PAULO BRANCO
presents
An Alfama Films France
After the failed attempts of Junot
and Soult in 1807 and 1809,
Napoleon Bonaparte sent a mighty
army led by Marechal Massena,
to invade Portugal in 1810.
The French had no difficulty
reaching the centre of the country
where the Anglo-Portuguese army, led
by General Wellington, awaited them.
For RAL RUIZ
who prepared this film
Director
Original Screenplay and Dialogues
Director of Photography
Art Director
Production Manager
Original Music
LINES OF WELLINGTON
Leave that crap alone, you imbecile!
It's covered in blood!
On the slopes of Buaco,
despite the many natural obstacles
that favoured the defence of Alcoba,
our valiant men of the Second battalion
battled to the summit,
after one hour
of extraordinary efforts.
They arrived, breathless,
at the ridge of the mountain,
only to be met by the full force
of the English artillery.
Marechal Massena
made a terrible mistake,
sending the Second battalion into action
before the Sixth were ready to intervene.
Our men greeted the French
with a musket volley at fifteen paces.
Five hundred Jacobins
stopped dead in their tracks.
General Wellington
advanced heavy reinforcements,
forcing the French to fall back...
We chased them down the slopes
with our musket fire,
which they could ill return,
and scythed them down
like ripened wheat...
If I had my way, they wouldn't
even bury their whoring mothers.
Don't be so harsh, Chico!
They're Christians after all...
Christians, my foot!
They're all Jews, Z.
Sergeant?
They can't all be.
Those who're not,
are freemasons or the like.
Bunch of Jacobins!
If they want a decent burial,
they should've stayed
in their own damned country!
Right, lads!
Come on!
Let's get back to the English
encampment, we've earned it.
The Jacobins lost
above five thousand men.
A general
and two hundred and fifty officers
among the dead,
wounded or captured.
Come on!
Halt, halt!
D. Pedro!
Lieutenant, Sir!
It's no use, Sergeant.
He can't hear you.
- What's wrong with him?
- Two musket balls to the head.
He's more dead than alive,
we should have left him.
- Are you a doctor?
- No, Sergeant.
Then hold your tongue.
What's your name?
Eusbio, Sergeant.
Noted, Eusbio.
I never forget a name.
If he dies before he sees the doctor,
I'll cut your throat. Off you go!
- Who was that?
- Lieutenant Alencar.
Well?
He's not yet twenty...
Sergeant!
Damn, Sergeant, you!
I saw it.
You shot him, didn't you?
The French General!
It was you, I saw it you rogue!
I couldn't swear it was me, Major.
I had him in my sights.
And took the shot.
You didn't kill him though, you ninny.
We took him alive.
A bit buggered, but alive.
Want to see him?
I'd better not,
if you'll pardon me, sir.
The devil might tempt me
to finish him off...
You can't forgive them, eh?
Not in this world, or the next.
Tell me, Chico,
have you seen Corporal Percy about?
No, nor will I, Major.
He fell at my side.
He's still down there.
Careful what you say.
His wife's waiting for him.
They've not been married a year...
Damned Jacobins!
Tell her. Go on.
Me, Major?
Yes, you.
You saw him last, didn't you?
Well? Tell her.
Poor girl has a right to know
what happened.
- In what language, sir?
- You choose.
She'll understand, don't worry.
Go!
That's an order, Sergeant.
Percy?
Come. Come with me.
I'm... I'm a friend!
Friend of Percy.
Corporal Percy, today...
Corporal Percy!
To see, him.
It's not a good idea.
He not pretty.
To see...
not good...
Yes.
But not today.
Tomorrow.
I'll take you.
Yes?
Tomorrow...
Yes. Tomorrow.
I'm Francisco Xavier. Chico.
I'll see you tomorrow.
Who's that?
Martrio! Leave me be...
Go on, shoo.
What're you doing here?
The Major sent me...
There's a girl asleep next door.
Don't make a noise, go away.
Stop it, you'll wake the girl.
I won't wake anyone
if you'd shut up, you dolt.
All right.
Quietly, quietly.
Come here.
Quietly.
Oh damn!
What is it?
I left my purse in my cloak.
Don't worry, the Major paid.
Thank you.
I had to explain to that fool Z Maria
why we had to retreat although we'd won.
It was hard to grasp that the
bastard French, even in defeat,
far outnumbered the English and us.
