All language subtitles for Wild.Nights.With.Emily.2018.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG

[woman] Speaking of the life
of Emily Dickinson

and her famous reclusivity...

Susan.

...too much has been made
of late of Emily Dickinson's
girlhood friendship

with her brother's wife, Susan,
the daughter of a tavern keeper.

But first, let me tell my story.

I had just moved to town
with my husband,

who had taken a job
at the university,

and my young daughter,
Millicent.

Austin and Susan Dickinson
were the social center
of the village.

Even at the first party
I attended,

I heard whispers
about an unusual sister
of Mr. Dickinson.

They called her "the myth."

She never attended
these gatherings,

even though
she lived right next door.

I also met
Mr. Dickinson's sister,
Lavinia,

who was having
a gay time at the party.

Lavinia invited me
to come play the piano

at the house that she shared
with her sister Emily.

I met all the members
of the Dickinson family
that night.

All but one.

I've just been reading
an excerpt

from the galleys
of my upcoming book

entitled Scurrilous But True,

which details how I assembled
the first-ever volumes of work

by the undiscovered
American poet
Emily Dickinson.

I'm often asked to share
my memories of Emily Dickinson,

since I was so often
at her house,

where the spinster recluse
never left her bedroom

and I never saw her.

I did look on her face
but one time--

when she was in her coffin.

As I gazed upon her lying there,

I knew that I had to be the one
to publish
her first book of poetry,

and I did exactly that in 1890.

Which makes me
the first-ever editor
of Emily Dickinson's work.

[chattering]

Hello!

Look what I have for you,
children!

[chuckles]

[chattering continues]

-Thank you.
-[Emily] Like that?

[children] Thank you!

Bye.

[Mabel]
When Emily's sister, Lavinia,

went into Emily's room
after Emily had passed,

Lavinia opened a trunk.

She was surprised to find
thousands of poems.

She had no idea that Emily
had been writing so much.

It was quite
overwhelming for her.

So, she brought
all the poems to me.

Since no one would publish
a book of Emily's poems,

which was rejected many times,

Lavinia had to pay a publisher
to publish Emily's poems.

It was a vanity publication.

Thank you.

Every publication
needs promotion, however,
and I was not ashamed.

I must go forward,
sharing my special memories
of this special poet,

who wrote her words in secret
and did not show them to a soul.

[footsteps approach]

[Emily] These are for you.

So many.

It doesn't rhyme.

I know.

I like it.

[Mabel]
When Emily was a young girl,

Emily's house
was right next to a cemetery.

And she would
look out the window
and watch the funerals,

one after another.

I think this partially accounts
for her morbid curiosity,

or at least her tendency
to think about death
more than the rest of us.

Funerals were her entertainment.

You promised me pages today.

I'm sorry. I didn't finish.

Emily...
I rearranged my schedule
to meet with you.

I don't have anything.

I want you to show me
whatever you have.

All right.

Here.

[scoffs]

And have this too.

[sighs]

-"One cup flour, add milk--"
-No, it's on the other side.

-"My Sue--"
-That's my letter. To you.

It's right beneath that,
at the bottom.

"As strange as the thing
I know not.

It were as possible
for me to say I loved
nothing so well as you.

But believe me not,
and yet I lie not.

I confess nothing,
nor I deny nothing.

I am sorry for my cousin."

"By my sword, Beatrice,
thou lovest me."

"Do not swear by it,
and eat it."

"I will swear by it,
that you love me,

and I will make him eat it,
that says, I love not you."

"Will you not
eat your word?"

"With no sauce that
can be deserved to it."

[laughter]

[woman] No sauce!

[laughter continues]

[chuckles]

"I protest, I love thee."

"Why, then,
God forgive me."

"What offence,
sweet Beatrice?"

"You have stayed me
in a happy hour.

I was about to protest
I loved you."

"And do it
with all thy heart?"

"I love you
with so much of my heart

that none is left
to protest."

"Come, bid me
do anything for thee."

