Man Of La Mancha Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Man Of La Mancha script is here for all you quotes (and lyrics) spouting fans of the Don Quixote movie based on the musical play starring Peter O'Toole and Sophia Loren.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Man Of La Mancha. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Man Of La Mancha Script

            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.


              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!


              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?


              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.



              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.



              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.


              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?


              spinning nonsense out of nothing.

              Blurring men's eyes to 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?



              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.


              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.


              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.


              Let's hear him out.

              If you've no objection...

              and with your kind permission...

              may I set the stage?


              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!


              Vile coward!


              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!



              - Hold on, Master! - Surrender!

              Have at you!

              Surrender, vile creature!


              Your Grace!

              Your Grace!


              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.



              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.


              - 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.


              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.


              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!


              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.


              Payment in advance.


              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


              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...


              One pair of arms is like another

              It's all the same

              It's all the same


              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...


              The boon of hospitality!

              Well, sir, is it granted?


              You see? I mean, this castle is open to everybody.



              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.


              - 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



              I see heaven when I see thee


              And thy name is like a prayer an angel whispers



              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



              I have sought thee, sung thee, dreamed thee


              Now I've found thee, and the world shall know thy glory



              Come along, Sir Knight. I'll show you to your quarters.



              - 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!





              I have sought thee, sung thee, dreamed thee


              Now I've found thee, and the world shall know thy glory



              - 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?


              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



              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.


              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.


              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.


              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...


              Embroidering banners for their knights...

              he said they had no time for study.

              What's it say?


              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.


              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.


              And then there's all those people in 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."



              Your Grace!

              Milady received thee?

              Oh, most fortunate of squires.

              The token. What of the token?


              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.


              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...


                Knowest thou what that really is?


                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.


                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


                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.


                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.

          Little bird, little bird


           In the cinnamon tree

            In the cinnamon tree

            Little bird, little bird

            Do you sing for me?

            Do you bring me word

            Of one I know?

            Little bird, little bird

            I love her so

            Little bird, little bird

            And I have to know

            Little bird, little bird

            Beneath this tree

            This cinnamon tree

            We learned to love

            We learned to cry

            For here we met

            And here we kissed

            And here one cold and moonless night

            We said good-bye

            Little bird, little bird

            Little bird, little bird

            Oh, have pity on me

            Little bird, little bird

            Bring her back to me now

            Little bird, little bird

            Beneath the cinnamon tree

            Little bird, little bird

            I have waited too long

            Little bird

            Without a song

            - Little bird, - Little bird, little bird

            Please fly, please go

            Little bird, little bird

            And tell her so

            Little bird, little bird

            Little bird, little bird

            - Sss! - Awoo!

            I spit on all your little birds!


            Give it back! Give it back to me!

            What's this?

            - "The most lovely sovereign... - Oh!

            "And high-born lady..."

            It's from her knight!

            It's a love letter.

            - Such fine words. - Well, fine words!

            All right. He's a man, isn't he?

            He wants what every other man wants. So!

            - Yeah! - Yeah!

            Hey... soon?

            When I'm through in the kitchen.

            Now I must consider how sages of the future...

            will describe this historic night.

            Long after the sun had retired to his couch...

            darkening the gates and balconies of La Mancha...

            Don Quixote, with lofty expression and measured tread...

            held vigil in the courtyard of a mighty castle.


            Maker of empty boasts...

            on this of all nights to give way to vanity.

            No. Don Quixote, take a deep breath of life...

            and consider how it should be lived.

            Call nothing thine except thy soul.

             Love not what thou art, only what thou may become.

              Do not pursue pleasure...

              or thou mayest have the misfortune to overtake it.

              Look always forward.

              In last year's nests...

              there are no birds this year.

              Be just to all men, courteous to all women.

              Live in the vision...

              of the one for whom great deeds are done...


              Get up from there! Get up!


              Why do you call me by that name?

              - Because it is yours. - My name is Aldonza!

              I know you, milady.

              I think you know me not.

              All my years I have known you, your nobility of spirit...

              long have I seen you in my heart.

              Your heart doesn't know much about women.

              It knows all, milady.

              Woman is the soul of man...

              the radiance that lights his way.

              Woman is glory.

              What do you want of me?

              - Nothing. - Liar.

              I deserve the rebuke.

              - I ask of milady... - Now we get to it!

              That I may be allowed to serve her...

              that I may hold her in my heart...

              that to her I may dedicate each victory...

              and call upon her in defeat.

              And if at last I give my life...

              I give it in the sacred name of Dulcinea.

              I must go. Pedro is waiting.

              Why do you do these things?

              What things?

              These ridiculous... the things you do.

