Man of La Mancha Page #7

life as it is.

Pain...

misery...

cruelty beyond belief.

I've heard all the voices

of God's noblest creature.

Moans from bundles of filth

in the street.

I've been a soldier and a slave.

I've seen my comrades

fall in battle...

or die more slowly

under the lash in Africa.

I've held them

at the last moment.

These were men

who saw life as it is.

Yet they died despairing.

No glory, no brave last words.

Only their eyes,

filled with confusion...

questioning why.

I do not think they were

asking why they were dying...

but why they had ever lived.

When life itself seems lunatic,

who knows where madness lies?

Perhaps to be too practical

is madness.

To surrender dreams,

this may be madness.

To seek treasure

where there is only trash...

too much sanity may be madness!

And maddest of all...

to see life as it is

and not as it should be!

I am I, Don Quixote

The Lord of La Mancha

Destroyer of evil am I

I will march to the sound

Of the trumpets of glory

Forever to conquer or die

I don't understand.

Don't understand what,

my friend?

Why you're so cheerful.

First you find your lady,

then you lose her.

Never lost.

Well, she ran off

with those muleteers.

Doubtless for some high purpose.

High purpose

with those low characters?

Sancho, always thine eye sees

evil in preference to good.

My eye did not make this world.

It only sees it.

Right, and furthermore,

I think you should call a truce.

What, and allow wickedness

to flourish?

I've noticed wickedness

wears pretty thick armor.

And for that

would you have me cease?

Nay, let a man be struck down

a thousand times!

- Still must he rise and...

- Do battle, yes.

Lies, lies, lies!

Madness and lies!

Lies, lies, lies!

Madness and lies!

They shall be punished,

who did this crime.

Crime?

You know the worst crime

of all? Being born.

For that you get punished

your whole life.

- Dulcinea.

- Enough of that!

Get yourself to a madhouse!

Rave about nobility

where no one can hear.

- Milady.

- I'm not your lady!

I'm not any kind of a lady.

For a lady

has modest and maidenly airs

And a virtue a blind man

could see that I lack

It's hard to develop

These maidenly airs

In a stable,

laid flat on your back

Won't you look at me,

look at me

God, won't you look at me?

Look at the kitchen slut

Reeking of sweat

Born on a dung heap

To die on a dung heap

A strumpet men use and forget

If you feel that you see me

Not quite at my virginal best

Cross my palm with a coin

And I'll willingly

show you the rest

Never deny

that you are Dulcinea.

Take the clouds from your eyes

and see me as I really am!

You have shown me the sky

But what good is the sky

To a creature who'll never

do better than crawl?

Of all the cruel bastards

Who've badgered and battered me

You are the cruelest of all

Can't you see what your gentle

insanities do to me?

Rob me of anger

and give me despair

Blows and abuse I can take

And give back again

Tenderness I cannot bear

So please torture me now

With your sweet Dulcineas

no more

I am no one, I am nothing

I'm only Aldonza the whore

Now and forever

you are milady, Dulcinea.

No!

Master.

Master!

Is this

Don Quixote de La Mancha?

If it is, and he is not afraid

to look upon me...

let him stand forth.

I am Don Quixote...

Knight

of the Woeful Countenance.

Then hear me, thou charlatan.

Thou art no knight,

but a foolish pretender.

Thy pretense

is a child's mockery...

and thy principles

dirt beneath my feet.

False, graceless knight...

before I chastise thee,

tell me thy name.

Thou shalt hear it

in due course.

And why seekest thou me?

Thou called upon me,

Don Quixote.

Thou reviled me

and threatened me.

The Enchanter.

Behold at thy feet

the gauge of battle.

On what terms do we fight?

Choose.

Very well. If thou art beaten,

thy freedom is forfeit...

and thou must obey

my every command.

And thy conditions?

If thou livest...

thou shalt kneel and beg

forgiveness of milady, Dulcinea.

Ha!

Thy lady is an alley cat.

- Monster! Defend thyself!

- Halt.

Thou asked my name, Don Quixote.

Now I shall tell it.

I am called

the Knight of the Mirrors.

Look, Don Quixote.

Look in the mirror of reality...

and behold things

as they truly are.

Look, Don Quixote.

Look in the mirror of reality.

Look!

What seest thou, Don Quixote?

A gallant knight?

Naught but an aging fool.

Look, dost thou see him?

A madman

dressed for a masquerade.

A masquerade!

Look, Don Quixote.

See him as he truly is.

See the clown.

Look, what seest thou,

Don Quixote?

Look! Dost thou see him?

A madman! Look, Don Quixote!

See him as he truly is.

Look, Don Quixote.

Drown, Don Quixote.

Drown in the mirror.

Drown, Don Quixote.

Drown in the mirror.

Go deep. Deep. Deep.

Deep. Go deep. Deep.

The masquerade is ended.

Confess!

Thy lady is a trollop...

and thy dream the nightmare

of a disordered mind.

It is done.

Your Grace, it is Dr. Carrasco.

It is only Sanson Carrasco.

Forgive me, Seor Quijana.

It was the only way.

Don Miguel de Cervantes?

Who calls?

Don Miguel.

Cervantes! Cervantes!

Don Miguel de Cervantes!

Don Miguel de Cervantes!

Prepare to be summoned.

Summoned? By whom?

The judges of the Inquisition.

Captain? How long?

Soon.

But not yet. Good.

You'll just have time

to finish your story.

The story is finished.

Of course.

Quite the proper ending.

No, no, no!

I don't like this ending!

And I don't think

the jury likes it, either.

Well, then. He's failed.

Ah, Don Miguel de Cervantes.

The court

hereby sentences you...

- Wait!

- What for?

- Time. I need time.

- I'll grant you that.

But, uh, what about

the Inquisition?

A few moments only.

I'll improvise an ending.

A farmhouse

on the plains of La Mancha.

Candle.

A room in that house.

When a man who once called

himself Don Quixote...

lies in the shadows

between living and dying.

Can you do nothing?

I'm afraid there will be no

need of my services as a doctor.

Where is he, I wonder?

In what dark cavern

of the mind?

- According to recent theory...

- Oh, Doctor, please.

Don't you think I did right?

There's the contradiction.

You again!

- Tell him to go away.

- What harm can he do?

It's all been done.

Your reverence?

Could I talk to him?

I'm afraid

he won't be able to hear you.

Well, then, I won't say much.

No mention of knight-errantry.

Oh, no. One does not speak

of the rope...

in the house of the hanged.

Proverb. Excuse me, Your Grace.

- Your Grace?

- Just a few words.

Little ones...

to lighten his heart.

A little gossip

A little chat

A little idle talk

of this and that

I'll tell him

all the troubles I have had

And since he doesn't hear

At least he won't feel bad

Shh, shh.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Oh, what a time

I've been having...

since I got back, Your Grace.

You know my wife Teresa,

how strong she is...

muscles like a bull.

Well, she beat me.

She hit me with everything

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes