Paní Le Murie

Krátký dokument o baronce Blance Battaglia žijící v osamění na chátrajícím zámku v Bratronicích (okres Strakonice). Její rod pocházel z otcovy strany z Lombardie, matka byla z Vídně, od 18. století se usadil v Čechách. Otec byl v roce 1938 jedním ze signatářů Podpory české šlechty Benešově vládě. Jí a především bratru Christianu Battagliovi, slavnému jihočeskému cyklistovi, vystavěl ve své knize Syn celerového krále pomník spisovatel Ota Pavel, a to v povídce Baroni na kolech. Film Petra Václava „Paní Le Murie" získal první cenu za nejlepší dokumentární film na mezinárodním festivalu filmových škol v Mnichově a byl nominován na Oskara v kategorii studentských filmů.
Režie: Petr Václav
Kamera:Štěpán Kučera
Hudba: Jiří Václav
Krátký film Praha, a.s., Česká republika, 1993

Then one could hear weapons clank and people knew foray was taking place.

There was war and ruin would befall them all.

The women were dragged away and the men killed.

Children perished somehow too.

Then wolves and vultures came for the bodies.

Nature would endure great battles of yore.

It was full of life thus, full of hope.

The survivors could run to the forests.

In thick forests they could take shelter and they knew how to start anew.

That’s not how it is today.
Where would people run?

There’s nothing today.

No forests, no castles.

Everything is full of poison
and despair reigns.

No place to hide.

Only doom and gloom remains.

MADAM LE MURIE

That grave’s not forlorn, forsaken, neglected.

There’s a flower and such...

but there’ll be no tombstone.

When I’m dead, if I die here

- but that doesn’t matter anyway
because I’m last in the line -

the tomb will be cleared off and sold.

Nothing, nothing, nothing…

No name, no marker.

There’ll be nothing.

I grew up here the way all the village
children I was friends with did.

I’d visit their cottages, run barefoot,
everything just like them.

Of course, that changed with time...

my great grief.

I started to be alone more and more.

That’s how it’s been my whole life, basically.

Every drop of water must be dragged
here from the village.

We used to have a nice water main,
but it was destroyed.

I guess it’s better this way.

All this clutter, the wood, we
brought it in during the war.

When the Germans came, Father
created this "artistic mess"...

so that it looked less posh.

And it stayed this way…

I can’t fathom why they didn’t
throw us out from here.

Must have been providence.

Our heads are very, very small.

With our two hands we can enclasp it.

Thus, our intellect cannot fathom
why we were allowed to stay.

I believe there was a higher
purpose in that.

All that’s hard to explain.

It’s incommunicable.

I’ve always loved nature very much.

I like fish, water. There are
plenty of ponds here.

Every toad, every little fish,
that was my thing.

A strong bond with flora.

And it was bursting with animals here.

There were those - something
like crakes.

They were around in June when
it was hot, on the meadows.

You could hear them here and there.

A symbiosis with nature.

And with people.

A complete symbiosis.

We have storks on the roof.

Their nest dates to last century.

When it was hot, you could hear
all the croaking in the evening.

Or even during the day.

The stork would come and
all you could hear was

plonk, plonk, plonk...

And the toads would rush to
water to save their lives.

But it's quiet now.

That’s terrible for me.

It was like a part of me.

This used to be Father’s salon.

His escritoire.

My Father was from the old school.

And when I was a little older he would
find time to teach me Latin.

I’m very grateful for that.

After every lesson I’d thank him.

The roof leaks a lot.

You must save whatever you can.

Must ventilate the closets too.

But it’s so damp it’s hard to open.

Mama was bound to this
bed for almost 8 years.

She was ill, suffering from
deformative rheumatism.

She was immobile.

I was married off to Switzerland...

but in 1948 I heard about what
was happening here.

I burst into tears so hard.

Some time later

I went back here and stayed with Mama.

Father was old

and the communists needed someone

to accuse of being a kulak

so they jailed him.

But he was so old

they knew he’d die soon,

so they let him go home.

He loved to walk to his former fields...

where one day he died.

This was my brother’s bedroom.

He was very ascetic.

We all were brought up tough...

and we were all frugal.

My brother loved South Bohemia.

Nothing could beat the Bohemian
Forest for him.

And its people.

He never left.

