Original subtitles

As Juliana Bordereau sat there before me,

my heart beat as fast as if the miracle of resurrection

had taken place solely for my benefit.

Her presence seemed somehow to contain his,

and I felt nearer to him at that first moment of seeing her

than I ever had before,

or ever have since.

I felt an irresistible desire to hold in my own, for a moment,

the hand that Jeffrey Aspern had pressed.

One doesn't defend one's god.

One's god is in himself a defence.

Today Jeffrey Aspern shines high in the heaven of our literature

for all the world to see.

He is a part of the light by which we walk.

He had been not only one of the most brilliant poets of his day,

but one of the most genial men

and one of the handsomest.

His early death had been the only dark spot in his life,

unless the papers in Miss Bordereau's hands

should perversely bring out others.

By what passions had he been ravaged?

By what sufferings had she been blanched?

Our house is very far from the centre,

but the little canal is comme il faut.

Very respectable.

It's the sweetest corner of Venice.

I can imagine nothing more charming.

There's no need to raise your voice. I can hear you perfectly.

Please do sit down over there.

Do tell me what you might expect from me.

Well...

Perhaps the young lady who so kindly received me yesterday

explained to you about the garden.

Your garden gave me the courage to take a step so unconventional.

I thought I might find lodgings here.

Mr Edward Sullivan. To see Miss Bordereau.

Excuse me.

The garden.

Is it yours?

The garden?

Nothing here is mine.

But surely the garden must belong to the house?

Yes, but the house doesn't belong to me.

Then would you tell me to whom I must address myself?

You know...

I'm looking for a garden.

It's absurd if you like, for a man, but...

I can't live without flowers.

There are none to speak of down there.

It costs too much to cultivate them.

One has to have a man.

Why should I not be that man?

You shall have the finest flowers in Venice.

But I don't know you.

Oh, you know me as much as I know you.

That is to say much more, as you now know my name.

If you're so fond of gardens,

why don't you go to terra firma ,

where there are so many far better than mine?

It's the combination.

The idea of a garden in the middle of the sea.

It's not in the middle of the sea!

It's many years

since I have been in one of the gondolas.

Well, let me assure you of the pleasure

at which I would put mine at your service.

You're English, are you not?

If you are, I'm almost a countryman.

We're not English.

You don't mean to say you're an American?

I don't know.

Used to be.

Used to be?

It's been so many years...

We're... nothing now.

I'm not going to take anything from you.

I have some writing to do.

I would like some quiet over a period, possibly all winter.

I also need a great deal of open air.

I find a garden is really...

indispensable.

Nothing will change for you all...

except, of course, the flowers.

For us all?

I mean all your family...

However many you are.

There's only one other...

She's very old.

Only one other,

in all this place?

Surely then you have space to spare.

If you could let me two, three rooms, it would greatly assist me.

Er... I can't decide anything.

You must see my aunt.

The young lady who received you so kindly, as you say,

is my niece.

Her name is Tina.

She will come in, but I wished to see you alone for a moment.

I'll be delighted to see your niece again.

Miss Tina was so very courteous to me.

She has very good manners. I bred her up myself.

I imagine she must have thought me very odd.

It matters little how odd you are.

I don't care who you are.

It signifies very little today.

- Am I to understand...? - There's nothing to understand.

Just listen... carefully.

You may have

as many rooms as you like...

if you will pay me a great deal of money.

I will pay with pleasure

and of course in advance

whatever you think it proper to ask of me.

Well, then, a thousand francs a month.

A thousand...

My dear lady, your views perfectly fit my own.

Tomorrow I shall have the pleasure

of putting three months' rent into your hand.

- Three thousand... - Three thousand francs?

Oh, did you mean francs or dollars?

I think francs were what you said.

Oh... that seems to be very good to me.

What do you know? How do you know?

You have always been ignorant of these matters, praise God.

That's quite true.

I know nothing about money.

Nothing at all.

You have your own branches of knowledge, I'm sure.

Well, she had a very good English education

when she was young.

But she's learned nothing since.

