternal atonement.

You gave me the shortest life
and the stronger power to feel.

What is my feeling?
Ah, only a spark!

What is my life?
Ah, only a moment!

But what are today the thunders
that shall roar tomorrow?

Only a spark.

What is the sequence of centuries
I know from history? Only a moment.

What is the beginning of man,
of a small world? From just a spark.

What is the death that shall scatter
the wealth of my thoughts? Only a moment.

What was He when he kept
the worlds in his bosom? Only a spark.

What will be the eternity of the world
when He swallows it? Only a moment.

My soul is now incarnated in my country.

I swallowed her soul with my body.
Me and my fatherland are one.

My name is Million because for millions
I love and suffer torments.

I look at my poor fatherland,
as a son at his tortured father.

I feel the sufferings of the whole nation,

like a mother feels in her womb
the suffering of her unborn baby.

I am suffering, I am going mad - and you wisely
and joyfully always govern!

Always judge!

Always judge!

They say you never go wrong!

You are silent!

I have opened my heart completely,

I conjure You, give me power:
just a minor part thereof.

A part of what vanity
has achieved on the Earth,

with such a minute part
how much happiness I could make!

You are silent?

You do not want to give to the heart,

give to reason then. You see that I am the first
among men and crowds of angels,

that I know you better than your seraphs,

I am worthy of sharing in your power -

If I guessed wrong, answer me!

You are silent! I am not lying!

You are silent
and you trust in your strong arm.

You should know that feeling
can burn what thought cannot break.

You see this fire of love - feeling.
I gather it high to make it burn stronger,

I squeeze it into the iron cannon of my will
like a destroying cartridge.

Speak up -

or I will shoot against Your nature!
If I cannot turn it into ruins,

I will shake the whole territory
of Your states,

because I will shoot with my voice
through the whole nature.

The voice that will be heard
from generation to generation:

I will shout that you are not the father
of the world but...

Shame!

The Tzar!

The Tzar!

In the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost!

He has fainted - Konrad!
He cannot hear us.

Peace to this house,
peace unto this sinner!

By God, he is ill, look how he frowns
and tosses, this is epilepsy,

look, he bites his lips.

- Good sir, leave us alone with him.
- In Heaven's name! Do not say useless prayers.

Let's take him up and
put him to bed, Father Piotr.

Leave him here.

Here is a pillow...

Oh, I know what this is - he has had
these attacks of madness for long.

He sings for long, then talks,

but tomorrow he will be fine.
Who told you he was ill?

Hear his sobbing.

My son, you have
a loving heart here.

Leave this cell and watch that no one
comes here and hinders me until I leave.

You lift me up!

Who are you?

Watch out, you may fall down.

Give me a hand - let's fly -

I fly up like a bird -

I sense a sweet smell -
I light up there.

Who gave me a hand?

Good people and angels.

Whence comes this mercy
to seek me in this abyss?

People? I despised people
and I knew no angels.

Pray, because you've been horribly
touched by God's hand.

The lips with which you offended
the Divine Majesty,

were poisoned with terrible
words by an evil spirit.

Foolish words,
the most terrible torture for wise lips,

may they count for your atonement,
may you forget about them.

They are carved there already.

My Lord,

I am an old servant of yours,

an old sinner,
a tired servant good for nothing.

He is young,

make him a servant
of Your faith in my place,

and I will accept
all punishments for his faults.

He will improve,

he will glorify Your name.

Let us pray.

The Lord is good!
He will accept the offering.

Peace to this house,
rest for the sinner.

Servant humble and mild,
you brought peace into this house of hubris,

Peace to this house.

The Lord reveals to the smallest
what He refuses to the greatest.

Mercy! For the son of Earth,
he was among the greatest.

Mercy for the son of Earth.

He did not recognize you,
he did not praise you, our Lord!

He did not love you, he did not
call upon you, our Saviour!

Yet he respected the name
of Your Holy Mother,

he loved his nation, he loved much,
he loved many.

Peace, peace to simplicity,
to humble, quiet virtue!

