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Man of La Mancha (1972) CD1

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By edict of the Inquisition...
to spread subversive thought|is heresy.
By edict of the Inquisition...
offenders will submit|to purification...
by sword or flame.
By edict of the Holy Office|of the Inquisition...
to read or interpret|the Bible...
is a sole province|of the Church.
You must by no means|prevail with yourself...
that these giants|you speak of...
were ever real men|of this world...
and true substantial|flesh and blood.
Confess!|What you say of all of them...
is fable and fiction,|lies and dreams.
The Holy Bible...
which cannot deviate|an atom from the truth...
tells us of|that huge Philistine Goliath...
who was fourteen and a half|feet high...
which is an prodigious stature.
You blaspheme|by quoting the Holy Bible...
for your purposes.
The interpretation|of holy writ...
is the sacred function|of the Friars.
We cannot all be Friars.
And there are many ways|God leads his children home.
Religion is knight-errantry.
Miguel de Cervantes.
Truth is only revealed...
or dreamt.
Miguel de Cervantes...
in the name of the Holy Office|of the Inquisition...
you are under arrest.
Anything wrong|with the accommodations?
Oh, no, no, no.
They're quite... interesting.
This is what|we've come to regard...
as the common room.
For those who wait.
Do they wait long?
An hour...
a lifetime.
Who knows?
Do they all await|the Inquisitions?
Ah, no, señor.|Not all of them.
Most of these...
are merely|thieves and murderers.
Oh.
If you want anything,|just shout.
If you are able.
What did he mean by that?
He meant to frighten us.
I think they intend us to stay.
You think? God!
Calm yourself.
There's a remedy|for everything but death.
That may be|just the remedy we need.
Good day, gentlemen, ladies.
I regret being thrust upon you|in this manner.
I hope you'll not find|our company objectionable.
I'm no stranger|to similar surroundings.
I've been in prison|more than once.
- Many times.|- Many times.
And often I have thought|the world to be a prison...
a very cruel one...
where all have desires...
few of which are fulfilled.
But how thoughtless of me to...
Enough! Enough!
Noise, trouble, fights.
Kill each other if you must...
but for God's sake,|do it quietly.
Who are you?
Huh? Speak up!
Cervantes.
Don Miguel de Cervantes.
Oh, a gentleman!
Doesn't prevent me|from going to bed hungry.
And that?
My assistant.
May I have the honor?
They call me the Governor.
- What's your game?|- Game?
Your speciality, man.
Cutpurse? Highwayman?
Nothing so rewarding.|I'm a poet.
They're putting people|in prison for that?
No, no, no, not for that.
Too bad.
Might I meet this gentleman?
Your name, sir?
Names have no meaning here.|I'm called the Duke.
And your speciality?
Treason.
I invent false information|about a country...
and sell it to others|stupid enough to believe it.
Seems a sound proposition.|What brought you here?
A lapse of judgment.|I told the truth.
- Did you like your job?|- Quite.
Do you like yourself?
I believe I could learn|to dislike you.
Well, now,|let's get on with the trial.
Trial? What trial?
Yours, of course.
And what have I done?
We'll soon find something.
But we don't understand.
We've only been here|a few hours.
My dear sir, no one enters|or leaves this prison...
without being tried|by his fellow prisoners.
And if I'm found guilty?
- You will be.|- The sentence?
We generally fine a prisoner|all his possessions.
All of them?
It's not practical to take more.
But these things|are my livelihood.
I thought you said|you were a poet.
Of the theater.
Of the theater.
- You see?|- What?
Come here. Come here.
Oh!
False.
Properties and costumes.
You see, I'm a playwright|and an actor.
So these poor things...
couldn't possibly be|of any use to you.
Oh, no, wait!
You'll break it!
Take them! Take them!
Oh, no, Don Miguel!
No. Take them, I say.
Only leave me this.
Heavy. Valuable?
Only to me.
I'll let you ransom it.
I have no money.
How unfortunate.
Paper!
Manuscript.
Still worthless!
No! Wait!
You said a trial!
By your own words,|I demand a trial!
Oh, very well, then.
I hereby declare this court|to be in session.
Now, then,|what are you here for?
We are to appear|before the Inquisition.
Heresy?
No, not exactly.
You see, we were presenting|an entertainment.
An entertainment?
How does an entertainment|get into trouble...
with the Inquisition?