That's because I've always been with you.

But for that...

What time will you come tomorrow with the money?

If it suits you, I'll come at noon.

It suits me.

I will see you at noon, with the money.

I'll be punctual.

May I shake your hand on our contract?

I belong to a time when that was not the custom.

And you, miss,

will you shake my hand?

Surely you accept the custom of our day.

Will you bring the money in gold?

In gold?

Aren't you a little afraid to keep such a sum in gold in the house?

Of whom should I be afraid if I'm not afraid of you?

Quite.

I'll bring gold if you prefer.

Yes.

I prefer, since I asked.

Hm.

This conversation has tired me. I want you to go now.

The strange thing is

I've discovered Juliana Bordereau is still alive.

It's as if I've discovered the famous Lady Hamilton is.

And she belongs to a generation just as extinct.

Every one of Aspern's contemporaries has passed.

I haven't been able to look into a single pair of eyes

that his might have looked into.

Or transmitted contact from an aged hand that his has touched.

In all my years of research,

I've encountered phantoms, ghosts,

echoes of echoes,

when the one source of information that has lingered on into our time

has been unheeded by me.

Why don't you simply offer them a sum of money?

In that way you might obtain her letters without so many sleepless nights.

She would never accept money for anything so valuable.

The world has recognised Jeffrey Aspern,

and I've recognised him most.

I've done more for his memory than anyone else,

and I've done it by shinning a light into his life.

And into yours.

"Ere Babylon was dust,

the Magus Zoroaster, my dead child,

met his own image walking in the garden.

That apparition,

sole of men,

he saw."

One of Aspern's poems?

Of course.

You're too fond of mystery. That's your great fault.

But you'll have to change your name.

Juliana lives out of the world as much as it's possible to live.

Nonetheless, she's probably heard of Mr Aspern's editors.

She may know about what you've published,

may even have read it.

I've thought of that.

Duplicity is my only course.

First I have to sit down with her,

then tackle the main job.

Or else seduce the niece.

Isn't it charming? It's grey and pink.

It hasn't got an air so much of decay as of... quiet discouragement.

Quite, I'll say.

Even though you can pass on foot, scarcely anyone thinks of doing so.

Perhaps the people are afraid of the Misses Bordereau.

They have the reputation of witches.

Wish me luck.

I've had better fortune than I hoped.

Tell me, how did you manage to convince her?

Oh, it was the idea of the money that convinced her.

That was your only argument?

And that I said that I thought she'd get a good deal.

That I thought you were rich.

And what put that idea into your head?

I don't know... The way that you talked.

Oh, dear.

I think I must talk differently.

I'm afraid my voice has deceived you.

Do you think it's too much?

That depends on the amount of pleasure I get for it.

Pleasure?

There is no pleasure in this house.

So, this is where your aunt would like me to be?

She said your rooms ought to be very distinct.

Apart. You know?

That would certainly be best.

I don't know if it'll make any difference to you,

but the money is for me.

Money?

The money you are going to bring.

You'll make me want to stay three years.

Well, that would be very good for me.

She wants me to have something.

She fears that she's going to die.

Not soon, I hope.

Why do you say that?

Not soon.

It's as if you feared something.

No, no, no, no.

I hope she's not seriously ill.

For her sake.

And for yours.

No.

She's just very tired. That's all.

She's tired of everything.

She's lived so many years, she said she'd like to try dying for a change.

All her friends died long ago

and either they ought to have remained or she ought to have gone with them.

- That's what she says. - Hm.

But people don't die when they want, do they?

I guess she won't have much to say to me while I'm here.

No.

There's nothing to tell. We live such a quiet life.

I don't know how the days pass, I...

You're very trusting.

- Trusting? - Mm-hm.

I... I suppose that I am a trusting person.

As soon as my rooms had been arranged, I surveyed the place,

looking for my opportunity.

Yet you can push through a breach

but you can't batter down a dead wall.

They were like two hunted creatures

feigning death.

I made a point of spending as much time as possible in the garden

to justify the picture I had originally given of my horticultural passion.