Servant humble and mild,
you brought peace into the house of hubris,

Peace to this sinful orphan.

The Tyrant woke up, Herod,
my Lord, why is all the youth of Poland

delivered into the hands of Herod.

What do I see?

Long, wide road,
like Stations of the Cross.

Long roads - I cannot see
where they run among forests, snows.

They all lead to the North.
They flow like rivers into the distant land.

They flow. This one straight to an iron gate,
another flows under a rock, in the caves.

Yet another flows into the sea.

Look how a crowd of carriages
hurries along these roads,

like clouds pushed by wind,

They all fly in the same direction.
Ah, Lord! These are our children,

To the North - Oh, Lord!
Is exile to be their fate?

Will you let them all die young and
destroy our generation completely?

Look! Ha!

This child escaped - he grows -
It is our defender!

He will save the nation.

His mother is of foreign stock, his blood of
ancient heroes, and his name shall be 44.

Who is this man?
He is a governor on this Earth.

I knew him when he was a child, I did.
How his body and soul have grown!

He is blind but an angel-child leads him,
a terrible man - he has three faces.

And three foreheads...
Over his head there is a mysterious book

like a baldachin, it protects his face.
Three capital cities lie at his feet.

Three corners of the world
shake when he shouts.

And I can hear from heaven
voices like thunders.

This is the visible viceroy of liberty!
On his fame he shall raise the magnificence

of his church.

He is raised above peoples and kings.

He stands on three crowns
though he has none.

His life is the toil of toils,

his name is people of peoples;

His mother of foreign stock, his blood of
ancient heroes, and his name shall be 44.

Glory! Glory! Glory!

May the devil take it all!
What a toil!

It is after dinner,

the princess will not come today,
she has disappointed us.

Well, what else can one expect of ladies?

They are either old or stupid.

They want to talk of important matters
during meals!

I swear,

I will not have these patriots
at my table again,

with their honest speech
and their detestable tones.

Just imagine - I want to talk
about dresses, casino,

and my company
about a father or a son:

He is old, he is too young, Senator,
he is too frail for prison, Senator,

He needs his confessor,
he wants to see his wife, he...

What else?
Lovely subjects for official dinners.

I could simply go mad,

I must close the investigation,
and escape from Vilnius to my dear Warsaw.

His Majesty wrote to me "see you soon".

He is bored without me
as I am bored with these rascals -

I can't take it any more.

I was just saying, your grace,
that we have only started and at this stage,

the case is like a sick man first visited
by a doctor who seeks the diagnosis.

There are many students in prison,

so many investigations but no proof.

We have not yet discovered
the centre of this ulcer.

What have we found? Some poems!

These are minor illnesses.
They are, one can say, accidental elements,

but the heart of the plot
remains hidden, and...

What will the Senator
have us do with Rollison?

- With whom?
- The boy beaten up during interrogation.

- So?
- He is ill.

How badly was he beaten?

- I was there but no one counted the blows.
- And did he confess anything?

Almost nothing, he bit his lips, he shouted only
that he would not rat on his innocent friends.

These few words reveal a lot, we know now
that these students are his friends.

What an obstinacy!

I was just saying, your lordship,
they contaminate the youth with madness,

teaching them nonsense,
for example Ancient history!

This is the obvious cause of this madness
among the young.

Look, how he follows him everywhere,
sycophant,

trying to ingratiate himself -
what nonsense he talks!

Do we really have to talk about it?
Is it the right time?

Should we bore the Senator?

Will you see the two ladies, my lord.
They come daily in their coach.

- One is blind and the other...
- Blind? Who is she?

- Mrs Rollison.
- Mother of that Rollison.

- They come here every day.
- You should have sent them away.

With the Lord!

We do send her away but she sits
by the doorstep, we had her arrested -

it is difficult to lead a blind woman,

the mob gathered, the soldier was beaten,
Shall I let her in?

You cannot do your job properly! Let her
halfway up the stairs - do you understand?

And then help her down -
to the very bottom!