We could only beat them again
on favourable ground,
like in Buaco...
That's what I think
our General Wellington will do
farther to the south where I come from,
where it's more hilly...
Meanwhile, I can't stop thinking
about Corporal Percy's death
and his poor wife, Maureen,
alone without solace
in a foreign land
where she doesn't speak the language.
Fewer dead! More heroes!
As if today's dead
weren't tomorrow's heroes.
Our troops reached Coimbra
on October 1st.
The wretched inhabitants
of that great and beautiful city
of one hundred
and twenty thousand souls
were told of the enemy's
imminent arrival,
and ordered to abandon their homes.
It's path blocked
by the sheer volume of refugees,
Wellington's army fell back in disarray
on the road to Pombal.
Get these flea traps out of here!
Come on, hurry up!
To our amazement, rather than seizing
the advantage to rout the enemy,
General Massena decided
to stay in Coimbra
to "regroup"and "treat the wounded"...
What's going on?
Where are we?
In Hades, my friend...
The French. They're here.
The French?! Already?
They'll garrote us all.
Flee if you can. Hide!
I won't get far with no legs...
Captain, sir...
I can't leave you here.
Don't be an ass. You can and must.
Flee! Flee while you can!
As for me, French or no French
I haven't got long.
I can't say I even want the time
I have left...
- Go. Hurry. Get away!
- No, no, Captain, sir!
Go! Don't waste time. Get going!
The window!
The window.
Shit!
He can't have got far...
From behind, it looked like a woman.
Don't tell me
this old fool's still here!
Fuck off, messieurs.
For the Marechal and his retinue
we were fortunate to find intact the
magnificent palace of a Swiss merchant.
Being a friend of the French,
he gave up his last Guinea fowl
for the Marechal's dinner...
I knew your Voltaire well, you know...
Knew him!
You exaggerate, my poor Lopold.
Say rather, you imagined him...
- You remember my dear, at Ferney!
- Yes, at Ferney! Don't you remember?
And from far away.
- Only a few metres...
- Yes, more or less...
With his back to you.
More wine, Monsieur le Marchal?
I'm afraid it's not Bourgogne...
They say it's a little rough...
Myself, I hardly drink.
No!
Are you sure, Cosima?
Really!?
- A hussar?
- Absolutely, Severina.
Like Papa...
But, sister dear...
there's only one bed in the room!
The French, you know...
What? Know what?
What are you talking about?
Nothing.
I'm afraid we have
nothing for dessert.
The servants took everything.
We do, however,
have a little French cognac...
You're probably wondering,
Monsieur le Marchal, why we stayed.
My petal, I don't expect
Monsieur is interested...
Shut up. And don't call me petal.
It's ridiculous.
Our daughter is buried here.
In the garden.
Killed by a stray bullet
on the Buaco road...
She wasn't yet twenty.
- Severina!
- Come, sister!
It was a French bullet.
That was never confirmed,
Monsieur le Marchal...
- It could well have been English...
- Or Portuguese...
It was French.
Grief has upset her, Monsieur.
Don't take it amiss.
They're an interesting race,
the Portuguese, you know...
A melancholy people...
They call it "saudade":
It's being sad for what didn't happen,
but might have happened.
They fall into long silences,
in the middle of a conversation even,
then take up again
as if nothing were amiss.
For them, coldness is merely
a sort of inverted warmth.
It's a pity they've all gone.
Oh well,
I dare say they'll be back...
Don't be scared.
I'm not French.
I won't hurt you.
Who are you?
What are you doing here?!
I think that is for me to ask,
my young friend.
I'm the mistress of this house.
At least I was
last time I checked.
I beg your pardon, madam.
I'm terribly sorry. Believe me.
I had nowhere else to go.
Lieutenant Pedro de Alencar.
Pleased to meet you...
despite the circumstances.
My name is Filipa Sanches.
Forgive my asking,
but how did you get in?
The door downstairs was open...
Really!
What blockheads!
They must have left it open
when they fled.
I didn't think to check...
Luckily St Christopher watches over me.
Well...
There's a dressing gown in there
that should fit.
And slippers.
I'll be in the next room.
The slippers were too small...
When I saw you come in,
I took you for one
of the French deserters hereabouts.
I've seen them in the square below
since everyone left...
- Lemon or milk?
- Milk, please.
If I may...?
Imagine,
I thought you'd come to rape me!