And I not only spent time, but considerable money.

We got a lot of work to do. Come with me.

I had to be consistent.

Keep my promise that I would smother the house with flowers.

I had formed this project that by flowers I would make my way.

I used to watch, as long as I thought decent,

the door that led to Miss Bordereau's part of the house.

A person observing me might have thought I was trying to cast a spell on her door

or was attempting some odd experiment in hypnotism.

But I was not rewarded with a glimpse of the tail of her dress.

It was as if she had never peeped out of her apartment.

What store of passionate memories

had Juliana laid away for the monotonous future?

"A secret known to none but thee

and no one else of living things..."

She was the daughter of an artist, a painter, a sculptor

who had left America when the century was fresh.

Upon her arrival in Europe,

she surrounded herself with poets and writers.

There was an implication

that she'd had an adventurous and fascinating character.

I'm so glad you've come!

You speak as if you were lost in the woods.

How you manage to stay out of this charming place

when you have only three feet to get into it...

It's more than I've been able to discover.

Tell me.

How do you manage without air,

without movement,

without any sort of contact from outside?

We go to bed very early.

Well... earlier than you'd imagine.

Do you know...

I've never been out here at this time of day.

Never?

In this fragrant place,

blooming right here under your nose?

It was never nice till now.

You know,

I must confess...

I've wondered why you've never given me the slightest sign.

You've never thanked me in any way for the flowers I've been sending up.

I didn't know they were for me.

They were for you both. Why should I make a difference?

Why do you want to know us?

Now, that question is your aunt's.

It isn't yours.

You wouldn't ask it if you weren't put up to it.

She didn't tell me to ask you it.

Well...

does your aunt see anything wrong with the idea of two intelligent people,

living under the same roof as we do,

occasionally exchanging a remark?

You know, we share some of the same tastes.

Like you, I am intensely fond of Venice.

Oh, I'm not in the least bit fond of Venice.

I should like to go far away from it.

You don't like Venice?

And you wish to go far away from it

when you won't even go to Piazza San Marco?

Has your aunt always held you back so?

No. She's the one that told me to come out today.

It was I that didn't want to come.

I didn't want to leave her.

Is she unwell?

She hasn't been very well recently.

Sometimes she's so motionless that I fear she's dead.

But she insists on getting up every morning.

She clings to her old habits

as if it would keep her steady.

She makes a point of sitting in the parlour

as if she was expecting a visitor.

- She used to receive visitors, then? - Oh, yes.

When we first came to Venice we had a brilliant life.

We visited all the palazzi, the churches, the galleries...

- Who did you know? - Oh, so many.

And nice ones. Um...

The Cavaliere Bombicci and the Contessa Altemura.

We had a very great friendship with her.

The Chiltons, the Goldies... Oh, and Mrs Stokes.

Oh, I loved her so much.

She's gone now, as are most people from that circle.

Mm... it's getting late now.

You really have to go?

Yes. I must.

When shall I see you again?

I would like to come out tomorrow night but...

Well, I'm so far from doing what I'd like.

You might do something I like.

I don't believe you.

Why? Why don't you believe me?

I don't know, I...

I suppose it's because I don't understand you.

That is just the sort of occasion to have faith.

Have faith in me.

Mother.

You've arrived just in time

to meet the most mysterious man I know, Mr Morton Vint.

Good morning, ladies.

Valentina, you look lovely, and Emily, you look like a flower in bloom.

May I tell it to Mother?

Well, don't mind Mr Vint.

He's well practised in keeping secrets.

- Emily is to be married. - How can this be?

The last time I saw you, you were with the nuns.

I often wonder if the nuns shouldn't have kept her a few years more.

And who might this man be

that has broken you from the shackles of the convent?

It's Lord Fullerton.

Mother chose him for me.

It's just like your mother to have such ideas.

- Elizabeth. - Adriana.

- You look stunning. - Oh, thank you.

You two must have many more secrets to exchange.

And Morton has some things he'd like to share with me

and I can see he's getting quite impatient to do so.