So that she would never bother us again...
What are you waiting for? Go now.

- She brought a letter.
- Who would write on her behalf?

Maybe the princess.

The princess! Why did she do it?

What an impudence!

Do send her in!

It is an old witch,
mother of that young rogue.

Welcome, welcome,
which of you is Mrs Rollison?

- It is me - my son! Good sir...
- Just a moment,

You brought me a letter but
why are there so many of you?

- Just the two of us.
- And what brings you here?

Mrs Rollison finds it difficult to
go on her own, she is blind.

She cannot see!

But she can smell, can she not?
She finds her way to my door every day.

I bring her here, she is old and
alone, and not in good health.

- Dear God!
- Be still! And who are you?

Mrs Kmita.

You should rather stay at home and look after
your sons, they are under investigation.

How come? Why? Good sir!

Good sir!

Have mercy, I am widow.
Senator!

I heard my boy was killed,
is it possible? My God!

My child!

The priest claims he is still alive
but they torture him. Good sir!

Who beats up children?

He was beaten - have mercy -
mercilessly beaten.

Who told you he was beaten?
I will not have it! Who said it?

Who told me? I have a mother's ear.
I am blind, my soul is in my ear,

Mother's soul. They led him to
the town-hall yesterday, I heard.

Was she let in?

They pushed me out of the gate
and the yard. I sat on the corner.

I listened - it was midnight,

I heard from behind the wall,
I am not fooling myself, so help me God!

I heard his voice, as if it was coming
from the centre of the Earth,

I heard him, he was tortured.

She speaks like a lunatic!
My good lady, there are many others there.

Was it not the voice of my child?
A mute ewe will tell the voice of her lamb

among the biggest flock -
what a voice it was!

Ah, good sir,
had you once heard this voice

you would never had
a quiet night in your life!

Your son must be quite fine
if he screamed so loud.

If you have a heart in your breast...

My Senator!

Oh, I am interrupting something,
we are going to sing a choir from Don Juan,

and later a concerto by Herz...

Herz!

We have just been talking about hearts,

you came in the right moment,
you are beautiful like a heart,

A sentimental moment!
It is pouring here with hearts.

If Grand Duke Michael could hear this pun,

By God, I would be already
a member of the State Council.

I will be with you presently.

Good sir, do not desert us here in despair,
I will not let you go!

Show her your mercy!

May the devil take me if
I know what this hag wants.

- I want to see my son!
- The Emperor does not allow this!

- A priest!
- A priest!

At least send a priest to him,
my son wants to see a priest.

He may be in agony - if you are not moved
by a mother's tear,

Fear the Lord, destroy
the body but not the soul.

It is strange, who spread these rumours?
Who said he wanted to see a priest?

This good priest tells me that for so
many weeks he has begged and begged

but they would not let him in.

Ask the priest yourself,
he will tell you.

He knows? Good old father.
Well, I agree - the Emperor is just,

The Emperor does not object to priests,

quite on the contrary, he sends them himself
so that they make the young return to morality,

I am a great supporter of religion myself.

This was the lack of morality
that brought the downfall of the youth.

Well, farewell to you ladies.

My dear lady! Please,
speak on my behalf! By God!

My son is still a boy - it has been
a year since he was put in prison,

a year in a cold dark prison
without garment and proper food.

- Is this possible?
- A year?

Can you imagine?
I knew nothing about it!

Listen, this case needs to be
dealt with first, if this be true,

punish those responsible.

Be calm and come back here at seven.

Do not cry, the Senator did not know
anything about your son,

when he finds out,
he may set him free.

Good bye, Mrs Kmitowa,
I will do what I can.

Stay, father,

I will have a word with you.

I will be with you presently.

Rascals, fools, idiots, you guard
the door and this is what I get?

I will have you flogged, fools,
I will teach you good service.

Follow that hag.
No, you will deal with her.

When she leaves the princess, give her permission
to see her son and lead her to prison.

And lock her up alone.
Lock her well.

This is just too much!
O rascals, I will teach you your job!

