Original subtitles

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".