Perhaps they found|an entertainment...
is not always what it seems.
Why are you here?
Somebody has|to stage-manage the stage.
These two have empty holes|in their heads.
Governor, if you don't mind...
I should like|to prosecute this case.
You, sir? Why, sir?
Poets...
spinning nonsense|out of nothing.
Blurring men's eyes to reality.
Exactly!
Reality!
A stone prison crushing|the human spirit.
Poetry demands imagination.
And with imagination,|you may discover a dream.
The trial! On with the trial!
Miguel de Cervantes,|I charge you...
with being an idealist,|a bad poet...
and an honest man.|How plead you?
Guilty.
Bravo!
Your Excellency...
ladies and gentlemen,|my defense.
But you just pleaded guilty.
Had I said innocent,
you would surely|have found me guilty.
Since I've admitted guilt...
the court is obliged|to hear me out.
For what purpose?
The jury may|choose to be lenient.
Clever!
He's trying to gain time.
Do you have a scarcity of time?
Any urgent appointments?
It is true I am guilty|of these charges.
An idealist!
I've never had the courage|to believe in nothing.
A bad poet?
This comes from a painful ear.
Have you finished your defense?
No, no, scarcely begun.
With your permission,|I will continue...
in the manner I know best.
In the form of a charade.
Charade?
An entertainment, if you will.
An entertainment?
At worst,|it may beguile the time.
And since my cast|of characters is large...
I call upon you all|to enter in...
and play whatever role|may suit your fancy.
Governor,|I shall like to protest.
No!
Let's hear him out.
If you've no objection...
and with|your kind permission...
may I set the stage?
Proceed!
I will impersonate a man.
His name... Alonso Quijana.
A country gentleman,|no longer young.
Being retired,|he has much time for books.
He studies them|from morn till night...
and often through the night|till morn again.
And all he reads|oppresses him...
fills him with indignation...
at man's murderous ways|towards man.
He ponders the problem...|how to make better a world...
where evil brings profit|and virtue none at all.
Where fraud,|deceit, and malice...
are mingled|with truth and sincerity.
He broods and broods|and broods and broods...
and broods and finally|his brains dry up.
He lays down the melancholy|burden of sanity...
and conceives the strangest|project ever imagined...
to become a knight-errant,|and sally forth...
to roam the world|in search of adventures...
to right all wrongs,|to mount a crusade...
to raise up the weak|and those in need.
He persuades his neighbor,|one Sancho Panza...
a country laborer|and an honest man...
if the poorer|may be called honest...
and he was poor, indeed,|to become his squire.
He selects an ancient|cart horse called Rosinante...
to become his steed...
and the safeguard|of his master's will.
These preparations made,|he seizes his lance.
No longer will he be|plain Alonso Quijana...
but a dauntless knight...
known as|Don Quixote de La Mancha!
Hear me now
Oh, thou bleak|and unbearable world
Thou art base|and debauched as can be
And the knight with his banners|all bravely unfurled
Now hurls down|his gauntlet to thee
I am I, Don Quixote
The Lord of La Mancha
My destiny calls and I go
And the wild winds of fortune
Will carry me onward
Whithersoever they blow
Whithersoever they blow
Onward to glory I go
I'm Sancho
Yes, I'm Sancho
I'll follow my master|till the end
I'll tell all the world proudly
I'm his squire
I'm his friend
Hear me,|heathens and wizards
And serpents of sin
All your dastardly doings|are past
For a holy endeavor|is now to begin
And virtue shall triumph at last
- I am I, Don Quixote|- I am Sancho
- The Lord of La Mancha|- Yes, I am Sancho
- My destiny calls and I go|- Follow my master till the end
- And the wild winds of fortune|- I'll tell all the world
- Will carry me onward|- Proudly I'm his squire
- Whithersoever they blow|- I'm his friend
Whithersoever they blow
Onward to glory I go
Well, Sancho,|likest thou adventuring?
It's marvelous, Your Grace,|but it is peculiar.
This great road to glory...
Iooks exactly like|the road to El Diboso...
where you can buy|chickens cheap.
'Tis a sign thou art little|acquainted with adventuring.
Only wait, and thou shalt see|amazing sights.
Like what?
There will be|knights and nations...
warlocks and wizards.
A cavalcade|of vast, unending armies.
They sound dangerous.
They are dangerous.
