Original subtitles

Thank God, we arrived.

Speak Italian.

Sorry. We've arrived.

I stopped far away so we could go for a walk.

It's a marvelous painting.

I cried the first time I saw it.

This light reminds me of the autumn in Moscow in Neskuchny Garden.

- Come on. - I don't want to.

I'll go ahead and wait for you inside.

I don't want to. I already told you.

I am fed up with all your beauties.

I don't want to take it alone anymore. All this beauty of yours...

I can't take it anymore. That's it.

Do you want a baby too?

Or are you asking God to spare you?

I'm here just to have a look.

Unfortunately, if there are any casual onlookers

who aren't supplicants,

then nothing happens.

What is supposed to happen?

Whatever you like, whatever you need most.

But you should at least kneel down.

- I can't. - Look at them.

They're used to it.

- They have faith. - Probably.

Can I ask you something?

Why do you think...

it's only the women who pray so much?

- You're asking me? - You see so many women here.

I'm only the sacristan. I don't know these things.

But you must wonder why women are more devout than men.

You should know better than I.

Because I'm a woman?

No, I've never understood these things.

I'm a simple man.

But I think...

a woman is meant to have children...

to raise them...

with patience...

and self-sacrifice.

That's all she's meant for?

- I don't know. - Thank you.

You've been a great help.

You asked what I thought.

I know... you want to be happy.

There are more important things.

Wait.

Mother of all mothers, who knows the pain of being a mother.

Mother of all mothers, who knows the joy of being a mother.

Mother of all children, who knows the joy of having a child.

Mother of all children, who knows the pain of not having a child.

Mother who understands all, help your daughter to become a mother.

I just don't understand you.

You go on and on about the Madonna of Childbirth.

We drove halfway across Italy in the fog.

And you didn't even go in there to see her.

What are you reading?

Arseny Tarkovsky's poems.

- In Russian? - No, it's a translation.

Quite a good one.

- Throw it away. - Why?

The translator's a Very good poet.

Poetry is untranslatable, like the whole of art.

You may be right that poetry is untranslatable.

But music? Music for example...

What is it? What do you mean?

It's a Russian song.

You're right, but how could we have got to know Tolstoy, Pushkin...

and so understand Russia?

You don't understand anything about Russia.

Nor you Italy then.

If Dante, Petrarch and Machiavelli are useless.

Sure. It's impossible for us poor devils.

How can we get to know each other?

By abolishing the frontiers.

Which?

Between states.

Good morning.

You know a maid in Milan set fire to the house?

- Which house? - Her employers' house.

- Why? - She was homesick.

She missed her home and family down South.

So she burned the thing that stopped her going back.

Why did your musician, Sosnovsky,

go back to Russia if he knew he'd be a slave again?

Why won't you confide in me? I don't understand.

Read this. You'll understand.

What is it?

The letter from the Bologna Conservatory?

I wanted to ask you,

was Sosnovsky successful when he returned to Russia?

Was he happy?

He started drinking and then...

- He committed suicide? - Exactly.

Here I am! I'm sorry, l was asleep.

- Do you have any identification? - Yes.

Here it is.

I'll go and get the keys.

Those aren't the other hotel keys, I hope?

No, they're to my house.

Here's your key.

This way. Please.

It's our best room.

Good night, Andrei.

Come with me. Your room is upstairs.

It's nice here.

It's still night, but the countryside's pretty too.

There's the river, the mushrooms.

People keep coming back, they often fall in love here.

- You and your boyfriend will like it. - He's not my boyfriend.

Go on, he's sad because he's in love.

No, I think his mind's on other things.

THE HOLY BIBLE

- Did you knock? - I hadn't yet.

Shall I ask to call Moscow?

You haven't talked to your wife for two days.

No, thanks.

One, two, three. Go!

Andrei.

Andrei, get up! We'll be eating in half an hour.

I'll be downstairs. It's lovely here.

- St. Catherine used to come too. - I'm coming.

Excuse me, Miss. What does this Russian do?

- He's a poet. - Is he writing about Italy?

He's writing the biography of a Russian musician.

- Zoe! - And how come he is here?

This musician studied in Bologna and came to these baths.

- When? - At the end of the 1,700s.

- Was it Tchaikovsky? - No, his name was Sosnovsky.

- Wait. - Didn't he marry a local woman?

No, he was in love with a Russian slave and died for her.

What's the hurry?

- Does your poet like Italy? - Too much so.

But... I don't know.

General, what's this strange music we keep hearing day in and day out?

Wonderful music. Beats Verdi anytime.

Hands off Verdi. This is Chinese stuff.

A different civilization with no sentimental wails.

Voice of God, of nature.

Pretend they're not there.

Just go on your way.