When I heard you talking in your sleep,
I realized you were Portuguese.
I spoke?
A few words of no importance.
Mother... Water...
French...
My head...
Careful!
I think that's all.
Relax, you didn't give away
any military secrets.
But tell me, Lieutenant,
what possessed you
to wander about in your shirttails?
I was in hospital when the French arrived
and I had no time to get dressed.
I was wounded at Buaco.
In the head. Two bullets.
They removed one,
but couldn't get the other.
How awful!
You poor boy, does it hurt much?
No, it hardly hurts at all now.
But when the others were evacuated,
I couldn't walk.
The doctors thought I was
in no fit state to go with them.
But... what about you?
Why didn't you leave with the others?
Why should I leave?
I'm in my own house, Lieutenant.
I was fifteen when I first came here.
My father brought me from Vigo,
to give me away to my intended.
I was married here.
I gave birth to three children
in that bed you slept in.
And this is where I was widowed.
So a handful of French antichrists
won't see me off.
If only they were just a handful...
Were they a million,
they'd couldn't get me out.
Unless I was dead!
What about your family?
They let you stay?
They didn't want to.
They pressed me to leave.
I hid in the attic.
They had no choice
but to go without me.
Fear, Lieutenant, is a powerful force.
Stronger, certainly,
than any attachment to me.
Here I am,
prattling like an old whore,
and you, Lieutenant, are dead tired.
- No, absolutely not...
- Yes, indeed you are.
Don't contradict me!
Come on, to bed!
I'll show you to your room.
Tomorrow,
I'll find you something decent to wear
and change that revolting bandage
on your head.
Come on, let's go.
Manuel Pedro! Incio!
Sozinha!
Matias! Idalina! Father!
Josefina! Antnia!
Ermelinda!
- I don't want to leave!
- Come along!
- Untie me!
- Come away!
Untie me!
Antnio!
Untie me!
Untie me!
You'll all burn in Hell!
Untie me!
Forgive my asking...
But have you seen this lady?
It's a good likeness.
Painted by an Italian,
a master from Milan...
A true artist, very well known.
Barilli.
He was in Coimbra three years ago.
It's just like her.
She's my wife.
I lost her in Pombal two days ago.
I turned round
and, poof, she was gone...
I haven't seen her since...
You haven't seen her, have you?
No, sorry.
Apart from the English, who told us
to hurry, we haven't seen a soul.
Come on!
Perhaps your wife...?
I don't think so.
Her name's Maria de Jesus...
Maria de Jesus de Almeida...
I'm Vicente.
De Almeida, naturally...
If you do see her...
If she does come through here...
If you'd be so kind... tell her...
...that I'm looking for her.
Vicente... Vicente de Almeida.
Much obliged.
Thank you.
Pick them up.
"I should like to tell you how I feel about
the State which we have described...
"I should like to tell you how I feel about
the State which we have described...
"I might compare myself to a person
who, on beholding beautiful animals
"either created by the painter's art,
or, better still, alive but at rest,
"is seized with a desire
of seeing them in motion
"or engaged in some struggle or conflict
to which their forms appear suited..."
Sergeant!
Help them fix the wheel.
The sight of those poor souls forced
to flee by the accursed Jacobins,
made my blood boil.
As we mended the English girl's wagon,
I thought of what would happen should
the bastard French catch up with them
before they reached safety.
I wanted to smash something.
The feeling grew when I thought
that a defenseless lass like Maureen
could suffer the same fate...
Oh, dearest Major!
I've dreamt of bathing
like this for ages.
From now on,
ask what you will of me!
I'll always serve you first.
Don't lie, wench!
I know full well Sergeant Xavier
is your favourite...
It depends.
I'm not so set in my ways.
You're my favourite tonight...
...my little gold charm.
- He hasn't eaten since yesterday!
- Let him be! All the more for us.
We're small, Francisco Xavier...
This Portugal of ours
is a tiny gnat turd.
If it weren't for the roast beefs,
Bonaparte would have made
mincemeat of us...
You're an ass, Z Maria.
You don't get it.
Oh, don't I?
What don't I get?
You should realize, you ass,
that Portugal and Napoleon
are like it says in the Bible.
Oh yeah?!
What does it say in the bible?
Well, in the bible...
...Napoleon is Goliath,
and Portugal is King David.
And the English?
What are the English
in this bible of yours?
The English are the slingshot
King David used to fell Goliath.