He suffers from weak lungs,
he should not be kept locked up.

I will have them open
windows in his cell,

he is kept on the third floor -
he will have some air.

Come hither, my black cherub!

Look, what a men,
he has got the air of a poet,

have you ever seen
such a malicious look?

We need to enliven him.

Have a glass of rum.

I do not drink.

Go on, drink, priest!

I am a brother.

A brother or an uncle, how do you know
what other people's children do in prison?

Did you go with the news
to that mother?

I did.

Take down his confession, they are witnesses.
And where did you learn about it?

He is a cunning fox

he noticed that you take notes and
he is not responding. Which is your order?

The observants.

So Dominicans must be your cousins?

Because this Rollison was kept
in the Dominican convent.

Tell me now, how did you know it?
Who told you?

Do you hear me?
I order you, do not mumble!

I order in the name of the Emperor,
do you hear me, friar?

Friar, have you ever heard
about the Russian bullwhip?

Take it down that
he was silent.

You serve the Lord, after all.

You know theology,
listen, theologian.

You know that all authority
comes from God.

When the authority orders you to speak,
it is not proper to be silent.

Do you know, friar, that
I can have you hanged?

Let's see if your prior
can resurrect you.

If someone suffers an authority,
do not say he listens to it.

God may give authority
in the hands of the evil spirit.

If I have you hanged and
Emperor learns about it,

That I did it illegally,
do you know what he will say?

"Oh, Senator, you have crossed the line"

But you will be just as dead, friar.

Come up to me,
I will ask you one more time.

Tell me who prattled
about the beating?

No? You are silent - you have not
learned it from God himself.

Who told you? God?
Angel? Devil?

You said it.

"You"? You dare to call me
"you"? You? A friar?

You fool! You should
say "your grace".

You must teach him matters,
he must have come here from a pigsty.

- Give him...
- You see, you ass, the Senator is angry.

Forgive him, God, for he knows not
what he has done!

Oh, brother, this advice
was the last straw,

- you will stand before God this very day.
- What is it?

He is just fooling around.

Slap him once again,
may he prophesy some more.

Brother, you followed his example.
Your days are numbered, you will follow him.

I am leaving the city at eight.

How can it be?
My watch shows twelve?

- It is five already.
- Oh, it is five? I cannot believe my eyes.

My watched stopped
at twelve exactly,

the hand is exactly on twelve.

I wish its hands would
move just a little.

Brother, your watch has also stopped
and it will not start again

until noon tomorrow.

Brother, think of your soul!

- May we come in?
- It is not proper.

My dear Senator, we have
been waiting so long!

It is true, what a shame!

So finally we came to seek you.

What guests we have here!

We can dance here,
the hall is big enough.

Please, please, forgive me.
I was very busy.

What do I see?
A perfect minuet!

It reminds me of
my younger years.

- This is just a surprise.
- And you are here, my goddess!

How I like the dance,
a surprise? By Gods!

- You will dance, I hope.
- Naturally and I will do my best.

God did not listen
to you and you despair.

You look for a knife, you try to
bang your head against the wall.

"Help me" - God offers no help
and neither can I.

My eye is strong, I will look
at you, maybe this will kill you.

No - but I will show you
the way to death with my eye.

Look, you have a window,
break the pane, jump, break a neck.

And fly with me to the depths,
into darkness - let's fall.

Abyss - this abyss is better
than this vale of tears.

There are no brothers,
mothers, nations, tyrants.

Come here.

It is no wonder they hate us,
It has been a century since

since Moscow started sending here
the worst of its rascals.

I want to stick my knife in his belly,
or slap his face.

What change will it make if you kill one scoundrel
or beat him up? What is the profit?

They seek a reason to
close down universities.

Announce that students are Jacobins
and kill all your youth.

But he will pay for the tortures,
for blood and tears.

The Emperor has many kennels,
one dog's death does not make a difference.

My knife begs for blood,
let me kill him.

I must lead you out of this room.

Will no one punish him?
Will no one take revenge?