It's gotten into my mouth. Move slowly.

- What does it taste like? - It's a liquid sulfur.

- So it's good for the skin. - Disgusting!

I'm fine. I'm falling asleep.

In the '60s a drowned body was found here.

Don't talk about it, otherwise l get scared.

In the war I've seen thousands of dead soldiers.

Now listen, it's never too late to learn

whatever happens, don't interfere.

Have you heard their talk, what they're interested in?

You've got to be different.

You know why they're in the water?

They want to live forever.

Look who's here!

Look at them!

My cigar's gone out. Hand me the lighter, please?

General!

Why do they make fun of him?

A few years ago, he shut himself up in the house with his family

to wait for the end of the world.

They stayed in for seven years.

A religious fit, they say.

Nonsense. It was jealousy.

He was always jealous of his wife.

Later she ran off with the children to Genoa.

Jealous my foot, he's nuts.

It's obvious.

That's not it, he was just scared.

- Scared of what? - Everything.

You're wrong, he's a man of great faith.

And how, he kept his family locked up for seven years.

I was there when they broke down the door.

His kid shot out like a rat and he chased after him.

We thought he wanted to kill him. What faith!

Here's the Russian poet.

Miss, I don't smoke, but could l have a cigarette?

Of course, as you don't smoke.

- It's gone out. - So it has.

Thank you.

Never forget what he said to her.

He who?

And her?

Saint Catherine!

So what did God say to St. Catherine?

"You are she who is not,

but I am he who is."

Did you hear that?

Bravo, Domenico!

Did he speak to St. Catherine himself?

Be careful. He's not stupid.

Of course not. Domenico has a degree.

In what?

I don't understand "Faith." What is it?

Your Italian isn't so good, uh?

It was better when you first came.

What does "faith" mean?

In Russian it's "vera."

Why do they say he's mad?

He's not mad. He has faith.

There are lots of these lunatics at large in Italy.

Asylums have been closed down but the families won't have them.

And many must withdraw from others.

We don't know what madness is.

They're troublesome, inconvenient

we refuse to understand them.

They're alone.

But they're certainly closer to the truth.

He has another fixation now.

What?

He gets into the pool with a lighted candle. Nobody knows why.

Everyone's afraid he wants to drown himself

so they throw him out and save him.

I don't believe it.

Ask them.

Can we ask him to have lunch with us?

- When? - Now.

Now, you don't know what time it is.

- What time is it? - It's 7:00 in the morning.

In the morning?

Does that man with the wet shoes come often?

- Who? Domenico? - Yes.

So this is what it's all about.

It depends. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't.

- Where does he live? - Up above Bagno Vignoni.

In the square, near the church.

What's so funny?

Andrei!

- Stop. - Why?

You're prettier...

in this light.

Redhead, redhead.

You think so?

I'm beginning to understand.

What?

Why do you think he locked up his family for seven years?

How should I know?

There he is.

- Good-bye. - Thank you.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

Good morning.

I've brought a famous Russian writer.

My life is normal, there's nothing interesting about it.

It's true, but we hear you had a lovely experience.

I read about it too, in the papers.

Tell him about it.

It's not worth it.

Maybe not, but this gentleman has come from Moscow.

For me?

He's come a long way.

- What did he say? - He doesn't feel like talking.

- Let's go. - What?

Try again, it's very important.

Excuse me?

- Stop for a minute. - Go!

Look at that!

Where are you going? What's wrong?

Have you offended him?

You've offended me!

He's crazy. It's not up to me whether he talks or not.

I'm sorry, but I'm going.

If you care so much, try.

You know a bit of Italian.

If you don't like the way I work, say so.

But believe me, not only am I a good translator,

but I even improve on the original.

I'm going back to Rome. Our trip's over.

All right.

Excuse me.

I think I know why you do that.

What?

The bicycle?

Before, with your family.

I'm tired.

Where are you?

Come in!

Did you hear that? It's Beethoven.

One drop plus one drop

makes a bigger drop, not two.

- May I? - Smoke.

When I don't know what to say I ask for a cigarette too.

But I never learned to smoke.

It's too hard.

You have to learn to not smoke,

to do important things.

Such as?

Some wine?

We need bigger ideas.

What?

I was selfish before.

I wanted to save my family.

Everyone must be saved, the whole world.

How?

It's simple.

You see the candle?

All right.

Why do you say "all right"?

Wait...

You're confusing me.

You need to cross the water with the lighted candle.

- Which water? - The hot water.

St. Catherine's pool, by the hotel,

the steaming water.

All right, when?

Now...

I can't do it.

I don't want...

When I light the candle

and get into the water,

they pull me out.

They kick me out.

And they shout, "You're crazy!"

Get it?

- All right. - All right?

It's all wrong!