But one there will be|the most dangerous of all.
- Who?|- The Great Enchanter.
- The Great Enchanter?|- Yes. Beware him, Sancho.
His thoughts are cold,|his soul shriveled...
his eyes|are little machines...
and where he walks,|the earth is blighted.
One day, I will meet him|face to face.
Well, I wouldn't get upset,|Your Grace.
As I always say...
have patience|and shuffle the cards.
- Proverb?|- Yes, Your Grace.
Proverb piled on proverb,|you never cease.
No, Your Grace,|I've got a belly full of them.
- As I always say...|- Sweet Jesu!
- Do you see him?|- Who?
The Great Enchanter!
- Dost thou not see?|- What?
The monstrous giant|of infamous repute!
Whom I intend to encounter.
- It's a windmill.|- A giant.
A windmill.
A giant!|Canst thou not see...
the four great arms|a-whirling at his back?
A giant?
Exactly.|How long since we sallied forth?
About two minutes.
So soon will I engage|in brave, unequaled combat.
Hold there, foul monster!
Cease the knocking|of thy craven knees...
and prepare to do battle!
I swear, Your Grace...
by my wife's|little black mustache...
- that is not...|- Charge!
Your Grace, wait!
Surrender!
Vile coward!
Surrender!
Surrender! Have at you!
Surrender, coward!
Vile creature,|do not seek to bleat!
Hold on!
Hold on, Master!
Yield!|I'll show thee no mercy!
- Vile creature!|- Hold on!
Surrender, I tell thee!
Fall to thy knees and beg mercy!
Or I'll rob thee|of thy very life!
Thou art vanquished!
Vanquished!
Vanquished!
- Hold on, Master!|- Surrender!
Have at you!
Surrender, vile creature!
Surrender!
Your Grace!
Your Grace!
Master!
Didn't I tell you?
Didn't I say,|"Your Grace, it's a windmill"?
The work of mine enemy!
The Enchanter?
He transformed the giant|into a windmill...
to prevent me|the honor of victory.
You'd be wise to avoid him,|Your Grace.
One of these days,|he'll get you killed.
Hell has not seen|nor Heaven created...
the one who can prevail|against me.
He's doing very well.
Come, Your Grace.
We'll find a place|to get you repaired.
A knight must not|complain of his wounds...
though his bowels|be dropping out.
But we could find the hall|of some great lord.
Listen!
What?
A trumpet heralding my approach.
There! The very place.
- Where?|- The castle.
- Castle?|- Rockbound amidst the mountains.
- Mountains?|- And the banners.
The brave banners|flaunting the wind.
Blow thy bugle...
that a dwarf may|mount the battlements...
and announce our presence.
But I don't see a castle.
What?
- I do see something.|- What?
- It looks like an inn.|- An inn?
An inn. We will repair...
to the drawbridge|of yonder castle...
and there thy vision|may improve it.
And there thy vision|may improve it.
Reality.
To Sancho, an inn.
To Don Quixote, a castle.
To someone else, whatever.
But for sweet argument's sake,|let us grant Sancho his version.
- An inn.|- An inn!
Governor, a kindly innkeeper.
A brothel keeper, if you like.
And his less kindly wife.
That's right.|A marriage of minds.
- God forbid!|- Mule drivers!
Hard men! Miles and miles|on the road each day.
And a man to lead the men.|Pedro.
- Pedro?|- Pedro.
And for the men...
beautiful women|who please for profit.
Fermina!
And a most particular...
kitchen maid...
called Aldonza.
One to whom life has been|discourteous.
A tigress crouching in the dark.
Still keen in tooth and claw.
- Take it, Aldonza.|- Aldonza!
Come on, Aldonza, take it!
- Aldonza!|- Take it!
Aldonza!
You want this on the table|or over your lousy heads?
There, swine. Feed!
I brought you something.
Keep it till it grows up.
Little dogs have big ideas.
Tonight!
Payment in advance.
Aldonza!
Talk with your money,|not your hands.
How about a nice|thick bed of hay instead?
Good. Eat it.
You refuse Pedro?
Try me. Try me.
My mules are not so stubborn.
Fine. Make love to your mules.
Aldonza, I sell my mules.
Aldonza, I am the best lover!
Who cares? Just pay me!