Susan?
It is your line.

Oh, um...

"Kill Claudio."

You were quite dashing.

Do you think so, really?

I, myself,
was ready to marry you.

But unfortunately,
the Ladies' Shakespeare Society
must end at a reasonable hour.

And the play was over.

We must, for next time,
pick a story

where the marriage happens
earlier in the play.

Romeo and Juliet, perhaps?

It would be no good
if we die in the end.

Would you like it
if I played opposite you again?

You've said nothing
of my performance.

Oh, it was wonderful, it was.

So witty and arch.

I cannot imagine
that it was played better
by the original actress.

-Thank you.
-Except in Shakespeare's time,
the part was played by a man.

-By a man?
-Yes.

All the parts
were played by men.

In the love scenes,
two men would kiss each other?

Yes.
That is not so strange.

You and I have kissed.

[scoffs] That is different.

I have not kissed you
as I would kiss a man.

How would you kiss a man?

I will not show you.

And why not?

I cannot kiss you
as I would kiss a man.

I could.

You have not kissed
a man, Emily.

Well, perhaps I have.

I do not believe it,
or you would have
told me so.

I have kissed many men.

In fact, I have kissed
every man in all of Amherst,
several times over.

Now I know
you are not honest.

And I wish to kiss you.

And I will.
Right now.

Unless you stop me.
I will.

[chuckles]

Go ahead.

Emily, are you sure you do not
wish to come to Washington?

Your mother, Lavinia
and Austin are all going.

You might be lonely.

I've invited Susan
to stay with me.

Your cousin John
will stay downstairs,

and you and Susie
can share
the upstairs bedroom.

Thank you, Mother.

Are you sure?
We might be gone
a full month.

Susie will keep me company.

[carriage departing]

[Mabel]
Her breast is fit for pearls,
but I was not a "Diver"

Her brow is fit for thrones

But I have not a crest

Her heart is fit for home

I-- a Sparrow-- build there

Sweet of twigs and twine

My perennial nest.

Susan Dickinson was also
known to share tales

of the remarkable sister
of Austin's who never went out

and saw no one who called.

On one occasion,
Susan warned me,

"I went in there one day,
and in the drawing room,

I saw Emily reclining
in the arms of a man.

What can you say to that?"

[scoffs]
I had no explanation, of course.

But I could only imagine.

I would say...

[sighs] I would say, uh...

Emily, I--
I so enjoy our visits.

I notice you have
several editions of the Brontës
on your shelves.

-Are you a reader of theirs?
-Oh, yes.

-Oh.
-Yeah, let's see.

Uh, the Gypsy boy... [chuckles]

...adopted by a family, who--
who then take in a governess...

who is plain.

She is very plain.
I-- I remember that part.

And they marry.
Fire consumes the house.

He condemns her ghost
to walk the moors forever.

And when they have children,
his eyesight returns.

I-- I'm so sorry.

Which Brontë story
are you referring to,
Judge Lord?

Wuthering Jane.

Do you like it?

Uh, yes. Yes, and--
and especially to hear
your abridged version of the--

[speaking loudly] And especially
to hear your abridged version
of-- of the book.

[Judge Lord]
It shows, I think,
the point of the story,

which is a plain woman
can be loved
by a fire victim.

As a judge, the book appeals
to my sense of fairness.

I remember-- I remember
your father would say to me,

"If I die before you,
Judge...

look after my daughter.

She will never marry.

And it is not because
she's so plain, uh,

or because
of her nervous condition,

but because
she is so clever."

And no man would want
to marry a woman

who is more clever
than he, Jane.

Emily.

Emily.

Well, I believe enough
has been said for today.

I must take my leave.

My carriage awaits.

[Emily] Oh, oh, oh!

[Mabel] I believe Emily
did have a fondness

for the venerable old judge.

I think it possible
she hoped to marry him.

However, Judge Lord was to die
abruptly, after five years.

It may be that he never found
quite the right time to ask.