He's lodging with the Misses Bordereau.

I haven't heard that name for years. How is the niece? How do you like her?

Morton, do tell.

What news, if any, of your dear Miss Tina?

His interest in some papers has become quite a fixed idea.

What papers of value could they possibly have?

That is what I'm trying to find out.

I mean, these two are from another age.

Yes, their manner has very little to do with ours.

So, what more have you learned from her?

I've learned that her mind is essentially vague about...

dates and the order in which events occurred.

Her story doesn't quite hang together.

I've even asked myself if she's trying to lay a trap for me.

To make you show your hand, you mean?

Mm-hm.

I mean, perhaps she doesn't even know of the existence of these... papers.

I wrote to her.

You never told me that.

Six months before I arrived.

Did she answer?

Yes.

To the second letter.

She answered in six lines.

And what did she say?

Miss Bordereau requested that she had none of Mr Aspern's papers.

And even if she did, she would not think of showing them to anybody

on any account whatsoever.

Maybe after all this they don't have any of his things.

If they so flatly deny it, how can you be sure?

I am sure.

On what evidence?

Her calling him "Mr Aspern".

I don't see what that proves.

It proves familiarity, and familiarity implies possession of mementos.

You don't say "Mr Byron" or "Mr Shakespeare", do you?

Would I, any more, if I had a box full of his love letters?

Yes, if you had been his lover

and someone wanted them.

It was part of my idea

that there had been another love affair,

broken by some tragic rupture.

I thought you wouldn't come.

I wanted to tell you that...

I shall like the flowers better

now that I know they're also for me.

How could you have doubted it?

Shall I send up a double lot of them to prove it to you?

Don't go to the trouble, the idea's enough.

Do you study at night?

When you go up to your room, do you read and write?

Not at night. The lamplight brings in the insects.

But... in winter do you work at night?

Yes, I do.

I read a great deal but I usually don't write.

Before I go to sleep, I usually read some great poet.

Nine out of ten times it's a volume by...

Jeffrey Aspern.

Oh...

We read him.

We have read him.

He is my poet of poets.

I know him almost by heart.

By heart - oh, that's nothing.

My aunt used to know him.

As a visitor?

Yes. He used to come here and take her out.

But he died a hundred years ago.

That's nothing, my aunt's a hundred and fifty.

Why have you not told me this before?

I should like to speak to her about him.

You should have come twenty years ago, then.

She still spoke about him.

And what did she say?

She said that...

he liked her immensely.

And she didn't like him?

She said he was a god.

Has she got a portrait of him?

It would be a true find. They are very rare.

Tell me this, please.

A portrait...

Um... I've never seen one.

Surely you would know if she had a portrait of the god?

I don't know what she has. She keeps her things locked up.

Then she cannot have one.

She wouldn't keep it locked up.

She would hang it in a place of prominence in her parlour.

Any admirer of Aspern would do the same. I would do so myself.

I would be only too glad to work under his gaze.

I would be encouraged by his presence.

When dejected, I would console myself with his example.

His example?

Do you write about him?

Do I write? Oh, please.

Let us not discuss my writing when we talk about Jeffrey Aspern.

Do you pry into his life?

Now I seem to hear your aunt's voice again.

It's not like you to use such terms.

Do I pry into his life?

Then all the more the reason that you should answer plainly.

Tell me.

Are you prying into his life?

Yes.

I write about him.

I have written about him and I will write about him again.

Please tell me.

Does your aunt have any poems,

letters, papers, unpublished documents, anything...

belonging to Jeffrey Aspern?

Do you find him handsome?

I don't know. He seems strange.

I know who I would rather have as my husband.

You like him that much?

What might you ladies be laughing about? Would you mind sharing it with us?

Morton, whatever is happening? You look like a mad man.

Five days I've been sitting in that garden waiting for her.

Sending flowers up by the bushel. And nothing.

What am I to do? I can't exactly break into her room.

You might have to come up with something new, then, to trigger a reaction.

And what would make you react? As a woman.

As a woman?