You devil!
Have you ever read the bible?
No, never. But it was read to me.
Off you go then, Martrio...
I bid you
...a very good evening.
What the...? What is it?
It's me, Z Maria. Don't be afraid.
Z Maria? What do you want?
Martrio...
Sweetheart...
Give me one free.
I only get my pay next week.
I'm bursting...!
I'll give you a smack round the head!
Go away and let me sleep.
You can keep your clothes on.
Just a hand.
And one breast out.
Go away, you big baby.
Shove off
or I'll smack your face with it!
All right.
No hands.
Just a breast.
I'll do the rest.
You can sleep if you want...
What is it, sweetie?!
You're shivering!
- Are you ill?
- No!
It's the cold...
fear...
desire...
Oh go on, then...
Come and get warm.
But leave me alone, you wretch.
Do what you want,
but let me sleep, I'm worn out...
Good morning.
Excuse me, but have you by any chance
seen this lady?
No sir.
- Are you sure?
- I haven't seen her. I'm sorry.
Thank you.
- Good day, friend.
- Good day.
- Perhaps I've already asked...
- Yes, you have. I haven't seen her.
- I'm sorry. I've asked so many people.
- That's all right.
Good morning.
How much for the cape?
Three hundred reis.
- Has it got gold stitching?
- I don't haggle. I'm no gypsy.
Take it or leave it.
Three hundred.
Every day, two words.
Today, first word...
Second word...
Rain! Cold! Then sick!
No, it's not, not good.
Besides, I found it.
I didn't buy it. See?
It didn't cost me a cent...
You should've woken me,
Dona Filipa.
You shouldn't
have let me sleep so long...
Don't be silly.
You were in pieces.
You'd have dropped dead in a corner.
How would I have disposed
of your corpse on my own?
Tell me that!
I'm sure you'd have found a way...
Keep still,
or that bullet will pierce your brain
and kill you for sure!
I think they've gone.
Perhaps.
Well, gone or not,
come nightfall I'll be on my way.
What's the hurry?
You're in no fit state
to go rushing about.
And besides, even if they have left,
they won't have gone far.
Where do you want to go?
To the lines of Torres.
- What in heaven are they?!
- The lines of General Wellington.
Dozens of fortifications,
forts and redoubts
to hold back the French,
before Lisbon.
I was quartered there
when they were building them.
I couldn't believe it Dona Filipa.
They're huge!
- Truly gigantic!
- Yes, I see.
Gigantic.
But what will you do there?
Fight the French, Dona Filipa.
I'm a soldier.
A soldier?
You're a child.
You barely can't stand.
Isn't a bullet in the head
enough for you?
Quite the opposite.
It's one more reason join the fight!
Childish nonsense...
Thank you, Dona Filipa.
We struck camp
and headed due south.
They said it would be the last leg.
It's rumoured we'd wait for the French
around Torres Vedras,
where I come from...
No one knew anything for certain.
I prayed it was true.
I couldn't wait to get at the French!
But I feared the English were preparing
to embark for home from Lisbon,
leaving us alone with the Jacobins
hard on our heels...
Who's there? Portuguese?!
Yes...
You?
Bordalo. Poet. Ex-Jacobin.
- You don't look it.
- Poet or Jacobin?
- Portuguese.
- Looks aren't everything...
You'd better get out of there before
the French put a bullet in your head.
You can say what you like. They're
Poles. They don't understand a word.
What are they doing here?
Deserters.
Fed up with the French
and empty bellies.
Like me.
Why the clogs?
Choice or necessity?
They belong to a friend's gardener.
Nothing else fit me...
No shortage of footwear here.
Come with me.
Help yourself.
Did you do this?
Me and the Poles.
Here.
These should fit.
Don't look down your nose,
Lieutenant.
Death's not catching.
I enlisted two years ago,
as soon as Junot reached Lisbon.
I'd read Voltaire and Rousseau.
Bonaparte was my hero.
Liberty. Equality. Fraternity.
Arise, children of the motherland...
I couldn't wait to fight tyranny,
to cut the throats of noblemen.
Stick their heads on spikes.
Drown the monarchy in a bloodbath.
When the English routed them,
the French took us along...
We fought in Austria
with Gomes Freire.
In the Tyrol. Baumersdorf.
Wagram.
I won the Legion of Honour
and lost my illusions.