One pair of arms is like another
I don't know why|or who's to blame
I'll go with you|or with your brother
It's all the same
It's all the same
This I have learned|that when the light's out
No man will burn|with special flame
You'll prove to me|before the night's out
You're all the same
You're all the same
Not me, Aldonza!
So do not talk to me of love
I'm not a fool
With starry eyes
Just put your money in my hand
And you will get what money buys
When I am dead,|no man will miss me
For life's|a cruel and dirty game
So you can curse|or you can kiss me
It's all the same
More wine, Aldonza!
It's all the same
Oh, I have seen too many beds
But I have known too little rest
And I have loved too many men
With hatred burning in my breast
Aldonza!
I do not like you|or your brother
I do not like the life I live
But I am me
I am Aldonza
And what I give, I choose...
Choose!
One pair of arms is like another
It's all the same
It's all the same
Aldonza!
Well, gentlemen,|everything in order?
Did you feed the mules?
- They're eating as well as you.|- Oh, no.
God forbid.
He jokes.
It's well-known|that I set the finest table...
between Madrid and Malaga.
My patrons have always...
It's the pig butcher.|I didn't expect him so early.
What in the name of?
Coming! Coming!|Señor butcher, coming!
Is the lord of the castle|at hand?
I say, is the Castellano here?
I am in charge of this place.
We waited, sire, for a dwarf|to mount the battlements...
and announce us,|but none appeared.
The, uh, the dwarfs,|they're all busy.
My noble lords and ladies...
my master Don Quixote...
- Knight-errant?|- Knight-errant...
defender of the right,|and pursuer of...
of lofty undertakings|requests the...
boon?
The boon of hospitality!
Well, sir, is it granted?
Absolutely!
You see? I mean, this castle|is open to everybody.
Master!
Master!
Master! Master!
Are you hurt?
One of the little mishaps|of my profession.
He's a madman.
Madmen are the children of God.
Sir Knight, you must be hungry.
I am, sir.
There is food aplenty.|And for your squire, too.
Well, as I always say, hunger|is the best gravy in the world.
And as the poor|are always hungry...
they, uh... sir, I thank you.
Stay and rest tonight.|I'll just stable your animal.
See that your grooms care|for my fleet-footed Rosinante.
A horse of courage,|sobriety, and chastity.
A flower and glory|of horse flesh.
Thank you, Master.
- What's this madness?|- Aldonza!
Has he got money to pay?
When did a poor man|ever find time to run mad?
He's got money.|He's a gentleman.
Tell Aldonza|to bring him some wine.
Gentle knights...
fair chatelaine.
If there be any amongst you|that require assistance...
you have but to speak...
and my good right arm|is at your service.
Whether it be|a princess held to ransom...
an army besieged...
the fallen to be raised up...
the suffering, the poor...
Dear God. It is she.
Sweet lady...
fair virgin...
I dare not gaze fully|upon thy countenance...
as I'd be blinded by thy beauty.
I'll get you the wine.
Milady, you must not wait|upon my needs.
I implore you,|speak once your name.
Aldonza.
- Milady jests.|- Aldonza!
The name of a kitchen scullion|or milady's serving maid!
I told you my name.
Now get out of the way,|or I'Il... by Christ, I'Il...
Milady,|think to put me to the test?
Oh, sweet sovereign|of my captive heart...
how could I fail thee|when I know...
I have dreamed thee too long
Never seen thee or touched thee
But known thee|with all of my heart
Half a prayer, half a song
Thou hast always been with me
Though we have been always apart
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
I see heaven when I see thee
Dulcinea
And thy name is like a prayer|an angel whispers
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
If I reach out to thee
Do not tremble and shrink
From the touch of my hand|on thy hair
Let my fingers but see
Thou art warm and alive
And no phantom|to fade in the air
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
I have sought thee,|sung thee, dreamed thee
Dulcinea
Now I've found thee, and|the world shall know thy glory
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
Come along, Sir Knight.|I'll show you to your quarters.
Dulcinea.
Dulcinea.
- Dulcinea!|- Dulcinea!
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
I see heaven when I see thee
- Dulcinea|- Dulcinea
Filthy swine!
And thy name is like a prayer|an angel whispers
Sons of whores!
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
I have sought thee,|sung thee, dreamed thee
Dulcinea
Now I've found thee, and|the world shall know thy glory
Dulcinea
Dulcinea
- Halt!|- Bastards!
Governor, this man proposed|to offer a defense.