I don't think Miss Tina is quite a woman,

but Miss Bordereau definitely is.

Ladies, what would you say?

You send her flowers every day?

I would like that very much.

I do so love flowers.

Tell the gardener to stop the flowers.

I sent for you because my aunt would like to see you.

Really?

And what's made her change her mind so suddenly?

Perhaps because she's so old.

People often become capricious when they get so old.

This is certainly true. However...

have you repeated to her what I told you the other night?

If I had told her what you said,

do you think that she'd want to see you?

Miss Bordereau,

it's a great pleasure for me to see you again at last.

I trust you are in good health, despite the hot weather.

I'm always cold. The hot weather makes no difference.

But my health is good enough, good enough...

It's a great thing to be alive.

It depends on what you compare it with.

I don't compare.

If I did that I should have given up living long ago.

About the flowers.

I ought to have thanked you before.

But...

I don't write letters.

I'm delighted you enjoyed them.

I shall send some more this evening.

What else should you do with them?

Hm?

It's not a manly taste to make a bower of your room.

Why don't you come into the garden yourself?

You can pick what flowers you like.

Wouldn't it do you good to sit in the shade, in the sweet air?

Oh, my dear sir...

If I move from this, it won't be to sit outside,

and then the air that may be stirring around me

won't be particularly sweet.

It will be a very dark shade indeed.

I'm not afraid of what lies ahead.

But it will not be soon, I suppose.

Why don't you make her go out?

Aunt, please.

Do you pity her?

Do you teach her to pity herself?

She has a much easier life than I did when I was her age.

Miss Bordereau.

What you say seems to me perhaps...

a little unkind.

Unkind?

Perhaps you mean "inhuman"?

That's what the poets used to call women a hundred years ago.

"Inhuman".

Don't try to imitate them.

You could never do as well.

There is no more poetry in the world.

At least not around me.

But I won't bandy words with you.

Well, then.

I won't impose any longer upon your kindness.

Kindness? I don't have to be kind to you.

I don't have to be kind to anyone any more.

Thank God.

Sit.

Why don't you make that girl go out and see the place?

Dear Aunt, what do you want to do with me?

I... I know the place.

He can show you the famous sunsets, if they go on.

Do they still go on?

Hm.

Take her to San Giovanni Evangelista.

Take her to the Piazza. It was so pleasant in my time.

Let her listen to the music, let her look at the shops.

She can have some money.

She may buy...

something she likes.

I would be honoured to accompany Miss Tina.

And if she'd rather go alone,

my gondolier is entirely at her service.

Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you again soon?

Is it very necessary to your happiness?

It diverts me more than I can say.

You're full of flattery.

Don't you know this talk almost kills me?

Now, how can that be

when you are more animated,

more brilliant

than when I first came in?

It's quite true, Aunt.

I... I think it does you good.

Isn't it touching,

the solicitude we each have that the other may enjoy herself?

If you think me brilliant today,

then you have never met an agreeable woman.

Don't try to pay me any compliments.

I have been spoiled in this respect.

- Are you all right? - Yes.

It was a splendid afternoon.

I saw that she enjoyed it even more than she showed.

She was agitated with the multitude of her impressions.

It was so...

She had forgotten what an attractive thing the world is.

I did think that...

And it was coming over her

that somehow she had, for the best years of her life,

been cheated of it.

This did not make her angry,

but her face had, in spite of its smile of appreciation,

the flush of a sort of wounded surprise.

As if she were thinking with a secret sadness

of opportunities, forever lost.

I've found out what's the matter with my aunt.

She's afraid that you'll go.

I suppose you mean because of the rent.

Oh, yes, it is shameful but she wants me to have more.

- - How much does she want you to have?

She ought to fix the sum. Then I could stay till it's all gone.

No, that wouldn't please me, you going to all that trouble.

The other day...

I seemed to understand you might help me with my search.

Was I wrong?

I... I couldn't do that without being false to my aunt.

She'd never consent to what you want.

She'd been asked before.

So she does have documents... papers of value.

She has everything.

She has everything.