              I come in a world of iron...

              to make a world of gold.

              The world's a dung heap...

              and we are maggots that crawl on it.


              Milady knows better in her heart.

              What's in my heart will get me halfway to hell...

              and you, Señor Don Quixote...

              your head is going to end up a stranger to your neck.

              - That doesn't matter. - What does?

              Only that I follow the quest.

              That for your quest.

              What does it mean... quest?

              The mission of each true knight is duty...

              nay, is privilege.

              To dream the impossible dream

              To fight the unbeatable foe

              To bear with unbearable sorrow

              To run where the brave dare not go

              To right the unrightable wrong

              To love pure and chaste from afar

              To try when your arms are too weary

              To reach the unreachable star

              This is my quest

              To follow that star

              No matter how hopeless

              No matter how far

              To fight for the right

              Without question or pause

              To be willing to march into hell

              For a heavenly cause

              And I know if I'll only be true

              To this glorious quest

              That my heart will lie peaceful and calm

              When I'm laid to my rest

              And the world will be better for this

              That one man scorned and covered with scars

              Still strove with his last ounce of courage

              To reach

              The unreachable star

              Once, just once, would you look at me as I really am?

              I see beauty, purity.


              You! You keep me waiting, would you?

              - I wasn't. I didn't mean to... - Milady!

              My little flower!


              Stay clear!

              Thou wouldst strike a woman?

              Ah, stand back, or I'll break your head.

              Thou heart of flint and bowels of cork.

              I'm killed.

              Jose! Tenorio!

              Jose! Tenorio!

              - Pedro! - Anselmo! Jose!



              Tenorio! Anselmo! Muleteers!

              Hold thou!

              Heed the knocking of thy craven knees!

              Prepare to do battle!

              Come one! Come all!

              Come what may come! Here am I!

              Let him be. He's worth a thousand of you!

              Ahh, back, whore! I'll show you!


              Hold on, Your Grace!


              Coming, Master!

              Look out, Tenorio!

              Help me! Help me! Help me!

              Look out, Master! Look out!


              - Victory? - Victory?

              - Victory. - Victory!

              - Victory? - Victory.

              Victory! Victory!

              What's this? All the noise?

              What's this? All the noise?

              - What dreadful thing? - What glorious thing!

              Don Castellano...

              I would inform you right has triumphed!

              Your Grace, are you hurt?

              No, no. A little weakness... temporary.

              Your Grace!

              Bring water! Water, quick!

              Oh, crusader.

              Your Grace. Your Grace?

              - He's coming round. - Oh.

              Oh, that I might always wake unto such a vision.

              Don't move.

              I must say, Your Grace, we certainly did a job out here.

              We routed them.

              That bunch will be walking bow-legged for a week.

              Milady, it is not seemly to gloat over the fallen.

              Let them rot in hell!

              Sir, I am a tame and peaceful man.

              Please, Sir Knight, I do not wish to be inhospitable...

              but I must ask you to leave as soon as you're able.

              I am sorry to have offended the dignity of your castle...

              and at daylight, I shall depart...

              but first, may I remind you of your promise?


              True, it is not yet dawn...

              but I have kept vigil and proven myself in combat.

              I therefore beg you, dub me knight.

              Oh, certainly. Let's get it over with.

              Sancho, would you be good enough to fetch my sword?

              Yes, Your Grace.

              I cannot speak, milady...

              how joyful I am that this ceremony should take place...

              in your presence.

              Be careful, now.

              It is the solemn moment that seals my vocation.

              - Are you ready? - I am.

              Very well, then. Kneel.

              Don Quixote de La Mancha...

              I hereby dub thee knight.

              My Lord.

              Didn't I do it right?

              If your lordship could make some mention...

              of the deeds I've performed to deserve this honor...

              Oh, of course.

              Don Quixote de La Mancha...

              having proved yourself this day...

              in glorious and terrible combat...

              and by my authority as lord of this castle...

              I hereby dub thee knight.

              My Lord...

              Something else?

              If your lordship recalls...

              it is the custom to grant the new knight...

              an additional name.

              If your lordship could devise such a name...

              Uh, let me see.

              Hail, Knight

              Of the Woeful Countenance

              Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Wherever you go

              People will know

              Of the glorious deeds

              Of the Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Farewell and good cheer

              Oh, my brave cavalier

              Ride onward to glorious strife

              I swear when you're gone

              I'll remember you well

              For all of the rest of my life

              Hail, Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Wherever you go

              Face to the foe

              They will quail at the sight

              Of the Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Oh, valorous knight

              Go and fight for the right

              And battle the villains that be

              But, oh, when you do

              What will happen to you?