This is my defense.
The most curious|I've ever heard.
- But if it entertains?|- The word is "diverts."
I think your purpose|is to divert us from ours.
Precisely. May I go on?
- Continue with your defense.|- Thank you.
Imagine now the family|our brave night leaves behind.
Not the lords and ladies...
and retainers of|Don Quixote de La Mancha...
but the simple womenfolk|of Alonso Quijana.
Think of the shock|the news of his madness...
- brings to his niece...|- Antonia.
Antonia, who is concerned|about the effect...
on her forthcoming marriage.
Can't I have it?
Afterwards, princess,|you can keep it...
but now you're my niece|concerned about marriage.
To his housekeeper|of many years...
pious lady, come on, come on...
concerned that devils and|darkness have overtaken him.
- And to the local priest...|- Please let me be him.
Who has known Alonso|all of his life. One priest.
- Thank you.|- One priest!
And, shortly, there will appear|a character...
whose philosophy|may appeal enormously... to you!
Antonia and the housekeeper|hurry to the church.
- Church, please.|- The church.
Anguished by the situation...
and not wholly unaware of|what the neighbors may think...
they seek advice|from the priest.
Where's he gone?
Reverence.
To church.
But in spite of the trouble|that Alonso's madness...
will bring crashing|on their heads...
you may be sure|they're only thinking of him.
I'm only thinking of him
I'm only thinking of him
Whatever I may do or say
I'm only thinking of him
In my body, it's well known
There is not one selfish bone
I'm only thinking|and worrying about him
I've been told|he's chasing dragons
And I fear it may be true
If my groom|should hear about it
Heaven knows what he will do
Oh, they say he seeks a lady
Who his own true love shall be
God forbid that in his madness
He should ever think it's me
If he should try,|I'll surely die
And I will grimly|guard my honor as I cry
- I'm only thinking of him|- I know, I know, my dear
- I'm only thinking of him|- Of course you are, my dear
- I'm only thinking of him|- I understand
Woe
Woe
They're only thinking of him
They're only thinking of him
How saintly|is their plaintive plea
They're only thinking of him
What a comfort to be sure
That their motives are so pure
As they go|thinking and worrying
About him
Now there appears on the scene|a man of breeding...
Now there appears on the scene|a man of breeding...
intelligent, logical.
Dr. Sanson Carrasco...
Antonia's fiancé...
bachelor of science...
graduate of|the University of Salamanca...
a man who carries|his own importance...
as though afraid of breaking it.
Indeed.
Family quarrels get out of hand.
Shh! Shh!
Governor,|with your permission...
and so much at stake|in the game...
may I rearrange the pieces?
Señor, you have our permission.
The queen... cunning.
The castle... formidable.
The king... restricted.
The bishop... charmingly diagonal.
And now|the problem of the knight.
My dear, your uncle...
is the laughingstock|of the entire neighborhood...
and I do not relish|claiming a lunatic as an uncle.
Oh, come, come, doctor.|The good Señor Quijana...
has been carried away|by his imagination.
Señor Quijana has lost his mind|and is suffering from delusions.
- Is there a difference?|- Exactitude of meaning.
I beg to remind you|I am a doctor.
The innocent must pay|for the sins of the guilty.
Guilty? Of what?|Of gentle delusion?
How do you know it is gentle?|He was armed.
With sword and lance.
I cannot favor the madness that|puts a sword into his hand...
but I can love the gentle|spirit that moves him...
to measure his sword with evil.
I shall concern myself|with his madness, father...
and leave the care|of his spirit in your hands.
Sanson? I had hoped for so much|for us, for you, really.
Everything was to be for you...
my uncle's house, his lands.
That's true, doctor. In time,|they would all be yours.
Or you a priest or pawnbroker?
What I meant was...
- consider the challenge.|- Challenge?
Think what cleverness|it would take...
to wean him from his madness.
Turn him from his course.
To persuade him|to come back home.
To bring him to see|the same world?
Hmm. That is a challenge.
Enormous.
To work within his lunacy...
to cure him through|the very terms that are his own.
Come, father. We shall do it.
We will return now to the inn,|the kitchen.
Yay!
It is imperative|each knight has a lady...
for a knight without a lady...
is a body without a soul.
To whom would he dedicate|his conquests?
What vision sustain him when|he sallies forth to do battle...
with evil and with giants?