There clung to her name some scent of a reckless passion,

an intimation that, for some people,

Juliana hadn't always acted respectably.

You play beautifully.

I haven't practised in ages.

You should resume.

It's the only piece I know.

It's my aunt's favourite one,

though I've never played it well enough for her.

Um...

I want to thank you. For today.

It was my pleasure.

And for my aunt as well, though she'll never say it.

She doesn't often reveal her true thoughts.

What has made her this way?

I don't know, it was on account of something...

years ago, before I was born.

Something?

What kind of something?

She never told me.

Do you suppose it's something to which Aspern references in his letters?

I've never read them.

But I did see them once when she had them out.

Are they letters?

Are they poems?

Does she look at them often?

She used to.

She's very fond of them.

Even though they may be compromising?

Compromising?

Well, they may contain some painful memories.

I don't think that they're painful in that way.

You don't think they may affect her reputation?

Do you think that she did something bad?

Well, things were different then.

The morals of our day may judge her badly.

If they were compromising, why would she keep the papers?

Why would she not just... destroy them?

Well, she might. Towards the end.

Don't say that.

- You must prevent it. - How?

- You could get them away from her. - And give them to you?

Well, you might just let me look at them.

They would be of such importance

as a contribution to the history of Jeffrey Aspern.

There was a gentleman once

that wrote to her in very much those words.

He said... What was it? Let me remember.

Ah! Yes...

"They would be of immeasurable importance."

And what did she reply?

After he'd sent her two or three letters,

she became fearfully angry.

She tore them up. She put them in the fire.

Mm.

She said that he was a devil.

Well,

I hope you won't see me as a devil.

It depends what you ask me to do for you.

I only ask that you prevent her from destroying the papers.

But how?

It's she who controls me.

I don't think that you have to be too frightened.

She... She loves them.

She loves them so much.

I'll do what I can to help you.

"Destruction marks thee!

O'er the blood-stained heath

is faintly borne

that stifled wail of death.

Millions to fight compelled,

to fight or die

in mangled heaps on war's red altar lie."

Tina is a very nice girl.

I hope you did not take her out because you were obliged to,

but that you... you have some feeling for her.

Yes.

Have you come to tell me

that you wish to take your rooms for six months more?

I am a simple man of letters.

I live from day to day.

So do you find your rooms too dear?

I've treated myself to three months in Venice.

It has been an immense luxury.

But if you find your rooms too dear,

you can have more rooms for the same money.

We can arrange something,

we can combinare, as they say.

Evidently you suppose me much richer than I am.

- You write books. Don't you sell them? - A little.

Not as much as I'd wish.

Writing books such as mine is the last road to fortune.

Perhaps you don't choose good subjects. What do you write about?

I write about the books of other people.

I'm a critic, a biographer.

What do you say about these writers?

I say they sometimes attach themselves to very clever women.

Do you think it's right to rake up the past?

How can we get to the past if we don't dig a little?

The present has such a rough way of treading on it.

I like the past. I don't like critics.

Neither do I.

But I like their discoveries.

Mostly lies.

The lies are what they sometimes discover.

They lay bare the truth.

The truth belongs to God,

not to man.

We'd best leave it alone.

Who are we to judge? Who can say?

But if we stop trying, what becomes of these great works?

People forget them.

We need the tools to measure them by.

"To measure them by."

You speak like a tailor.

What do you know about curiosities?

Curiosities?

The gimcracks that people pay so much for today.

Do you know what kind of price they bring?

- Do you want to buy something? - No. I want to sell.

Do you know what an antiquaire might give me

for this?

It's a very striking face.

Tell me. Who is it?

A friend of mine.

A very distinguished man. He gave it to me.

But you never mind his name.

You would probably never have heard of him.

The young generation know nothing of their elders.

He was all the fashion when I was young.

The face looks familiar.

You express doubt about this generation knowing him but...

he strikes me for all the world as a celebrated man.

Perhaps I've seen other likenesses, other portraits.

When he was older, perhaps.

Who is he?

I can't put a name on it.