              Thank God I won't be there to see

              Hail, Knight

              - Of the Woeful Countenance - Hail, Knight

              - Of the Woeful Countenance - Hail, Knight

              Of the Woeful Countenance

              Hail, Knight

              Hail, Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Knight of the Woeful Countenance

              Wherever you go

              People will know

              Of the glorious deeds

              Of the Knight of the Woeful


              I thank you.

              Well, Sir Knight, I am going to bed.

              And I advise you to do the same.

              Knight of the Woeful Countenance.

              It's a beautiful name.

              Come, Your Grace. Let's get you to bed.

              Not yet, Sancho. I owe something to my enemies.

              - That account's been paid. - Not yet, milady.

              - What? - Nobility demands.

              It does?

              Yes. Therefore I will go to them.

              I'll go. I'll minister.

              There is no need.

              They were my enemies, too.

              Oh, blessed one.

              Come, Your Grace. Let's get you to bed.

              Sancho, I do envy my enemies.

              Your Grace, you're tired.

              No, Sancho, I feel quite well.

              Your Grace, many a man...

              has gone to bed in the evening feeling well...

              only to wake up in the morning and find himself dead.

              - That's a proverb. - Yes, Your Grace.

              - I don't approve of them. - I know, Your Grace.

              What in hell do you think you're doing?

              I'm going to minister to your wounds.

              - You're what? - Nobility demands.

              Turn over, you foxy goat!


              Sons of whores!

              Let me out!



              Bastards! Bastards!


              Ow! Bastards!


              Let me go!

              Let me go!



              Load up. We're leaving.

              What do we do with this?

              We'll take it along.

              Let these events be proof to thee, my Sancho.

              Nobility triumphs. Virtue will always prevail.

              Oh, yes, Your Grace.

              Now, in this moment of glory...

              do I confirm my knighthood and my oath.

              For all my life, this I do swear.

              To dream the impossible dream

              To fight the unbeatable foe

              To bear with unbearable sorrow

              To run where the brave dare not go

              What is that?

              One of the hazards of this prison...

              the brave men of the Inquisition!

              It means they're coming to fetch someone.

              Haul him off, put the question to him.

              Next thing he knows, he is dead.

              They're coming for me very possibly.

              What, Cervantes, not afraid? Where's your courage?

              Or is that in your imagination, too?

              No escape. This is happening.

              Not to your brave man of La Mancha, but to you.

              Quick, Cervantes, call on him. Let him shield you.

              Let him save you, if he can... from that.

              No! No! No! No!

              Well, not this time.

              But you see, Cervantes, there is a difference...

              between reality and illusion...

              and a difference between these prisoners...

              and your men of lunacy.

              I'd say rather men whose illusions were very real.

              Much the same thing, isn't it, really?

              Why are you poets so fascinated with madmen?

              We have much in common.

              You both turn your backs on life?

              We both select from life!

              A man has to come to terms with life as it is.

              Life as it is.

              I have lived for over forty years, and I've seen...

              life as it is.



              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.


              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.




              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?


              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, Señor 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?


              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.


              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 but the house itself.

              And she yells at me...

              "Where's all the gold and all the jewels...

              "you were going to bring back?

              "Where's that kingdom you were going to conquer?"

              Well, I kept a dignified silence, Your Grace...

              because there are some questions you just can't answer.

              Like when a man yells, "What are you doing with my wife?"

              That's a question you just can't answer.

              Of course, I hit her back, Your Grace.

              But she's a lot harder than I am...

              and as the saying goes...

              "Whether the stone hits the pitcher...

              "or the pitcher hits the stone...

              "it's going to be bad for the pitcher."

              So I've got bruises from here to...

              Oh, I haven't fought a windmill in a fortnight

              And the humble joys get duller every day

              Why, when I'm asleep, a dragon with his fiery tongue a-waggin'

              Whispers, Sancho, won't you please come out and play?

              That's enough!

              - What did I do? - I warned you.

              - I didn't do anything. I was... - Please be quiet.

              My friend?

              Did Your Grace say something?

              You are a fat pudding...

              stuffed with proverbs.

              Oh, that's very well-known, Your Grace.

              Well, as I was saying...

              - Uncle? - My dear.

              Good morning, Father.

              Or is it evening?

              How do you feel, sir?

              I am but well.

              Can you speak your name?

              Should a man not know his name?

              If you would just say it.

              Alonso Quijana.


              I am here, beside you.

              I wish to make a will.


              Of course.

              - Uncle? - Forgive me.

              L... When I close my eyes, I see a pale horse...

              and I am bid mount him.

              No, uncle, you will get well.