Cheers.

[birds chirping]

Promise me you will
never again take
a teaching post so far away.

Emily, you know
I am due to go west again.

Share your work with me.
Please.

But I write so many different
versions of one poem.

Send it all to me.
If you write it,
I will read it.

[thunder rumbles]

[blows nose, sniffles]

"I am sick today, dear Susie,
and I've not been to church.

There has been a pleasant quiet
in which to think of you.

And I have not been sick enough
that I cannot write to you.

I love you as dearly, Susie,

as when love first began
on the step at the front door
and under the evergreens.

If it is over, tell me,

and I shall raise the lid
of my box of phantoms
and lay one more love in.

But if it lives and beats still,
still lives and beats for me,

say me so,
and I will strike the strings

of one more strain of happiness
before I die."

"Never mind a letter, Susie.

You have so much to do.

Just write me
every week one line.

And let it be,
'Emily, I love you.'"

[man]
Another letter for you
from Miss Susie!

-Any mail for me?
-No.

Emily, there's an article
in The Atlantic Monthly.

It is a call
for young contributors
to send in their material.

Who wrote it?

[indistinct shouting
in distance]

Colonel Thomas Wentworth
Higginson, you may call me.

My experience,
since you inquired,

is that I edited poems
for The Atlantic Monthly,

as well as for
several anthologies,

and I helped start a petition
to free the slaves
in the Boston area.

Excuse me, I meant the petition
I circulated in the Boston area,
of course.

There were no slaves
in the Boston area.
[chuckles]

No, I meant...

what is
your military experience?

-Military?
-[indistinct shouting continues,
weapons clanging]

[chuckles]

[Emily reading]

[Austin]
¶ Lilly, lilly, who told you-- ¶

-"Dilly, dilly," Austin.
-Dilly, dilly.
Yes, yes. No, I remember.

[Emily continues reading]

[Austin] ¶ Who told you so? ¶

¶ Was my own heart
Dilly, dilly ¶

¶ That told me so ¶

[applause]

Austin, you and Susan
sing so well together.

One ought to think
you are preparing
for an engagement.

[Edward]
Austin is to be married
to Susan.

I'm glad I could be the bearer
of such happy, happy tidings.

She has a weak constitution.

I know it was unexpected.
I'm sorry.

I care for your brother--

your dear brother,
of whom you are so fond.

But my heart
belongs only to you.

Emily, you cannot
but have expected
that I would marry.

I cannot make a fair wage
as a school teacher,

and my appointments
have set us apart many miles.

I will be near you always,
just as I have promised.

And my brothers
will give money to Austin
so that we may build a house.

And the greatest part is
we are planning
to build it right next door.

You will be next door?

Yes.

And you see, Emily,
then we will be sisters.

And it is quite normal
for sisters

to spend many hours alone
in each other's company.

I have contrived a way
for us to be together always,
and no one can prevent it.

[thud]

I've missed you.

You know,
I-- I wonder about Austin.

If he'll go to the war?
No, Austin will pay for someone
to stand in his place.

No, but I wonder...

Have you said anything?

-About what?
-We have to take precaution.

I mean, if somebody
were to find out, we could--

Nobody will find out.

Susan,
you have to be careful.

I have to be more careful?

You are the one
who writes the poems,
puts it in ink.

"Sue Forevermore."
You think that has
another meaning?

"Sue Forevermore."
That hardly speaks
to the larger audience.

Are you showing your poems
about me to that Higginson?

You don't think he knows
what they are about?

I think he does not.

After all,
I even published my poem,
"I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed."

That poem was not about--

Oh. Oh.

I need to be more clever.

[bell rings]

Wait, is Austin in the house?

[bell rings]

Let's go.
Uh, take your bloomers.

Certainly, my greatest find
were these three letters

addressed to
a very mysterious figure

who is known only as "Master."

[women murmuring]

Now, perhaps
it wasn't just a man.

Perhaps it was several men.

