布达佩斯大饭店,英文台词.doc

it is an extremely common mistake,people think the writers imagination is always at work,that hes constantly inventing an endless supplyof incidents and episodes,that he simply dreams up his stories out of thin air.In point of fact, the opposite is true.Once the public knows youre a writer,they bring the characters and events to youand as long as you maintain your ability to lookand to carefully listen,these stories will continue to.Stop it. Stop it! Dont! Dont do it!Uh, will continue to seek you out over your lifetime.To him who has often told the tales of others,many tales will be told.Sorry. Its all right.The incidents that follow were described to meexactly as I present them hereand in a wholly unexpected way.A number of years ago,while suffering from a mild case of Scribes Fever,a form of neurasthenia common amongthe intelligentsia of that time,I decided to spend the month of Augustin the spa town of Nebelsbad below the Alpine Sudetenwaltz,and had taken up rooms in the Grand Budapest,a picturesque, elaborate, and once widely celebrated establishment.I expect some of you will know it.YOUNG WRITER: It was off season and, by that time, decidedly out of fashion,and it had already begun its descentinto shabbiness and eventual demolition.What few guests we werehad quickly come to recognize one another by sightas the only living souls residing in the vast establishment,although I do not believe any acquaintance among our number had proceededbeyond the polite nods we exchanged as we passedin the Palm Court,in the Arabian baths,and on board the Colonnade Funicular.We were a very reserved group, it seemed,and, without exception, solitary.Perhaps as a result of this general silence,I had established a casual and bantering familiaritywith the hotels concierge, a West-continentalknown only as Monsieur Jean,who struck one as being, at once,both lazy and, really, quite accommodating.I expect he was not well paid.In any case, one evening,as I stood conferring elbow-to-elbow with Monsieur Jean,as had become my habit, I noticed a new presence in our company.A small, elderly man, smartly dressed,with an exceptionally lively, intelligent faceand an immediately perceptible air of sadness.He was, like the rest of us, alone, but also, I must say,he was the first that struck one as being deeply and truly lonely.A symptom of my own medical condition as well.Whos this interesting old fellow?I inquired of Monsieur Jean.To my surprise, he was distinctly taken aback.Dont you know? He asked.Dont you recognize him?He did look familiar.Thats Mr. Moustafa himself.He arrived earlier this morning.This name will no doubt be familiarto the more seasoned persons among you.Mr. Zero Moustafa was at one time the richest man in Zubrowka,and was still indeed the owner of the Grand Budapest.He often comes and stays a week or more,three times a year at least, but never in the season.Monsieur Jean signaled to me and I leaned closer.Ill tell you a secret.He takes only a single-bed sleeping room without a bathin the rear corner of the top floorand its smaller than the service elevator!It was well known,Zero Moustafa had purchased and famously inhabitedsome of the most lavish castles and palazzos on the continent.Yet here, in his own nearly empty hotel,he occupied a servants quarters?At that moment, the curtain roseon a parenthetical, domestic drama.Shit.which required the immediate and complete attentionof Monsieur Jean,but, frankly, did not hold mine for long.However,this premature intermission in the story of the curious, old manhad left me, as the expression goes,gespannt wie ein Flitzebogen,that is, on the edge of my seat,where I remained throughout the next morning, until,in what I have found to be its mysterious and utterly reliable fashion,fate, once again, intervened on my behalf.MR. MOUSTAFA: I admire your work.I beg your pardon?I said, I know and admire your wonderful work.Thank you most kindly, sir.Did Monsieur Jean have a word or two to share with youabout the aged proprietor of this establishment?I must confess, I did myself inquire about you.Hes perfectly capable, of course, Monsieur Jeanbut we cant claim hes a first,or, in earnest, even second-rate concierge.But there it is.Times have changed.The thermal baths are very beautiful.They were in their first condition.It couldnt be maintained, of course.Too decadent for current tastes.But I love it all just the same, this enchanting old ruin.How did you come to buy it, if I may ask?The Grand Budapest.I didnt.If youre not merely being polite,and you must tell me if thats the case,but if it genuinely does interest you,may I invite you to dine with me tonight,and it will be my pleasure and, indeed, my privilege to tell youmy story. Such as it is.Two ducks roasted with olives.Rabbit, salad? Mmm.Pouilly-Jouvet 52, plus a split of the brut.That should provide us ample timeif I commence promptly.By all means.Well, it begins, as it must, with our mutual friends predecessor.The beloved, original concierge of The Grand Budapest.It begins, of course, with.Bring the table to the window. Yes, Monsieur Gustave.Bring the tray to the table. Right away, Monsieur Gustave.Right there. Have those been brushed and blocked?Of course, Monsieur Gustave. Pack them in the hat boxes.Is that from Oberstdorf & Company?I believe so, Monsieur Gustave.Second trunk. Who