We killed more poor wretches
like ourselves than noblemen...
Enough!
Of Liberty and Equality,
I saw nothing.
Fraternity was Napoleon sharing the
thrones of Europe among his brothers.
I crossed the border with Massena,
then gave up...
Deserted.
I'd had my fill of blood and the rest.
My only wish...
...is to see Alfama once more before
they hang me in Campo de Sant'ana.
It took us three days
to reach the beautiful city of Pombal,
the preserve of the famous Marquis
of that name.
The English evacuation of the local
populace deprived us of vital resources
we needed to sustain our troops.
We had no cereal,
vegetables or fodder.
All our soldiers could find were
grapes and lemons...
not very substantial fare.
I'm terribly sorry, Marechal.
It's the only lodging left intact.
They gutted the palace before fleeing.
A bed and a roof.
We are at war, are we not?
We must content ourselves, sir.
Absolutely.
Thank you, sir.
Monsieur de Sgur, would you join us
this evening in a game of whist?
Your wife, too, of course...
I haven't had a chance
to meet her yet,
but they say she is a great beauty,
despite being Portuguese.
I'm sorry,
my wife never socializes, madam.
Never?!
- Is it a vow?
- In a way.
What does the poor thing do
alone in her room each evening?
She prays, madam.
Every night!
Has she sinned so much?
I believe, madam,
that she prays for the sins of others.
Well, isn't that wonderful.
We shall expect to see you
later this evening.
Here you are, at last!
Where have you been, you wretch?
It's not my fault, madam...
I swear, as God is my witness!
They sent me to the other end of town.
They? They who?
Some soldiers, madam.
I asked them for directions.
They were making fun of me...
I suppose you made it easy,
you fat head!
They looked quite respectable,
how could I know they weren't?
That will do.
You're holding these gentlemen up.
Yes. We should retire.
Come, you can help me out
of this damn tunic.
No. I can do that.
How much meat, Duke?
BLOOD!
BLOOD!
Down with liberty!
Hail the Virgin Mary!
Devil take them. A gang of priests,
that's all we need.
He's Portuguese and a man of God.
Vintm! Zanaga! Pacheco!
Go and catch the Jacobin horses. Go!
The worst possible combination!
At least they didn't sell out
to the French.
If you mean me, I didn't sell out.
There's another five here, Father!
Still alive!
- If they're alive, kill them!
- Just a second, friends!
We're on the same side.
We're here to do what you did.
You speak Portuguese?!
Well?
- They speak Portuguese, Father!
- We are Portuguese.
Kill them anyway!
- They say they're Portuguese!
- We're Portuguese, Father!
We're with you!
Bring them on down!
- When did you lot lose the army?
- A good week ago.
The Lieutenant here escaped the French
from a hospital in Coimbra
three or four days ago.
What's wrong with your head?
A bullet, Father.
French.
What did I say, Brites?
A Portuguese head is harder
than a Jacobin's bullet.
Did I or didn't I?
You did.
And this dumb lot?
Have they nothing to say?
Can't speak our language, Father.
They're English.
Oh, are they? Don't speak it
but understand, I bet.
As soon as we're rid of the French,
you'd better get off home as well.
Or I'll get rid of you myself.
They're here to help, Father.
They came to help us.
They came. They helped.
But if the French are here,
it's because of them.
It's this blasted continental blockade.
It is, isn't it?
- Well...
- Of course it is.
Very well.
They came.
They've helped. Agreed.
Sometimes they help a bit too much.
Ask Brites how much they helped.
Just two?!
We only saw three, Father.
And we couldn't get the third.
It kicked Vintm here in the back,
and tried to take a bite out of me.
I nearly lost my arm.
It shot off into the trees.
There's no sign of the others.
Well go on then, get things ready.
Let's give thanks to the Virgin
for the French she put in our grasp,
and the supper we'll put in our paunch,
in Her infinite mercy.
Come on, let's go!
You bunch of sinners.
You lot too.
What're they doing there?
The Abbot sent them
to cut the heads off the French...
Why?
To put along the road to Lisbon.
So the others know what to expect.
- You didn't pray.
- What?
This afternoon. You didn't pray.
- Why do you say that?
- You didn't move your lips.
- I was praying in my head.
- No, you weren't.
You're like me. You don't pray.
You don't pray?
I can't any more.
I dreamt about you.
When? You don't know me.
I dreamt about you
three nights running.