[women murmuring]

Multiple men at the same time.

Mm-hmm.

[woman 1]
What a lovely wedding it is.

[woman 2] Too bad
Miss Gilbert's friend
Miss Dickinson

couldn't have joined her
at her nuptials.

Invitation clearly said
Geneva, New York.

She must have thought
it was Geneva, Switzerland.

[women laugh]

[Emily reading]

[birds chirping]

[Susan] "I have intended
to write you, Emily, today,

but the quiet has not been mine.

I send you this,
lest I should seem to have
turned away from a kiss.

If you have suffered
this past summer, I am sorry.

I, Emily, bear a sorrow
that I never uncover.

If a nightingale sings
with her breast against a thorn,
why not we?

When I can, I shall write.
Sue."

[woman] Susan!

Oh.

-Susan.
-Kate. Katie Jane.

Ohh.
It's The Widow Kate now.

[chuckles]

Oh, so kind of you
to host me on my travels.

I just met
your charming sister-in-law.

Why have you been hiding her
from me all these years?

Emily is extremely busy.

Funny, that's exactly
what she said about you--

that you were too busy
for her.

"Shut out" was, I believe,
the expression used.

She said she was surprised
that you even had time
for my visit.

You invited yourself, Kate.

[both laugh]

I shall pay her a call.

Emily does not broach
an interruption
when she is working at her desk.

Is it
the house on the left?

You will not go there,
I hope.

She said I was welcome.

She will not receive you.

[Mabel]
Emily experienced
a love disaster

that inspired her to draft
at least three letters

of heart-wrenching eloquence
and infantile neediness.

This was long after
Emily had settled
as a spinster at the homestead.

Who was this steamy stranger
who traveled from
outside New England?

"Come to New England,"
one draft said,

"Open your life wide,
and let me in."

[laughs]

[sighs]

No.

Where is Kate?

She's already left.

She's already left?

And she had
no message for me?

What's that in your hand?

Oh, it was just something
I was going to give her.

Are those
a pair of garters?

Did you sew her
a pair of garters?

It doesn't take that long.

Were you going to put them
on her legs for her as well?

[Emily]
So, she had no message for me?

No.

-Nothing?
-Nothing.

Did she say
she's coming back?

Maybe.

Maybe?

She said she wasn't.

-Oh.
-And then she said July.

And then she said
she wasn't.

Okay.

You never made me garters.

Hmm.

[birds chirping]

[crickets chirping]

[chattering]

"Susan knows she is a siren,

and at a word from her,
Emily would
forfeit righteousness."

Thank you so much for coming.
We'll see you again.
Goodbye.

[Emily reading]

What do you think?
You like them?

These...

[sighs]

These poems are
too idolatrous to print.

Hmm.

You name me.

Every poet has a muse.

[chuckles]

You can't use my name.

Yes, I can.
Do you like them?

Yes. I like them...

very much.

[Mabel]
In truth, Emily had many
influences over her work.

She was inspired by
the great Ralph Waldo Emerson.

-Is Mr. Emerson here?
-Yes.

Can I come in?
I'd like to hear
what he has to say.

We all would.

[mumbling]
Nature is the fullness
of individuality.

Within the flora and fauna
are present many
of the world's...

Within the flora and the fauna
are present many
of the world's essences.

The spring is a reminder
that all can be redeemed.

[bell ringing]

[Mabel]
Emily Dickinson wished to be
published posthumously.

"Posthumous" refers to the soul
that finds more glory

in the recognition
after death than in life.

It's the heaven
of the literary world.

[Emily] Ten or more poems
copied into each book,
800 poems altogether.

[Susan] Wow. Emily.
It's so strange

not to see your poems
written on scraps of paper.

It was a lot of work
copying all of the poems
into these booklets.

-It's beautiful.
-Thank you, Susan.

I'm so nervous
to show it to Higginson.

You can't be that nervous.
You will do just fine.

Many people ask me,

"How did you succeed
at getting Emily's work
into the world

when so many before you
have failed?"