has the tickets? I do, Monsieur Gustave.Give them to me.These are in order. Wait in the corner.Im not leaving.I beg your pardon?Im not leaving. Why not?Im frightened. Of what?I fear this may be the last time we ever see each other.Why on earth would that be the case?Well, I cant put it into words, but I feel it.For goodness sake, theres no reasonfor you to leave us if youd.Come with me.To fucking Lutz?Please. Give me your hand.Youve nothing to fear. Youre always anxious before you travel.I admit, you appear to be sufferinga more acute attack on this occasion.But, truly and honestly. Oh, dear God.What have you done to your fingernails?I beg your pardon? This diabolical varnish.The color is completely wrong. Dont you like it?Its not that I dont like it. I am physically repulsed.Perhaps this will soothe you.What? Dont recite.Just listen to the words. Hush.Please. Not now.While questing once in noble wood of gray, medieval pine,I came upon a tomb, rain-slickd, rubbed-cool, ethereal,its inscription long-vanished,yet still within its melancholy fissures.MADAME D.: Will you light a candle for me, please?In the sacristy of Santa Maria?GUSTAVE H: Ill see to it myself immediately.Remember, Im always with you.I love you.I love you.Its quite a thing winning the loyalty of a woman like thatfor 19 consecutive seasons.Um. Yes, sir.Shes very fond of me, you know.Yes, sir.But Ive never seen her like that before.No, sir.She was shaking like a shitting dog.Truly.Run to the cathedral of Santa Maria in Brucknerplatz.Buy one of the plain, half-length candlesand take back four Klubecks in change.Light it in the sacristy, say a brief rosarythen go to Mendls and get me a courtesan au chocolat.If theres any money left, give it to the crippled shoe-shine boy.Right away, sir.Hold it.Who are you?Im Zero, sir. The new Lobby Boy.Zero, you say? Yes, sir.Ive never heard of you, never laid eyes on you.Who hired you?Mr. Mosher, sir.Mr. Mosher!Yes, Monsieur Gustave?Am I to understand youve surreptitiously hired this young manin the position of a Lobby Boy?Hes been engaged for a trial period,pending your approval, of course.Uh.Perhaps, yes. Thank you, Mr. Mosher.Youre most welcome, Monsieur Gustave.Youre now going to be officially interviewed.Should I go and light the candle first, sir?What? No.Experience?Hotel Kinski, Kitchen Boy, six months.Hotel Berlitz, Mop and Broom Boy, three months.Before that I was a Skillet Scrubber.Experience, zero.Thank you again, Monsieur Gustave.Straighten that cap, Anatole.The pleasures mine, Herr Schneider. The straps busted.These are not acceptable. I fully agree.Education?I studied reading and spelling.I started my primary school. I almost.Education, zero.Now its exploded.Good morning, Cicero. Call the goddamn plumber!This afternoon, Monsieur Gustave?Without fail, Frau Liebling.What in hell is this? Not now.Family?Zero.Six, Igor.Why do you want to be a Lobby Boy?Well, who wouldnt, at the Grand Budapest, sir?Its an institution.Very good.A thousand Klubecks.My goodness.Were you ever a Lobby Boy, sir?What do you think?Well, I suppose youd have to start somewhere.Go and light the goddamn candle. Yes, sir.MR. MOUSTAFA: And so, my life began.Junior Lobby Boy in-training,Grand Budapest Hotel,under the strict command of Monsieur Gustave H.I became his pupil, and he was to be my counselor and guardian.GUSTAVE H: What is a Lobby Boy?A Lobby Boys completely invisible, yet always in sight.A Lobby Boy remembers what people hate.A Lobby Boy anticipates the clients needsbefore the needs are needed.A Lobby Boy is, above all, discreet to a fault.Our guests know their deepest secrets,some of which are, frankly, rather unseemly,will go with us to our graves.So keep your mouth shut, Zero.Yes, sir.Thats all for now.MR. MOUSTAFA: I began to realize that many of the hotelsmost valued and distinguished guests came for him.It seemed to be an essential part of his duties.Ah!.but I believe it was also his pleasure.The requirements were always the same.They had to be rich,old,insecure,vain,superficial,blonde,needy.Why blonde?Because they all were.He was, by the way,the most liberally perfumed man I had ever encountered.The scent announced his approach from a great distanceand lingered for many minutes after he was gone.I worked six days each week plus a half-day Sunday,5:00 AM until just after midnight.Our meals were small but frequent, for stamina.Two breakfasts, two lunches and a late supper.Monsieur Gustave also delivered a nightly sermon.Rudeness is merely the expression of fear.People fear they wont get what they want.The most dreadful and unattractive person only needs to be loved,and they will open up like a flower.I am reminded of a verse,The painters brush touched the inchoate faceby ends of nimble bristlesand with their blush of first color,rendered her lifeless cheek living.MR. MOUSTAFA: His own dinner, he took alone in his room.The identity of the owner of the hotel was unknown to all of us.Each month, his emissary, known as Deputy Kovacs, arrivedto review the books and convey messageson behalf of the mysterious proprietor.On these occasions, Monsieur Gustave and our business manager,Herr Becker, met with him in private consultation above Reception.This was also when I met Agatha,but we wont discuss that.What do you want? Look.GUSTAVE H: Dear God.Im terribly sorry, sir.We must go to her.We must?Tout