              Oh, my dear master's worship, do not die...

              but live on many years.

              Dying is such a waste of good health.

              Soft and fair, my dear ones.

              In last year's nests, there are no birds this year.

              Come closer.

              I have dreamed so strangely.

              Oh, such dreams.

              I... thought I had declared myself a...

              No, I dare not tell you, lest you think me mad.

              - Put them from your mind. - They are gone.

              Nor do I know what they meant.


              Just speak, and I shall write.

              I, Alonso Quijana...

              with one foot in the stirrup...

              and all too ready for the final ride...

              Don't admit anyone.

              Do hereby make the following disposition of my estate.

              The bulk I leave to my beloved niece Antonia Quijana...

              with the exception of certain personal bequests...

              which are as follows...

              I will allow nobody into that room!

              Get out of the way, you hag!

              - What is that, Sanson? - It's that slut from the inn.

              I tried to stop her, and she threatened to...

              Tear your eyes out if you touch me again, by God!

              - Get out! - Not before I see him!

              Let her be.

              In my house there will be courtesy!

              Come closer, girl.

              What is it you wish?

              Don't you know me?

              Should I?

              I am Aldonza.

              I'm so sorry. L... I don't recall anyone of that name.

              Oh, please, My Lord.

              Why do you say, "My Lord"?

              You are My Lord, Don Quixote.

              Don Quixote?

              Forgive me. I am confused by shadows.

              It is possible I knew you once. I do not remember.

              This way.

              Please try to remember.

              Is it so important?


              My whole life.

              You spoke to me.

              And everything was... different.

              I spoke to you?

              And you looked at me...

              and you called me by another name.



              Once you found a girl

              And called her


              When you spoke the name

              An angel seemed to whisper



              Then perhaps it was not a dream.

              You spoke of a dream...

              and about the quest.

              A quest?

              How you must fight?

              And it doesn't matter whether you win or lose...

              if only you follow the quest.

              What did I say to you?

              Tell me the words.

              "To dream...

              "the impossible dream."

              But they are your own words.

              "To fight...

              "the unbeatable foe."

              Don't you remember?

              "To bear...

              "with unbearable sorrow."

              You must remember!

              "To run...

              "where the brave dare not go."

              To right...

              the unrightable wrong.


              To love...

              pure and chaste from afar.


              To try when your arms are too weary.

              To reach the unreachable star.

              Thank you, My Lord.

              Milady! This is not seemly.

              On your knees to me?

              - But, My Lord, you're not well. - Not well?

              What is sickness to the body of a knight-errant?

              What matter wounds? For each time he falls...

              he will rise again... and woe to the wicked!

              - Sancho? - Here, Your Grace!

              - My armor, my sword! - More misadventures!

              Adventures, old friend!

              Oh, the trumpets of glory

              Now call me to rise

              Yes, the trumpets are calling to me

              And wherever I ride

              Ever staunch at my side

              My squire and my lady will be

              I am I, Don Quixote

              The Lord of La Mancha

              Our destiny calls, and we go

              And the wild winds of fortune

              Will carry us onward

              Whithersoever they blow

              Whithersoever they blow

              Onward to glory we go


              - Master! - Uncle!


              My Lord.

              De profundis clamo ad te



              Audi vocem meam

              Fiant aures tuae intentae

              Ad vocem abse creationis meae

              Si delictarum memorium

              Serva neris



              He is dead.

              My master is dead.

              A man died.

              He seemed a good man...

              but I did not know him.

              But you saw.

              Don Quixote's not dead.

              Believe, Sancho.





              Under authority of the Holy Office of the Inquisition...

              by reason of certain offenses...

              committed against His Majesty's Most Catholic Church...

              the following is summoned to give answer...

              and submit his person for purification...

              if it be so ordered...

              Don Miguel de Cervantes.

              I am a popular defendant.

              Summoned before one court...

              before I've quite finished with another.

              Well, what says this jury?

              You know, I think I know now what this contains.

              The history of your mad knight.

              As much as is written.

              Read as well there as you did here...

              and you may not burn.

              I have no intention of burning.


                I think Don Quixote...

                is brother to Cervantes.

                God help us. We are both men of La Mancha.

                For me alone was Don Quixote born...

                and I for him.

                I give him to you.

                Ready, old friend?


                To dream the impossible dream...

                to fight the unbeatable foe.

                To bear with unbearable sorrow

                To run where the brave dare not go

                To run where the brave dare not go

                Though the goal be forever too far

                To try though you're wayworn and weary

                To reach the unreachable star

                To reach the unreachable star

                Though you know it's impossibly high

                To live with your heart striving upward

                To a far




Special help by SergeiK