Don Quixote,|having found his lady...
sends Sancho Panza to her|with a missive.
Missive? What's a missive?
It's a sort of letter.
He warned me to give it|only into your hands.
Well, let's see it.
I can't read.
Neither can I, but my master,|foreseeing such a possibility...
recited it to me,|so I could commit it to heart.
What made him think|I couldn't read?
Well, as he explained it...
most noblewomen are so busy|with their needlework...
Needlework?
Embroidering banners|for their knights...
he said they had no time|for study.
What's it say?
Hmm
Most lovely sovereign|and highborn lady
The heart of this,|thy vassal knight
Faints for thy favor
Oh, fairest of the fair
Purest of the pure
Incomparable Dulcinea
Oh, that again!|My name is Aldonza.
- Master calls you Dulcinea.|- Why?
I don't know, but I can|tell you from experience...
that knights have their own|language for everything...
and it's better|not to ask questions.
It only gets you into trouble.
Ahem.
I beg thee grant|that I may kiss
The nethermost hem|of thy garment
Kiss my what?
If you keep interrupting me|like this...
the whole thing will be gone|right out of my head.
- Well, what's he want?|- I'm getting to it.
I beg thee grant|that I may kiss
The nethermost hem|of thy garment
And send to me a token|of thy fair esteem
That I may carry|as my standard into battle
What kind of a token?
He says generally|it's a silken scarf.
Why, your master's|a crack-brain.
Well, they say one madman|makes a hundred...
and love makes a thousand.
- What does that mean?|- I'm not sure.
You're crazy, too.
- What are you waiting for?|- The token.
I'll give him a token. Here!
But, milady...
Don't you milady me,|or I'll crack you like an egg.
Hey, wait a moment.
Come here.
Come. Tell me.
Why do you follow him, huh?
Oh, that's easy to explain.
It's a... it's a...|well, it's a sort of crusade.
Crusade?
And then there's|all those people in distress.
Distress?
And, uh, well, uh,|because, um...
- Why?|- I'm telling you.
- Because, um...|- Why?
I like him.
I really like him.
Tear out my fingernails
One by one
I like him
- That's no reason.|- I don't have
A very good reason
Since I've been with him
Cuckoo nuts have been in season
- You are crazy.|- But there's nothing I can do
Chop me up for onion stew
Still I'll yell to the sky
Though I can't tell you why
That I like him
He doesn't make any sense.
Well, that's because|you're not a squire.
All right, you're a squire.|How does a squire squire?
Well, I ride behind him...
and he fights, and then|I pick him up off the ground.
What do you get out of it?
- What do I get?|- Yes.
Plenty.|Why, already I've gotten...
You've gotten nothing,|so why do you do it?
I like him
I really like him
Pluck me naked|as a scalded chicken
I like him
Don't ask me
For why or wherefore
'Cause I don't have|a single good because
Or therefore
You can chop me for croquettes
Beat my bones like castanets
Make me freeze, make me fry
Make me sigh, make me cry
Still I'll yell to the sky
Though I can't tell you why
That I like him
"Fairest of the fair.|Kiss the hem of thy garment."
"Incomparable."
"Dulcinea."
Your Grace!
Milady received thee?
Oh, most fortunate of squires.
The token. What of the token?
Gossamer.
Purest gossamer.
Forgive me.
I'm overcome.
Oh, I am a little barber
And I go my merry way
With my razor and my basin
I can always earn my pay
Somebody approacheth!
Though your chin|be smooth as satin
You will need me soon, I know
For the lord|protects his barbers
And he makes the stubble grow
Well, good day, gentlemen.
It's just an ordinary traveler.
Nay!
See what he weareth on his head.
By all the saints...
there is a fortune|to be made right here.
Arm thyself. This encounter|may be perilous.
Oh, dear.
If I slip|while I am shaving you
And cut you to the quick
You can use me as a doctor
'Cause I also heal the sick
Well, shall you be my...|shall you be my first to...
You... you... you should be|my... my first...
Oh, by the beard|of St. Anthony...
I do believe I see before me...
a knight...
in full armor.
It's ridiculous.|There aren't any knights!
- What?|- I was wrong. Forgive me.
Forgive me, your... your... bigness.
I thought I'd been|touched by the sun.
Thou wilt be touched by worse...
unless thou surrender rapidly|that golden helmet...
which is justly mine.