de suite. She needs me, and I needyou to help me with my bags and so on.How fast can you pack? Five minutes.Do it. And bring a bottle of the Pouilly-Jouvet 26in an ice bucket with two glassesso we dont have to drink the cat piss they serve in the dining car.I blame myself.She tried to tell me she had a premonition. I didnt listen.All of Lutz will be dressed in black,except her own ghastly, deceitful childrenwhom she loathed and couldnt bear to kiss hello.Theyll be dancing like gypsies.Theres really no point in doing anything in life,because its all over in the blink of an eye.And, the next thing you know, rigor mortis sets in.Oh, how the good die young.With any luck, shes left a few Klubecks for your old friend,but one never knows until the inkis dry on the death certificate.She was dynamite in the sack, by the way.She was 84, Monsieur Gustave.Ive had older.When youre young, its all fillet steak,but as the years go by, you have to move on to the cheaper cuts,which is fine with me, because I like those.More flavorful, or so they say.Why are we stopping at a barley field?Well, hello there, chaps.Documents, please.With pleasure.Its not a very flattering portrait, Im afraid.I was once considered a great beauty.What does the F stand for? Fritz? Franz?Franz.I knew it!Hes making a funny face.Thats a Migratory Visa with Stage Three Worker Status, Franz, darling.Hes with me.Come outside, please.Now, wait a minute. Sit down, Zero. His papers are in order.I cross-referenced them myself withthe Bureau of Labor and Servitude.You cant arrest him simply because hes a bloody immigrant.He hasnt done anything wrong.Stop it, damn you!Never mind, Monsieur Gustave! Let them proceed!GUSTAVE H: Ow! That hurts!You filthy, goddamn, pock-marked, fascist assholes!Take your hands off my Lobby Boy!Whats the problem?This is outrageous.The young man works for me at the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad.Monsieur Gustave?My name is Henckels.Im the son of Dr. and Mrs. Wolfgang Henckels-Bergersd?rfer.Do you remember me?I know exactly who you are. Its uncanny. Youre little Albert.Im terribly embarrassed. Release them.Release them.Hmm.Your colleague is stateless.Hell need to apply for a revised Special Transit Permit,which at this point may be very difficult to acquire.Take this.Its temporarybut its the best I can offer, Im afraid.And hows your wonderful mother?Shes very well, thank you. I adore her.Send my love. I will.Your companion was very kind to mewhen I was a lonely little boy.My men and I apologize for disturbing you.I beg your pardon, sir.You see? There are still faint glimmers of civilizationleft in this barbaric slaughterhousethat was once known as humanity.Indeed, thats what we providein our own modest, humble, insignificant.Oh, fuck it.Where is she, Clotilde? Take me to her.Youre looking so well, darling. You really are.Theyve done a marvelous job.I dont know what sort of creamtheyve put on you down at the morgue,but I want some.Honestly, you look better than you have in years.You look like youre alive.Oh, you changed it after all. Its perfect.Clotilde? Oui, Monsieur Gustave?A glass of chilled water with no ice, please.Yes. M. Gustave - and. also. M. Serge would like to speak with you privately in his office. please.Oh.All right, then.I shant be long, darling.MR. MOUSTAFA: We were escorted through a green baize door,down a narrow service corridor and into the butlers pantry.A moment later, the kitchen passage swung openand a small servant dressed in white jolted into the room.Ive never forgotten the look on that mans face.What the devil is going on?I, myself, had never set foot insidea house of this kind in my life.I understood very little about the events that were to follow.But, eventually, I came to recognize,when the destiny of a great fortune is at stake,mens greed spreads like a poison in the bloodstream.Uncles, nephews, cousins,in-laws of increasingly tenuous connection.The old womans most distant relationshad come foraging out of the woodwork.At the head of this congregation,it was a disorienting coincidence,we discovered our own Deputy Kovacs,himself an important attorney, of course.He was the executor of the dead widows estate.This is Madame Ds last will and testament.It consists of a general tontinedrawn up before the event of her husbands death 46 years ago,in combination with 635 amendments,notations, corrections, and letters of wishesexecuted during the subsequent decades.The ultimate legality of this accumulationrequires further analysis,but in the opinion of this office, it was Madame Ds intentionthat control of the vast bulk of her estateshould be transferred, forthwith, to her son, Dmitri,with special allowances for his sisters,Marguerite, Laetizia, and Carolina,and minor gifts for various members of the extended familyas shown in the List of Recipients,which I will elucidate in due course.However.An additional codicil,delivered into my possession by post only this morning,and, by all indications, sent by Madame Dduring the last hours of her life,contains an amendment to the original certificate,which, as prescribed by law, I will read to you now.The authenticity of this documenthas not yet been confirmed by the presiding magistrate,so I ask that all parties be patient and refrain from commentuntil such time as our investigations can be completed.To my este