About me, how?
Bathed in tears.
Why?!
For me.
Only fools think wars
aren't meant for women.
They kill as well as men do,
and die the same death.
That one...
She's sent more Jacobins to the kingdom
of heaven than you and me together.
To heaven? Or hell?
What hell?
Hell doesn't exist.
This is hell.
Hell is down here.
Hell is us.
Now up there, there's no war.
Up there, even heretics
sit at the Lord's table in peace.
Merciful warrior not staining God's
name with the blood you spill.
God has nothing to do with this.
God is peace.
You can't sleep?
If I sleep, I dream.
About me?
About the war.
Blood.
Dead people.
The Abbot said the English
had helped you.
They did.
Come on, quick!
Hey, lads. Come.
Come and see!
No! No!
Don't move!
See your child? Let us do it.
Why do you resist?
The English!
I wanted to die.
But I didn't.
I watched with foreboding
as the Abbot's motley army tried
to find cover in that desolate place,
they seemed to be headed straight
for the depths of hell.
I secretly said a prayer for him.
No matter what,
as I had said to Bordalo,
he was Portuguese
and a man of God...
I almost felt bad about letting Bordalo
lie to him about the Poles and himself.
I have no idea why,
but though we come from different
worlds and have such different views,
Bordalo reminded me
of the older brother I'd never had.
Do you need help?
I have help enough.
If you want to sell that pot, I'll buy
it. It'll lighten the beast's load.
I'm not selling nothing. Nor buying!
He's ill.
The English girl's right.
You really should...
What with? We have no guns.
Here's the Tagus.
Here's the sea.
Here's Lisbon...
This here is Torres Vedras.
This is the first line of Torres.
The vital one.
There's not even the eye of a needle
for the French to get through.
What if they do?
They won't.
They can't get through.
But if they do, there are still
two lines before Lisbon.
I'm not sure where.
I haven't seen them...
The last is somewhere around Sintra,
I think.
Here.
But they won't get through!
Only by crossing the Tagus.
And that's impossible.
It's as wide as a sea!
And the sea...
...belongs to the English.
They can't get through!
Attention! Down there!
The French!
How many?
Who knows?
More than these sons of bitches.
They look more dead than alive.
They're heading for Lisbon.
They won't set foot there.
Where are they taking us?
What do you want to do? We'll get
lost in this shit hole without them.
Don't you think we're already lost,
idiot?
Shit, what the hell is this?
- What carnage!
- Too right!
It was the bastard French!
They can't be far away.
What a beautiful whore!
Lovely girl...
You!
What are you doing!?
Stop that!
Stop it now!
Now!
Monsieur Lvque, we have to go.
All right. Gather my things.
By afternoon that day we could
finally see the first fortification.
Later, we were to see others,
bigger and better equipped.
But that one was ours;
t was there we waited, feet
firmly planted, for the French.
The English had recruited everyone from
round about to help fortify the lines.
All had left their homes,
smallholdings and families
to labour there in the sun,
rain and wind,
whatever God sent.
None complained.
Ti Miguel!
- That's my godfather, isn't it?
- It is.
He's still alive.
No!
No, thank you.
I'm going to buy some apples.
Five apples, please.
Thank you.
Maria de Jesus!
Vicente!
Maria de Jesus...
Praise God!
I looked for you everywhere.
I was so afraid!
I thought you'd...
...that something awful had happened.
Maria de Jesus! My dove!
I was so afraid you were dead.
I am dead to you, Vicente.
Let me go.
It's better you don't ask why.
Believe me. Let me go, Vicente.
Pretend I'm dead.
Forget me.
No!
What are you saying?
You can't...
It's not possible!
Please, my angel!
For the love of God!
I've missed you so much, my love.
- Our house still stands.
- Let me go, leave me!
- Vicente! Let me go!
- She said let her go! Do you hear?
Leave him alone.
Don't hurt him. Don't, Alberto.
In this world
War is a butcher shop
And peace, a brothel
For one such as I
This world has no place
Signed: Bordalo, poet.
Good luck, Lieutenant.
Goodbye.
Godfather!
Father! It's my godfather.
You made it, then?
Just about.
Had a close shave, in Buaco.
Sit down. Sup with us.
Afonso caught a rabbit this morning.
He caught me more like.
I was spinning in the wind
and he ran right into my hands.
A slice of bacon.
Some olives.
You needn't have.
