's all kind of vermin here.
Every rose has its thorn.
Go on, search. Only those who search
will find.
Pupala's coming!
Hello, hello!
Hello, Pupala.
We haven't seen you for a long time.
Here I am. God is my witness, I love
you. What were you gossiping about?
About different things.
What exactly?
About our transitory life.
It's too short.
Take you, for example.
People say you were a beauty.
Yes, I must admit I was beautiful.
Very beautiful.
With golden locks and dark eyes.
They used to call me a swallow.
And now they call you an owl.
You look more like a withered rose.
Still a rose, even if a withered one.
Unlike you, a garlicky soul.
You're still like a rose.
With lots of suitors, only they're
too shy to declare their love.
Whom are you talking about?
About today's dunderheads
with jug-like snouts?
I, the daughter of a nobleman, am not
going to marry a first man to come.
I'd better be alone, like a field
mouse.
They aren't worth the little finger
of my telegraphist Gabo.
He was a real man, strong and
handsome, with a groomed mustache.
He took his life,
enchanted by my shiny eyes.
I remember: It was here.
He stood on his knees right here.
No, it was here.
"I can't live without you,"
he said. "You've bewitched me.
In midsummer I'm shivering from
cold. I can't get warm without you."
But I didn't marry him. I didn't
love him.
He was no match for me.
I turned him down...
Then telegraphist Gabo took poison
wrapped in paper from his pocket,
and said with a sigh: "You're taking
a sin upon your soul, Pupala."
He poured the poison on his tongue
and fell breathless on the ground.
You little snake!
May you rot in the earth,
you lousy rat!
Pupal! Pupal! Pupal!
Pupala, poor thing.
For whom have you wasted your youth?
For Shiola, of course.
I've been waiting for Shiola
all my life.
He has gone and taken my heart
with him.
Where are you, Shiola?
There has never been a man like him.
What a sharp shooter he was!
He looked like St. George.
Death has taken him away from me.
My brave falcon went to fight
an enemy squad,
and they riddled him with arrows.
Greetings, good women!
Whom are you maligning now,
gossipers?
Whom are you dishing the dirt about?
Oh, our Pupala's here, too!
How are you doing, my beauty?
Did you get married,
or are you still an old maid?
You cucumber head, moldered hollow,
lousy shrimp!
Where did he come from?
I was sitting on a branch,
the branch broke
and I fell down right here.
I was shaving planks for your coffin
and came to take your measurements.
May you burn in hell,
stinking vermin!
You should be nailed to a board
and stabbed with skewers!
Wait!
Look here, girl.
You're Maridi's granddaughter,
aren't you?
Yes.
Oh, Saint Mary the Virgin!
Oh, Saint Nina!
A peasant girl,
and such a beauty!
She has the eyes of a gazelle.
Are you crying? Why is she crying?
It's coming.
It's coming.
A great hurricane is coming.
The fulfillment of the people's dream
is near.
Here it comes, our happiness...
And the smell of gunpowder in the air.
It's coming.
It's coming.
The old world will fall crashing down.
It will fall down.
The hurricane is coming. The storm
is coming.
You've gone absolutely mad, pal.
Put your ear to the ground.
Do you hear it booming?
You know what it is?
The storm is coming.
Our victory is near. The grave will
swallow up the tsars.
Listen to me.
You think your storm will bury
only tsars?
Don't you know
that it will bring along
chaos, blood and misfortune?
Everything will be reduced to dust -
the people's work and sweat.
All right, we'll be destroyed by
your storm.
But what will happen to him?
To an innocent boy?
He will be swept away by your storm,
too.
No, he won't be.
The storm has risen for his happiness.
For his freedom.
Mountains and plains can never
be leveled up.
Anarchy, the mother of order, will
level up what has risen unjustly.
Will we be there soon?
Yes, soon, I