Only the person who knows who he is

would give me the price that I ask.

Then you have a price?

I know the least I would take.

I want to know the most I can get.

I should like to have it for myself,

but with your ideas,

I could never afford it.

You would buy the likeness of someone you don't know

by an artist who has no reputation?

The artist may have no reputation,

but that portrait is painted wonderfully well.

Oh, it's lucky you say that.

The painter was my father.

That makes it all the more precious.

I hope you'll tell me before you offer it to anyone else

and give me notice.

I am a possible buyer.

I want my money first.

I have no doubt of that. I know your ways.

My ways?

What do you know of my ways?

Do you observe me,

do you spy on me?

You be careful, my friend, because I observe you.

You say you want to see me, but I spy on you.

I can see you.

Do you make speeches to her?

What do you talk about when you go out together?

You speak as if we were in the habit of going out every night.

Certainly I wish we had.

But if that were the case,

I'd feel greater scruple at betraying her confidence.

Her confidence. Oh!

Oh, does she have confidence in you now?

Miss Tina, do you have confidence in me?

Your aunt so very much wants to know.

It's no good. She's dreadfully excited.

I see you, I see both of you.

I see you from here.

I dare say you think I'm ill.

Oh, you think I'm losing my mind, hm?

You may like to think so.

That is not the case, that is not the case.

I'm not ill.

At this moment, in the stillness,

after the long contradiction of the day,

Miss Bordereau's secrets were in the air,

the wonder of her survival more palpable.

I ask for your pardon.

Not to leave you now, but to have stayed so long.

You must go now.

- Hm. Very elegant. - Thank you.

- Thank you, sir. - Mm-hm.

All living creatures have a spirit double.

A doppelganger

who is invisible but identical to the living individual.

Sometimes they are described as the spiritual opposite,

or negative, of their human counterparts.

Drop it.

Good boy.

She's very ill.

She's having great trouble breathing.

I... I thought that she was dying.

Don't say that.

I didn't know what to do. I sent the maid to get the doctor.

I couldn't find you anywhere.

I am sorry.

I must go back to her.

- May I help you in watching over her? - No.

No.

She ought to be spared the sight of you.

She's calmer. She's sleeping.

May I see her?

She kept the papers... over there.

In that trunk?

Where are they now?

That green box, the one you pointed out to me in her room.

You said the papers had been there.

You implied that she had transferred them.

They're not in the trunk.

I have looked. I have looked for you.

Would you have given them to me if you had found them?

I don't know what I would or wouldn't have done.

I must tell you the truth.

The truth?

Yes.

A confession, if you will.

I sailed under false colours.

I gave you an invented name.

Why?

I had to.

There.

See for yourself.

I feel that you're a new person now,

with a new name.

It's not a new one.

Just a very good old one. Thank God.

I like it better.

Do you think me a devil,

as your aunt says?

I think that you want the papers very much.

I do.

Then be patient.

All is still possible.

You must do as you wish.

Perhaps he's married already.

That could be the reason why he doesn't look at you.

Give a man a mask and he'll tell you the truth.

- Are you married? - No.

I walk alone.

Doesn't it make you sad to live your life without love?

No.

I have my work.

But I wouldn't expect ladies of your youth to understand.

I am the Princesse de Lamballe, Marie Antoinette's closest friend.

That was just the jealous gossip of people at court.

My head has just been cut off...

Morton!

Morton, where are you? The princess is speaking to you.

Oh, he's still thinking about those dusty papers. Come.

What is there to find?

The truth.

The truth? About what?

About myself.

About... desire.

About God.

There are things that must stay in the past.

You!

Publishing scoundrel!

Aunt... Olimpia!

Aunt... Olimpia!

Olimpia!

Aunt...

Olimpia!

So, what are you gonna do now?

Have you thought about it?

I have but er... nothing's settled yet.

What I was asking

is whether the reasons I took the rooms in the first place still exist.

Have you settled my fate?

Your fate?

The Aspern papers.

Well, there are a great many.

More than I supposed.