And down below?
Not a stone left standing.
I even burnt the vines.
And the medlar.
It was older than me.
Cattle are all gone, too.
It's the same all over.
From Coimbra on down,
it's a desert.
The land will take time to heal.
"You do not know that there
formerly dwelt in your land"
"the fairest and noblest race of men
which ever lived,"
"and that you
and your whole city"
"are descended from a small seed
or remnant of them which survived."
"And this was unknown to you,
because, for many generations,"
"the survivors
of that destruction died..."
"...leaving no written word."
It's the third redoubt we've built,
Afonso and I.
We've been at it for over a year.
But I miss the land.
To see a cabbage grow...
the smell of the cattle.
What about you?
Would you rather do this,
or till the land?
I want to be like you.
- What? A soldier?
- Not as long as I draw breath.
I've paid my dues.
Miguel, do you know that bearded chap?
He's new.
Don't know his name.
He's not from these parts.
I feel I've seen him before,
don't know where.
It's time to get going.
Are you going back
when this is all over?
If I'm still alive.
Aren't you?
I don't think
I could bear to see the well.
Good night.
What well, Father?
Ours.
The one Rosa leapt into it
with her son to escape the French.
Let's get some sleep. It's late.
Sergeant?
A semaphore message from Socorro.
It seems the French
won't be long in coming.
Less than a day's march.
They'll be here tomorrow morning.
You're a crook, Penabranca.
I won't haggle...
But I tell you to your face,
you're a thief.
The lad's burning up.
There's plague about. You should
get him to Misericrdia Hospital.
I'm not his father.
I feel sorry for you.
A man all alone...
It's true, really.
I don't think it's fair.
It's your wife, Christ, or isn't she?
What right do I have to have her?
None, whatsoever!
Listen...
Listen.
Let's settle in good terms,
alright?
Like gentleman.
You can have her for 20 cruzados.
I know I should return her for free.
But I've spent some money,
you understand.
She eats, she drinks...
That's expensive as hell nowadays!
We are at war, or did you forget that?
Come on!
Ten cruzados and that's it!
- Alberto!
- Maria de Jesus!
Don't touch me!
Don't you dare touch me, Vicente!
You should be ashamed...
a man in his state.
Come, my love, lean on me.
Get out of my sight, Vicente!
Go away, you coward!
Leave us alone!
Five cruzados.
Six.
It's not worth more.
Good morning, Francisco.
Good afternoon.
First word of the day...
Second word of the day...
Marry me, Maureen.
Marry me.
I cannot.
But why?
So what?
We get married!
Then your child is my child.
No, Francisco!
Percy is dead.
He died.
- The dead don't have children.
- Percy's not dead!
Percy... here.
Percy... here.
Here.
The French will be here tomorrow...
The French. Tomorrow.
If you really want to leave,
you'd better waste no time...
A keepsake?
Goodbye.
What place is this, aunt Flora?
It looks like a staging post!
What are all these girls doing here?
We should go back home.
I'm terribly tired...
Mother will be getting worried.
No, no, I've let her know, don't worry.
Why are you being so formal?
Are you cross with me, aunty?
No, I'm not cross.
Wait for me here.
I need to have a few words
with my friend over there.
- I'd rather go with you.
- No.
Do as I say.
Wait for me here.
Don't be wilful.
I'll be back.
Good morning, Dona Filipa.
Miss.
Miss?
Yes.
Miss Filipa.
Is this truly the new school, sister?
I thought so.
It is!
I recognized
two or three of the girls...
They were at the Sisters of Mercy
last year.
I realised later on.
Mother had said...
...I could stay at home this year.
Tell her I'm not cross with her,
aunt Flora.
Is this my bed?
Well...
I'll be going now...
I have things to do.
I'll leave you here with sister...
I'll be off.
Won't you give me a kiss, aunt Flora?
A kiss. Of course I will!
I was just about to.
I'm so afraid I won't see her again.
Me?
No.
Filipa.
The other one.
Nonsense...
Don't say that, you'll make me cry too.
We'll pray for his soul, my son.
I'm not your son.
Platoon!
Shoulder... Arms!
Platoon!
Prepare to salute the flag.
Present... Arms!
D. Pedro!
Lieutenant, sir!
- I thought you were dead and buried!
- Buried is an exaggeration!
But dead... yes, almost.
How did you get here?
How did you cross the country
with Jacobins all over the place?