Well, I had the help
of the renowned...

Thomas Wentworth Higginson
to see Miss Emily Dickinson.

-She'll be right down, sir.
-Oh. Thank you.

-These are my introduction.
-Oh.

How was your trip?
It was probably long.
Or short. Or was it long?

Are you surprised
by my appearance,
or am I as I describe myself?

-I wasn't--
-It's so wonderful
to have the editor

of The Atlantic Monthly
pay me a visit,

but I would imagine
you must do that

with all of your
young contributors,
but I'm certainly not young.

How admirable of you
to call for submissions

to give practical advice
to those wishing
to break into print.

And also, I would imagine
how burdensome to have to judge
whose writing has merit.

I mean, who can really have
the final say on the--

the worth of a--
of a thought or an idea?

I would imagine
that's a very difficult position
for you to be in

as the editor
of The Atlantic Monthly.

[sighs]

Uh, that's a good question.

I always ask myself,
"What is poetry in essence?"

If I feel physically like
the top of my head is taken off,
I know that is poetry.

If it makes my body so cold
no fire can ever warm me,
I know that is poetry.

The question was intended
to be a rhetorical one,
largely,

but allow me to answer it.

Wordsworth says of poetry
that it is

"emotion recollected
in tranquility."

When I try to organize,
my little force explodes.

Now, I noticed
that you remarked
on how many submissions

you receive
with masculine names
in very feminine handwriting.

For women to use the pen names
of men in submission,

don't you think this must
come out of an impulse

for their writing to be seen
without a jaundiced eye?

For if it is women's authorship,

even you realize that what
is called "women's authorship"

is somehow different
from what we call "authorship"

and yet would never call
"men's authorship."
And why is that?

Why is it with the phrase
"women's writing,"

we are led to believe
that perhaps a rescue effort

from our troops
needs to be sent to its aid?

You mention it
in your article.

Why, yes, I am a supporter.

The 19th century
is the women's century.

Change is afoot. [chuckles]

You support
the right to vote?

I do, but I believe
the suffragists should wait

until there is no more
political corruption
and politics has become civil.

You also mention that...

And what and how
do you distinguish...

I read seven newspapers...

[overlapping dialogue]

Are you a champion
of posthumous recognition?

Are you?

Mm.

Certainly not.
We can't delay in recognizing
those who are--

who are... [chuckles]

[Emily] Who are what?

Those with talent.

When I recognize
those with talent,
especially women--

Women's voices
are so seldom heard,

we need to hear
intelligent women's voices.

But I am barely able
to find any.
[chuckles]

I am hoping you might seek
to publish one of my poems
in The Atlantic Monthly.

I have these new poems.

Hmm.

Well, I will read your poems.

But I do not think
you are ready to publish.

You are...

Oh, you are, uh...
[clears throat]

-What?
-[paper rustles]

When I read your poems,
so many of them...

make me feel unclear.

I believe poetry
should leave you
with a trembling sensation,

but when I read your poetry,
Miss Dickinson,
I'm left feeling...

I'm not sure what.

All men say "what" to me,
but I thought it a fashion.

If you're published
before your time

and showered with
negative attention,

you will see how little good
it does you when it comes to...

Various-- Various limbs
of your poems need removal.

Here,
take this poem right here.

If you take this line here

and you cut this line,
and remove that line altogether,

and then you move
this line here.

And these dashes-- Hmm?
Are they really necessary?
Hmm? You see?

Do you see
how it is improved?

This is what you must think of
every time you write.

Well, I must go.

Remember what I have told you,

and it will serve
your writing greatly.

Thank you.
Thank you for your surgery.

Ah, well,
it is my profession,
Miss Dickinson.

Good day.
It was delightful meeting you.

I will come back again
sometime.

Say a long time that is nearer.
Some time is no time.

[Mabel] Emily had met
Higginson, but she failed
to make a good impression.

Higginson,
reflecting on their meeting,
said,

"She drained my nerve power.