When the army came

and made most of it off-limits

it was a real blow for him.

Kristián also spent time in jail,

but the village helped him out.

Also the damage to the countryside,

the meadows were ploughed under,

wildlife annihilated,

and birds gone…

He loved birds dearly,

especially the small ones.

And they were less and less populous.

Well, it’s good he died first...

because I don’t know how well
could he have handled it...

had he stayed on his own.

I served Mama till the end...

and Papa, and my brother too.

We’d often remark, Kristián and I,

how beautiful it was around here

and how it was mistreated.

Butterflies aplenty,

their number getting thinner
year after year…

They’re gone. Gone.

And there’s more,

but people don’t notice.

They don’t observe nature at all.

Just to get their livelihood from it,

to gain more and more,

but to really contemplate,

understand and ask questions...

People don’t care.
That’s something awful.

Especially the country folk.

They have no taste for all this at all.

They just go for the immediate gain.

Just to stuff their faces, pardon my French.

I had a schoolmate,

she was a gravedigger‘s daughter.

She took the job after his death

and I told her I’d help.

And so we’d bury the dead,
dig graves and such.

No problem for me.

We’d have difficulties with every grave.

Very rarely would it go easy.

Never less than 3 hours. Never.

I’d often stumble upon these
white stiff pieces digging.

I thought it was cast.

But it seemed curious...

to have so many people buried with cast.

But this one time I was
burying this neighbour

and the broad was very fat.

Then it occurred to me...

it was lard,

non-decomposed,

and that it looked just like cast.

The fatness,

the fat,

the lard,

it transforms into this…

I just had to show it to this guy from
the village who was passing by,

I told him to come and have a look,

this is the fat that remained…

Why, the swallows left early this year.

Why?

There’s a reason!

Something‘s telling them.

And all the storks are gone too.

Usually by the end of August.

But what drives them?

This is no laughing matter.

It isn’t accidental.

We should also speak of an
incommunicable secret.

It could be light for those born blind.

And all the sensations
that come with sight.

Yet they live.

Or the deaf.

Never getting to know what
tone or sound means.

We discern three dimensions.

This great human being, Einstein,
added a fourth one

– time.

But for us common folk

only the first three apply.

I like to watch the celestial sphere.

I see the Milky Way...

made of innumerable ardent stars.

When I think about

how each of the stars

is millions of light years away

and this ray travels

and touches my eye where it expires

in a fraction of second.

It‘s awe-inspiring.

I shiver inside

and can’t but feel humble.

Disturbing feelings.

Deeply.

One fears death.

Of course. And for good reason.

Because we don’t know what’s there.

And we must leave here.

You could say I get a headache from this.

It makes me dizzy.

To know all of it is true.

Your brain can’t analyse it.

But it’s no nonsense,

no dream,

it’s reality.

The grave doesn’t horrify
me, the universe does.

Our age is drawing to an end.

The Quaternary Period is done for.

The omens are numerous.

Ozone depletion.

Rain forests destruction.

All of this accelerates

the demise of the Quaternary.

Conifers are dying,

broad-leaved trees are starting too,

oaks are dying,

beech is next and so on,

everything is dying.

Stone crumbles.

With human help.

When oak is in danger,

now that’s something,

Now that’s something,
people always said strong as oak,

it was always used as a parable for something strong.

and all others will follow.

We will perish.

When I was at a very tender age,

15 or so,

I met a young gentleman

who impressed me a lot.

I felt a growing fierce affection for him

and it developed into a deep love.

When I realised his feelings were not as strong,

just a passing fancy,

definitely not what I’d dreamt for...

it shattered my life.

I glimpsed at my watch

and it was stuck.

To overcome this shock
I said my watch was stuck.

That moment
my whole world came to a halt.

My life was over in an instant.

I stayed away from great feeling
for the rest of my life.

No one knew anything.

I fought it out, but the price was terrible.

It cost me my life.

I turned into a vegetable.

Off with you, cat.

The longcase clock was stolen,

as were many other things.

The other clock I stopped

when I was told of my brother’s death.

After all, what’s this “time”?

I gave it a lot of thought.

We know the past,

don’t know the future.

And presence?

When I say “now”,

it’s already in the past.

Time is a human construct

that can be of help

and is necessary,

but I must say I can’t figure it out.