Alone?
It's a long story, Sergeant.
But finish the manoeuvre
or they'll turn to pillars of salt.
Platoon!
Shoulder... Arms!
Platoon!
Stand at ease.
I don't know how you got here,
but you came in time.
The French aren't far off.
You've arrived just in time
for the dance.
The outskirts of Lisbon
were covered in fortifications
the English had secretly been
building for a year and a half.
Marechal Massena, who for 6 months
had been preparing to invade Portugal,
knew nothing
of these huge constructions.
Baron de Marbot!
Wellington?
Wellington.
We soon discovered
that the English entrenchment
formed a huge arc around Lisbon,
extending 15 Portuguese leagues,
equivalent, more or less,
to 15 leagues in France.
Excuse me, sir...
Wasn't that Miss Warren?
Do you know her?
We shared a room.
In hospital, that is.
I mean, her father and I...
You don't say. It's a small world...
She came to bid farewell.
She's returning to England.
Oh, returning?
- Did she ask after me?
- No.
Of course not.
- She probably doesn't remember I exist.
- Quite.
"Ah, think, my Lord,
that any other tye"
"would shame the Caesars,
authors of my birth?"
"No, Madam,
he to whom I mean to give ye"
"may without shame
unite your race with his."
"You need not blush
when you accept his flame."
"- Whom does my Lord intend?
- Madam, my self."
"Your self!"
"I would have nam'd another, Junia,
had there been any other above Nero."
"My eyes, to find a choice
you might subscribe to,"
"have travell'd o'er the Court,
Rome, and the Empire..."
Sergeant?
Are you there, Sergeant?
The man with the beard!
Zanaga!
The nurse! Eusbio!
I knew I'd seen him before.
Do you know him?
He carried you
off the battlefield at Buaco.
Zanaga!?
It seems we both knew him before.
But not in the same guise...
Franois-Marie Vilarreal.
Sergeant of the Imperial Guard.
On a mission behind the enemy lines.
Behind the lines
and not in uniform,
you know what to expect...
I did my duty. You do yours.
May I, Major sir?
Go ahead, Lieutenant.
The Abbot and the others?
They fell in the field with honour.
They battled bravely to the last.
I did what I had to.
You did what you had to?
- You betrayed them!
- No, Lieutenant.
My father was Portuguese.
My mother, French.
In all conscience I served both nations
serving the Emperor. I betrayed no one.
Platoon!
- Halt!
- Volunteer for the squad, sir.
- May I ask why?
- The landslide yesterday.
My godson didn't make it.
I don't object,
but nor do I approve.
Personal revenge, Sergeant,
is not seemly in a soldier.
I'm a soldier by chance, Lieutenant.
I was born a farmer.
Advance...
Riflemen!
Advance...
Prisoner!
Arms... Make ready!
Aim...
- Long live the Emperor!
- Fire!
"When the father creator"
"saw the creature
which he had made moving and living,"
"the created image of the eternal gods,"
"he rejoiced,"
"and in his joy,"
"determined to make the copy
still more like the original;"
"and as this was eternal,"
"he sought to make
the universe eternal,"
"so far as might be."
"Now the nature of the ideal being
was everlasting,"
"but to bestow this attribute in its
fulness upon a creature was impossible."
"Wherefore he resolved to have..."
"...a moving image of eternity."
It's over!
Good morning, Ti Miguel.
What have you got for us there?
A Christian, in need of burial.
Burial, here?
I don't know if that's allowed...
It was here he died.
What's the matter, private?
What does he want?
What's this body doing here?
One of the workmen, sir...
wants to bury this deceased.
Here?!
This isn't a cemetery, uncle.
No one gets buried here.
Know you, sir, that I raised four sons.
The oldest was killed by the French
two years ago in Vimeiro.
The two youngest,
taken by the plague a short time ago.
One remained.
He fell beneath those boulders,
yesterday.
He was not yet eighteen.
A year and a half he worked at my side,
sun up to sundown,
every day God sent,
on these works you had us build.
This is where he worked.
This is where he died.
And it's here, as I see it,
with your permission...
...it's fair he be laid to rest.
Let him.
Detachment...
Shoulder...
Arms!
Present...
Arms!
Slope...
Arms!
The French army crossed the border
in April 1811,
quitting Portuguese territory for good.
They left behind a devastated,
exhausted and radically
transformed country.