Help me.

- Help me. - All right, but...

Of course.

Where's the Russian who's going to Bagno Vignoni?

The taxi's here.

It's late.

I must go.

Thank you.

Why me, of all people?

- You've children? - Two, a girl and a boy.

And your wife? Is she pretty?

You know the Madonna of Childbirth?

By Piero della Francesca.

She's like that but all black.

Go with the candle.

We're planning something big in Rome.

Zoe!

Where are you?

Zoe, answer me!

Zoe, you know I'm scared of being alone.

I know what you're thinking, but that's enough now.

It's wrong to keep thinking the same thing.

What do you want?

Dad.

Is this the end of the world?

Good morning. Are we going?

Stand back!

They're letting them out! I knew they were in there.

I used to listen in secret.

The water had run out in my bathroom. I hope you won't kill me.

- I thought you'd left. - No, I'm still here.

- Good. - You don't look pleased.

Look.

Look what he gave me.

- Who? - Domenico!

Why are you afraid of everything?

Full of complexes.

You're not free.

You all seem to want freedom, you talk about freedom...

but when you get it you don't know what to do with it...

or what it is.

That's enough, that's enough.

I know! It must be this country, the air one breathes here.

Because in Moscow I met some wonderful men.

What are you all after?

These? Here!

But not you.

You're a kind of saint.

You're interested in Madonnas.

No! You're different.

One "intellectual" tried to keep me locked up.

Can't I ever meet the right man?

I don't mean you, you're the worst.

But I swear I'll find my kind of man.

And I have, he's waiting for me in Rome.

You dress badly too.

And you're boring.

Do you know what a boring man is? I'll tell you.

You're the kind I'd sleep with rather than explain why l don't feel like it.

What are you saying, Eugenia?

Don't you see?

I found myself in a most embarrassing position.

I've had enough!

I can't take any more!

I'd like to sleep for 10 days

and wipe you out.

Maybe there's nothing to wipe out because you don't exist.

It's my problem.

I know why I like idiots. I mean...

Men with no charm, because...

I might look young, but I know all about charm.

Go, go, please.

You know...

when I met you, that same night...

I dreamt that a soft worm with lots of legs...

fell on my head.

It stung me. It was poisonous.

I kept shaking my head

until it fell off.

I tried to squash it...

before it reached the wardrobe but it was no good, because...

because I kept just missing it.

I just couldn't... squash it.

Since that night...

I keep touching my hair.

Thank God there's been nothing between us!

Just the thought makes me sick!

She's insane.

Run back to your wife! Though you nearly betrayed her!

You're a pig, like everyone else. Even worse...

Anything else?

Hypocrite!

We're going to listen to some music.

- What's going on? - Nothing, nothing.

Oh, God! Now the General and his Chinese music!

But you won't drive me away!

Dear Pyotr Nikolayevich,

I've been in Italy 2 years,

very important ones,

both for my profession as a musician and for my everyday life.

Last night I had a bad dream,

I had to stage an opera in the theater of My Lord the Count.

The first act was set in a park full of statues,

but they were naked men painted in white, forced to stand motionless.

And I was a statue too.

I knew I would be harshly punished if I moved

because our lord and master was watching us.

I could feel the cold rising from my marble pedestal...

as the autumn leaves settled on my upraised arm.

Yet I stood still.

But when, exhausted, I sensed I could resist no longer,

I awoke.

I was afraid.

For I knew it had been no dream, but my reality.

I could try not to return to Russia, but the thought kills me.

Because I would die if I never again saw my homeland...

the birches, the air of my childhood...

An affectionate greeting from your abandoned friend,

Pavel Sosnovsky.

Maria.

Andrei!

As a child I fell ill from hunger and fear.

I tear shreds of skin from my lips.

In my memory I lick traces of salt, of freshness.

And still I walk.

I sit on a doorstep, looking for warmth.

I stagger deliriously as to the piper's tune.

I was hot, I opened my collar and I lay down.

The trumpets sounded. A light pierced my eyelids.

High above the pavement mother flies, beckons with her hand...

and flies away.

Now beneath the apple trees, I dream of a white hospital.

As a child I fell ill.

I must go and see Dad.

I have a jacket in the wardrobe. It's been there three years.

I'll wear it again when I'm home in Moscow.

I never go anywhere, I never see anyone.

What are you doing here?

Don't be afraid.

Don't be afraid of me. It's I who should be afraid of you.

You could shoot me.

You know, everyone shoots in Italy.

And there are too many Italian shoes.

Dreadful!

Everyone buys them. Why?

These are 10 years old.

It's not important.

All right.

You know the great love stories, the classics. No kissing.

No kissing. Nothing at all.

Very pure.

Hence great.

Feelings unspoken are unforgettable.