I am glad
I do not live near her."

[chattering]

Ladies.

It's true Higginson did not
publish Emily Dickinson
during her lifetime,

but she didn't quite send
Higginson enough poems
for him to understand

that she was ready
for publication.

-[woman] How many did she send?
-Ninety.

[woman] That's quite a lot.

Not if you consider
that she wrote nearly 2,000.

[woman 2]
Did she not send her good ones?

No, she sent many
of the same ones

that are causing
quite the sensation today.

[woman 3]
I'm not sure I understand.

Well, Higginson
wasn't the only one
she sent her poems to.

She also sent them to
the Roberts Brothers Publishing.

They also passed.

Emily Dickinson's work

is devoid
of any true poetical qualities.

[Mabel] And she sent them
to Josiah Holland,
also a publisher.

And the husband of her
childhood friend Elizabeth.

So, I understand your husband
is publishing poetry now.

[slurping]

[both slurping]

[Mabel]
He never acknowledged
receiving them.

Higginson
was a colonel in the war.

He witnessed
legs, arms, heads ripped
from the human body.

Maggots infesting the food,

and yet,
it was Emily Dickinson

who exhausted him
more than the horrors of war.

-[carriage departing]
-[door opens]

Emily, I saw
his carriage leave.

He met with you
for three hours.

-Yes.
-He must think highly
of your writing

to spend
so much of his time with you.

He's an esteemed
and important man.

Is he going to publish you
in The Atlantic Monthly?

-No.
-No?

That can't be right.
That can't be.
He came all the way here.

[Emily]
He doesn't think I'm ready.

-He doesn't?
-No.

[sighs] I'm certain
that it's because
you're a woman.

Helen Hunt Jackson is a woman.

Higginson discovered her,
and he made her famous.

"Mother...

I see you

with your nursery light,

Leading your babies,

all in white,

to their sweet rest.

Christ, the Good Shepherd,
carries mine tonight,

and that is best."

[man]
America's greatest lady poet!

[sighs]

Emily, we will
get you into print.

[reading]

[cat yowls]

[yowling continues]

Lavinia.

Can you not quiet your cat?

[yowling continues]

I think I will go
play the piano.

Oh, thank you.

Lavinia, does your sister,
Emily, love cats as much as you?

-[piano playing]
-Well, I'm sure nobody
loves cats as much as I do,

but Emily does love cats.

One time,
she found a litter of kittens
that didn't have a home,

and she knew they weren't
going to have a home,

so she did the kindest thing.

She drowned them in a vat,
and then she pickled them.

-[Susan] Lavinia.
-They're in our basement
right now.

In barrels.

[Susan] I'm sure you jest.

No. They're there.
I'll show you.

-[Susan] So they're preserved.
-Mm-hmm. In case their mother
comes back.

[cat yowls]

Would you like me
to buy you another dress?

No, it's all right.

[Susan] You wear that
same dress every day.

[Emily] I don't want to spend
any part of my brain
thinking about what to wear.

I want to save all my deciding
for my writing.

Imagine if Helen Hunt Jackson
wore the same thing every day.

What would people
say about that?

Maybe they'd say
her poetry was better.

Higginson might not be
interested in her anymore.

-Oh.
-[both chuckle]

Did you hear?

-Hmm?
-Higginson said he does not
blame Walt Whitman

for writing Leaves of Grass.

He blames him
for not burning it
immediately afterwards.

Susan, do you know that when
Higginson first read the poems
that I had sent him,

he asked
if I had read Whitman?

As in, he thinks
they are similar.

That's how little he thinks
of my writing.

Whose work do you think
we'll be reading in 100 years?

Higginson's or Whitman's?

-Well, Whitman's.
-Whitman's and yours.

I don't know.

I'll have to get a book
in print first.

Emily, when I saw
the first woman doctor
in America graduate--

When was this?
You never told me about this.

It was near my aunt's house,
during the time
you were not speaking to me.