God will!

What is it?

What sombre music!

It is so dark,
just look at the cloud.

Where are you?

When I find you I will smash your brains
like my son did against the pavement!

Tyrant! My son is dead!

They threw him out of the window.
Do you have conscience?

They threw my son out!

I will tear you to pieces,
like my little Johnny was torn.

My son! They threw him out
of the convent's window.

My son! My only child!
My supporter!

And he is alive, and there is God,
and there is Saviour!

Stop these blasphemies, good woman,
Your son is wounded but alive.

Alive? My son alive?
Who said this?

Is it true, father?
I ran there immediately,

"He fell" they shouted. I ran but
they took him away, I did not see the corpse,

but I smelled his blood, by God.

I can still smell it here,
the blood of my son,

Someone here is spattered with
my son's blood, his murderer is here!

- Our doctor?
- Killed by lightning.

A phenomenon worthy of inquiry.

There were ten lightning
conductors around his house,

and yet the lightning found
him in the very last room.

It did not destroy anything
but melted silver roubles.

This silver was in his desk,
by the doctor's head.

Probably, it acted as the conductor.

Russian roubles are,
as I see it, very dangerous.

You have spoiled our
dance, how rude!

Take her away,
help this woman.

Take her away.

- To her son?
- Wherever you want.

It is a strange thing,
I have never seen this man,

And yet I know him
like one my brothers.

Was it in a dream?
Yes, I remember now.

This very face, the eyes,
I saw him in a dream.

It was him who
lifted me from the abyss.

Please, take this ring, sell it,
give half of the money to the poor

and the other half for a mass
for the souls in Purgatory.

I know what they suffer
if Purgatory is prison.

I do not know if I they will ever
let me listen to a mass.

They will. I will give you a warning
in exchange for this ring.

You will go to a distant
unknown place.

You will be in a crowd of
great, rich and wise people.

Look for a man who
knows more than they.

You will recognize him because he will be
the first to greet you in God's name.

- Listen to his words...
- It is forbidden! You must go your way.

I want to see one ghost
who so many years ago

came after my wedding
and in the throng of ghosts

he stood pale and bloody,
he looked at me with a wild eye,

But said not a word.

He might have been alive when I asked him
and that is why he did not respond.

During the mysterious night of
the Forefathers' Eve,

to the gathering of ghosts,

it is possible to call upon
shadows of the living.

He will not come
with the ghosts.

The Forefathers' Eve
draws to a close.

You hear the third cock crowing.

You can hear songs about our fathers
and people go back to their homes.

Among the blizzard,
there are many carriages.

They are all northbound,
they drive as fast as they can.

Can you see one at the front?
The man dressed in black?

- It is him.
- He is coming here.

And yet he turned again,
looked at us only once,

Ah, once only, what an eye!

His breast was stained with blood,
there are many wounds in his breast.

He suffers terrible torments,
a thousand swords have pierced his body,

and they all reached to his soul.
Death only can cure him of his wounds.

Who pierced him with the swords?

Enemies of the nation.

He had a wound on his forehead.

One only and a small one at that,
it seemed just a black drop.

This one hurts the most,
I saw it, I examined it.

He made the wound himself,
even death cannot cure it.

Everyone who knows well
the events of the time

will believe the present author
that historical scenes

and characters of people involved
were presented objectively.

There is nothing added and
nothing is exaggerated.

Why would he add
or exaggerate anything?

In order to strengthen his compatriots'
hatred towards the enemy

or to stir up the feeling
of mercy in Europe?

What are all these cruelties
in comparison with

what the Polish nation suffers
at this very moment

and what Europe
watches indifferently?

The author intended only to give
the Polish nation a true souvenir

from the Lithuanian history
several years ago.

There was no need to distort the image of
the enemy in the eyes of his compatriots

who had known them for centuries.

As far as the merciful European nations
that cried over Poland,

as the weak women of
Jerusalem did over Christ,

our nation shall only speak to them
in the words of the Saviour:

"Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not
for me, but weep for yourselves".