Here it's like in Russia.

I don't know why.

You know...

I don't speak Italian well.

Here's a story.

A man saves another who was sinking into a slimy pond...

thereby risking his own life.

Now they are both lying on the edge of the pond

out of breath, exhausted.

The rescued man says, "Idiot.

Why did you do that? I live in there!"

I live in there.

He took great offense.

- What's your name? - Angela.

Angela, good girl.

Are you happy?

About what?

About life.

About life, yes.

Good girl.

Sight grows dim,

my strength is two occult, adamantine darts.

Hearing weavers for my father's house breathes distant thunder.

The tissues of hard muscles weaken

like hoary oxen at the plow

and no longer when night falls do two wings gleam behind me.

During the party, like a candle I wasted away.

Gather up at dawn my melted wax

and read in it whom to mourn, what to be proud of.

How, by donating the last portion of joy

to die lightly and in the shelter of a makeshift roof

to light up posthumously, like a word.

Why must I think of this?

I have enough worries.

My God, why did I do it?

They're my children, my family, my own flesh and blood.

How could I?

Years without seeing the sun, fearing the light of day.

Why?

Why this tragedy?

Lord, do you see how he's asking?

Say something to him.

But what would happen if He heard my voice?

Let Him feel your presence.

I always do, but He's not aware of it.

I'll bring the car around in 10 minutes.

Mr. Gorchakov, phone call for you.

- For me? - Yes.

Please, wait a minute.

- In the lobby. - Thank you.

Hello?

It's Eugenia.

- How are you? - Fine.

- Guess why I called? - Maybe because...

No, no...

Your Domenico is here, the lunatic from Bagno Vignoni.

Sorry, I know he's not mad. It was so you'd understand.

He's here in Rome for a demonstration.

They do weird things.

He's been making speeches for three days.

Like Fidel Castro.

- Come and say good-bye to him. - I'm leaving.

- When? - Immediately.

Domenico asked me about you.

He keeps asking if you've done what you were supposed to do.

Of course.

I'll tell him right away, he's been waiting for this news.

Thank you.

I'm glad we could say good-bye.

I'm leaving too, you know? I'm going away with Vittorio.

We haven't decided yet, but we'll probably go to India.

Vittorio's my man,

he's interested in spiritual issues.

He's from a distinguished family in Orvieto.

Good, Eugenia, I wish you all the best.

Same to you. Say hello to Moscow for me.

How's your health?

How's your heart?

I don't know, I've reached the limit.

I'm bored.

I want to go home.

Good-bye, Vittorio.

I'm going to buy some cigarettes.

I want to change my ticket. I'm leaving in two days' time.

- What's happened? - Nothing.

Can you drive me to Bagno Vignoni?

- When? - Now.

- Yes, but we'll have to advise — - Right.

- I wait, right? - Right.

I had a feeling you wouldn't leave today.

What ancestor speaks in me?

I can't live simultaneously

in my head and in my body.

That's why I can't be just one person.

I'm capable of feeling an infinite number of things at the same time.

There are no great masters left. That's the real evil of our time.

The heart's path is covered in shadow.

We must listen to the voices that seem useless.

In brains full of long sewage pipes

of school wall, tarmac and welfare papers

the buzzing of insects must enter.

We must fill the eyes and ears of all of us

with things that are the beginning of a great dream.

Someone must shout that we'll build the pyramids.

It doesn't matter if we don't.

We must fuel that wish...

and stretch the corners of the soul,

like an endless sheet.

If you want the world to go forward...

we must hold hands...

We must mix the so-called healthy with the so-called sick.

You healthy ones! What does your health mean?

The eyes of all mankind are looking at the pit

into which we are plunging.

Freedom is useless

if you don't have the courage to look us in the eye,

to eat, drink, and sleep with us.

It's the so-called healthy

who have brought the world to the verge of ruin.

Man, listen!

In you, water, fire and then ashes.

WE'RE NOT CRAZY WE'RE SERIOUS

And the bones in the ashes.

The bones and the ashes.

Wait for me in the car.

Hello.

Where am I when I'm not in reality or in my imagination?

Here's my new pact with the world:

it must be sunny at night and snowy in August.

Great things end, small things endure.

Society must become united again, instead of so disjointed.

Just look at nature and you'll see that life is simple.

We must go back to where we were,

to the point where you took the wrong turn.

We must go back to the main foundations of life...

without dirtying the water.

What kind of world is this,

if a madman tells you...

you must be ashamed of yourselves!

Music now.

- Music! - Music!

I forgot this.

Oh, mother!

The air is that light thing...

that moves around your head

and becomes clearer when you laugh.

The music doesn't work!

TOMORROW IS THE END OF THE WORLD

To the memory of my mother.