-Mm.
-[chuckles]

Was this the time
after I learned

you had hid your engagement
with my brother?

Yes.

For almost a whole year?

-Yes, it was at that juncture.
-Then continue.

When the first woman doctor
in America

graduated from medical school,
everyone hated her.

And the only reason she got
into medical school

was they asked
the incoming class,

"Would it be agreeable to have
a lady study among them?"

They thought it was a joke
and voted yes.

And that's why we have
our first woman doctor.

[sighs]
I would like a strawberry now.

Emily, your poems
are ever-marvelous to me.

When you come to me,
with your fresh pages,
and I read them,

they're full of things--
things that are startling.

It's so good.

Why don't more people
feel as you do, then?

The way you write-- it's new.

People don't know
what to make of it.

They've never seen it before.

-[boy] That was late!
-[girl] That was fun.

-Is that the children?
-Oh, they're home early.
Oh, uh...

-Should I?
-No, it's too late.

Gib and I want to come in.

I have a headache.
I...

don't feel well,
and I'm going to lie
back down on my bed.

-All right.
-You and your brother
can go have some cookies.

-Cookies!
-Yes.

Say hello to Aunt Emily.

About here, of course,
is where I enter
everyone's lives.

[light laughter]

Ah, hello!
How are ya?

I'm Mrs. Todd.
I've come to visit
Miss Dickinson.

She requested
I play piano for her.

Ah, yes.
Here's the piano
you'll be wantin'.

Sit down. Here.
Take a seat.

All set.

Will Miss Dickinson
be joining me here
in the drawing room?

No, but don't worry.
She can hear ya fine
from upstairs.

-Oh.
-Here's the music she'd like.
She left it for ya.

I'm not to see her
at all?

No, ma'am.
And I'd like to make
a request of me own.

[piano plays]

[piano plays at faster tempo]

[singing]

I did help
Emily's poems rhyme more.

[bells tolling]

Why don't you come
to church with us?

"Consider the lilies" is
the only commandment I keep.

-[chuckles]
-That's not a real commandment.

Well, I guess
I keep none, then.

Can I stay here
with Aunt Emily?

Looks like
you have a convert.

We can bake some bread.

I'll take
this convert's coat.

-Goodbye, my darlings.
-Goodbye, Susan.
We'll see you later.

Goodbye, Mother.

Susan entertained relentlessly

in the manner of her saloon.

[chuckles]
Excuse me.

I meant salon.
[laughs]

[laughter, chattering]

[Mabel]
It created a terrible racket,

and it made it
impossible for Austin

to get any serious work done.

-Hello, Susan!
-Emily!

Vinny.
Joseph Lyman back in Amherst!

Have you returned to make
an honest woman of Lavinia
after all these years?

Joseph recently got married,
Susan, in Omaha.

Oh! Well,
where is your lovely wife?

Oh, she's too
delicate to travel.

May I take your coats?

-Uh, Emily, would you kindly
help me with these?
-Of course.

I'll just take those.

-Thank you.
-Thank you.

[sighs]

Let's put the coats on the bed.

[both laughing]

-Mm.
-Mm.

What happened with Lavinia?

She's heartbroken.

Oh.
Why didn't you tell me?

-I tried to signal you.
-Oh.

Oh.

Guess who's downstairs.

Who?

Kate.

Has she come to see you
or me?

I don't know.

I don't like it.

I'm sorry.

[chuckles]
We should go down.

I want to stay here
on the coats.

I know.

Forever.

Come on. Come on.

Did you know we posed
for a daguerreotype together?

-No.
-It was quite remarkable,
really.

-Susan!
-Samuel Bowles,

I had no idea
you'd be joining us
this evening.

[chuckles] Well, I adore you,
and I adore parties,
so of course.

Are you still teaching
poor children in Logtown?

Yes, I am.
It's, uh, very...

Um, that's Emily's sister.

[Lavinia belches]

-Lavinia.
-Lavinia. Lavinia, yes.

