Though it has survived only in a heavily truncated form, Píseň života still manages to deliver its tragic impact in just twenty minutes. The story itself, written and adapted by director Miroslav Josef Krňanský, is not particularly original — yet it leaves a strong impression. The surviving footage cuts off right at the height of the tragedy, just as the plot was meant to begin its slow resolution, according to period synopses.

On a full moon night, a stranger leaves a newborn baby, Hana (Růžena Hofmanová), in the cart of Havel (Karel Váňa), who raises her as his own. Years later, Havel falls gravely ill. After reconciling with his estranged brother Konrad (Adolf Krössing), he entrusts Hana to his care. Having sold nearly everything to survive, Hana eventually finds work at the factory of Mr. Silver (Luigi Hofman), run by Richard Mára (Vladimír Majer). Mára notices her and, under the guise of concern for her future, first gifts her a pearl necklace and then attempts to assault her. Hana resists, striking him in the face, but Mára retaliates by accusing her of theft and assault. She is sentenced to ten months in prison, while Konrad, devastated, hangs himself.

That is where the extant version ends, leaving the viewer with a bitter taste — a drama seemingly without escape. In reality, the original story continued: Hana was eventually exonerated, found shelter with a gamekeeper, and discovered her true parentage as the daughter of Zaluzanský, a wealthy landowner. In the end, she married Petr, Mr. Silver’s son — a conclusion far more comforting than the grim images that survive, where the last shot shows Konrad’s legs dangling from the noose.

The film’s preservation history is curious. Krňanský repeatedly recycled its footage in later works: Příběh jednoho dne (1926), Bahnem Prahy (1927), and finally in his late compilation Blednoucí romance (1958), where the material was retitled Osudem zrazeni (“Betrayed by Fate”) and given the tragic ending we now know.

Píseň života is also remembered as one of the rare films featuring Adolf Krössing, the German-Bohemian tenor and close friend of Bedřich Smetana and Antonín Dvořák. His comic-buffoonish touch, visible even here, is something I personally didn’t enjoy — much like the performances overall. On the other hand, the cinematography by Otto Heller is outstanding, offering striking compositions that truly shine in the restored print.

For those interested, the film is available as a bonus feature on the Národní filmový archiv’s DVD release of Batalion (1927), complete with English subtitles.

This article was originally published in Italian on emutofu.com