Golden helmet?
But this is a shaving basin.
Shaving basin. Mister...
I must say, Your Grace, it does|look like a shaving basin.
Oh, oh, yes.|Yes. It's a shaving basin.
I'm a barber. I was merely|wearing this for my head...
to... to ward off the rays|of the sun, you see...
so that's how your highship|made the mistake of...
Silence!
Knowest thou|what that really is?
Uh-uh.
The golden helmet of Mambrino.
When worn|by one of noble heart...
it rendereth him invulnerable|to all wounds.
From what fallen knight|didst thou steal it?
I didn't steal it.
- Surrender it!|- Well, it cost me half a crown!
Surrender it, or I'll split... -
I must say, Your Grace,|it is worth half a crown.
Peasant.
Thou golden helmet of Mambrino
With so illustrious a past
Too long hast thou|been lost to glory
But rediscovered now at last
Golden helmet of Mambrino
There can be no helm like thee
Thou and I now
Ere I die now
Will make golden history
I can hear the cuckoo singing
In the cuckoo berry tree
If he says that that's a helmet
I suggest that you agree
But he'll find it is not golden
Will not make him|bold and brave
Well, at least|he'll find it useful
If he ever needs a shave
Golden helmet
Of Mambrino
There can be no
Helm like thee
Thou and I now
Ere I die now
Will make golden
History
Are you saying your prayers?
I thought you'd like|some refreshment, then supper.
- Sir Castellano.|- Sir Knight.
I would make a confession.
To me?
I would confess|I have never been dubbed knight.
Oh. That's bad.
But I am well qualified, milord.
I am brave and courteous,|bold and generous...
affable and patient.
Yes. That's the list.
Therefore|I would beg a boon of thee.
Anything... within reason.
Tonight, I will hold vigil|in the chapel of thy castle...
and, at dawn,|receive from your hand...
the ennobling stroke|of knighthood.
But there's one small|difficulty... no chapel.
- No chapel?|- That is, it's being restored.
Now, if you wouldn't mind...
holding your vigil|some other place?
Here in the courtyard...
under the stars.
Of course. At dawn,|you shall be dubbed knight.
Milord...
I thank you.
Now will you have some supper?
Before a vigil? Nay, milord.
On this night, I must fast|and compose my spirit.
We have come for Don Quixote,|Knight of La Mancha.
We have word|he stays at this inn.
Yes, Your Grace,|he does stay here.
My sister, this great lady|would speak with him.
The drums sound!|Why am I summoned?
Are you the man we seek?
I am Don Quixote, de La Mancha.
Fire cannot be hidden.
Virtue cannot fail|to be recognized.
Cease your praises.
Word of your renown met us|on the very shores of Spain.
You have no need|to sue for favor.
Only say how I may help you.
Milady, you must not kneel.
I shall not rise until|you grant the boon I ask.
I grant it freely.
The Great Enchanter has brought|unhappiness to us all.
Your enemy.
He has bewitched our brother.
Turned him to stone.
He will not regain|his former self...
until Don Quixote|joins in single combat...
with the Enchanter.
Have the fates|indeed reserved...
this unparalleled adventure|for my sword?
Assist me, sweet Dulcinea.
Let not your favor|and protection...
fail me in this, my first trial.
Where shall I find|the Enchanter?
Declare yourself,|and he will find you.
Pray well, Don Quixote.
Pray power into thine arm,|a keen edge to thy sword...
and courage into thy soul.
I shall take my prayers up|in the chapel.
Here is my arm.
Is this the lady Dulcinea?
The gentleman's talking to you.
- Ah!|- Dulcinea.
Her name's Aldonza.
The old gentleman, he took|a fancy to calling her Dulcinea.
Where's this chapel?
How does it happen|a wretched tavern like this...
can boast a chapel?
It isn't a chapel, Your Grace.
He's in the stable.
Ah, another excess|of imagination.
How does it harm anyone?
You're more of a fool|than he is...
playing tricks on a man|who is mad. Leave me!
One might say Jesus was mad...|or St. Francis.
A man who chooses to be mad|can also choose to be sane.
Oh, yes. It was easy enough|planning this enterprise...
but it will be difficult|to come out of it well.
May not the cure be more cruel|than the disease?
We have given reality|to his madness.
We cannot abandon him now.
We have said|he will meet the Enchanter.
He must meet him.
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