When can I see them?

I don't know that you can.

You don't mean to say you've made a deathbed promise?

Not a promise...

What is it, then?

She wanted to burn them

and charged me to do it.

But I took them away and locked them up.

Did you say that you would burn them?

No, I didn't. On purpose.

On purpose to gratify me?

Yes, only for that.

I don't know what good that'll do me now if you won't let me see them.

I know. I know this.

I don't understand.

If you didn't make a promise, what can possibly tie you now?

Because... she hated this.

She hated this so much.

She could be so jealous,

so covetous.

But there is the portrait.

You can have that.

- You're giving it to me? - Yes.

It's worth a lot of money.

Take it.

You're very generous.

So are you.

I don't know why you should think so.

You've made a great difference to me.

As much as I value the portrait,

the papers are what I should prefer.

But you would understand if you really knew her.

I can still see her looking at me.

Her eyes were so fine but they could be terrible.

I saw something of that.

I could still see them staring at me in the dark.

You're very nervous.

Yes. Yes, I am.

She wanted to say something to me.

Something very particular before she died.

Did you guess what it could have been?

I think that she wanted to say that...

if you were a relation,

things would be different.

A relation?

If you weren't a stranger, what is mine would be yours.

You could do with it what you want, I couldn't prevent you.

I will sell the portrait for you.

It's what your aunt would have wanted you to do.

I shan't get what she demanded for it

but I shall get something good.

Oh, I'm so ashamed.

I'm so ashamed.

I would give you everything.

Everything that you want.

And she would forgive me.

You will recognise the handwriting of him

who passionately loves you.

I feel your fiery hand touch me,

take me where no other hand,

except my youthful and intemperate one,

has ever gone in with such a burning heat.

My destiny rests with you,

and you are a woman seventeen years of age...

But all this is too late.

Think of me sometimes when the Alps and the oceans divide us,

but they never will, unless you wish it.

He was nearly my height,

very thin, very fair complexion,

dark locks and light eyes.

His voice first attracted my attention,

but his countenance fixed it

and his manners attached me to him forever.

I love him more than I ever loved a living thing,

and he, I believe, will love me to the last.

I rejoice that the child is amiable and pretty.

She frowns and pouts in quite our way.

Blue eyes, light hair growing darker daily...

My dearest Juliana.

To hear from afar of our sweet child's death

has shocked me more than any preceding.

It sits heavy on my heart

and calls back what I wish to forget

in many a feverish dream.

Our love broken.

Myself, my own dread foe.

I have been wandering companionless with a joyless eye

that finds no object worth its constancy.

Now, more than ever, seems it rich to die,

but I weary of this eternal pilgrimage.

I had scruples about going back.

And yet I had others about not doing so.

Perhaps my absence would be a heavier burden for Tina.

Il signor Morton.

Oh.

How pretty.

I was told you were... Well, I was wondering...

Forgive me if I continue.

I wouldn't want to impose.

Do you intend to stay in Venice?

I could stay.

It all depends on you.

Oh, I'm leaving.

You're leaving?

Yes.

I decided to go on a trip of my own.

Well, I could accompany you.

It would be a great pleasure for me if...

If only...

I realised, you were right.

The papers will seal our union.

Oh, there's nothing that you can do to get the papers now.

Why?

I burned them after you left.

How could you do such a thing?

You should have waited for me. You should have talked to me.

It's what she would have wanted me to do.

And what about me?

Did you ever think of me?

I did.

Shall I see you again?

No.

You are inhuman, Miss Tina.

Inhuman?

As my aunt told you,

that's what the poets used to say a hundred years ago.

Don't try and imitate them, you'll never do as well.

Look, I... I simply wanted to...

What we want doesn't matter.

What matters is what we get.

That's what she was trying to tell me before she died.

So that's what I'm to understand?

One doesn't defend one's god.

One's god is in himself a defence.

We must part now.

We must.

"Ere Babylon was dust,

the Magus Zoroaster, my dead child,

met his own image walking in the garden.

That apparition,

sole of men,

he saw."

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