-She's a dear.
-Yes.

When are you going to publish
more of Emily's poems
in your paper?

Emily has sent you so many.

Yes, well, I was just
speaking about this
with your lovely friend Kate.

I advised Emily not to seek
publication in general.

[Kate]
The rhymes are a bit off,
don't you think?

She could work on them.

That is an
excellent point, yes.

She's very devoted
to her poems
and to her writing.

She is. She is.

I know it would
mean so much to her

to see them in the paper.

Well, a paper, perhaps.
Maybe not my paper.

Well, your father
did give you your paper.

Yes, and now
it's my paper, so...

And you're the editor,
correct?

Is there food?

[Kate] Is Emily here?
I should like to say hello.

Where is Emily?

[Emily reading]

-[Susan] Austin.
-What is it, my dear?

-[Susan] Your sideburn
is in my eye.
-Oh. Sorry.

I wish
you paid as much attention
to the work I do

going over
the town's ledger books

as you do
to her poetry fascicles.

I know nothing
about financial matters

and cannot be helpful
in that regard.

The children say that they
carry messages back and forth
three and four times a day.

So? What of it?

Well, in this town,
one is paid
for delivering the mail,

and I do not wish
my children
to act as postmasters.

I would have thought of
note passing between girls

as an activity chiefly
confined to school days.

You are passing
an awful lot of time
in Mrs. Todd's company.

[Austin]
Of course, at Harvard,
we played amber,

but that's not a game
for the ladies.

Something I know little about,
having gone
to only boys' school.

Ah, Lavinia.
You know Parson Mudd.

-Oh, hello, Parson.
-Greetings.

How was boys' school?

[Austin]
Ah, Mrs. Todd hath arrived.

[Mabel]
Mr. Dickinson was my husband,
David's, boss.

David was quite pleased
that Austin
had taken a liking to me.

I suppose nobody in the town
could be born, married,

or buried,
or make an investment,

or buy a house lot,
or a cemetery lot,

or sell a newspaper,
or build a house,
or choose a profession

without Austin Dickinson
close at hand.

Will your husband
be joining us tonight?

Unfortunately,
he is wrapped up in work.
You know how he is.

And your wife, Susan?

She is in Springfield
for the night.

I moved to Amherst
with my husband,

the internationally renowned
astronomer David Peck Todd,

now hospitalized.

[laughter, chattering]

[woman] If you were
at the house every day,
why did you never see her?

Are you here to give me
my after-dinner treat?

Do you deserve one?

[Mabel] Well,
it's difficult to explain

why I never saw
Emily face to face.

[both gasping]

[moaning in distance]

[Mabel gasps] Mr. Dickinson.

[Austin grunting]

It was because
she was a recluse.

[laughs]

[Mabel] Why else would she
never come out of her room
to greet me?

[Mabel moans loudly]

[Mabel, Austin gasping, moaning]

[Mabel] She was a recluse.
As simple as that.

[breathing heavily,
grunting]

[Mabel]
How else can you explain

why she wouldn't
come downstairs
to listen to my piano?

[moaning, grunting]

-[Mabel laughs]
-[Austin grunts]

[Mabel] She was a recluse.

Are you crying?

[Emily reading]

[birds chirping]

-Hello? Susan?
-Emily!

[chattering]

Lavinia, thank you so much
for meeting me here.

My pleasure.

And thank you so much
for hosting me

and my dear friend
Mabel Todd...

-Mm-hmm.
-...at the homestead so often.

You do seem fond
of Mabel Todd.

She is marvelous company.
I have a question.

Are you satisfied
with my management
of your financial affairs?

-Yes.
-I am very pleased to hear that.

The law places a stringent
burden on me in that regard,

and I do want to feel
that I'm doing justice by you.

I wonder
if you could do me a favor

and make it
so that our Mabel Todd

could simply meet
our dear sister, Emily,
face to face.

-[sighs]
-Simply see her.

To see her?
What about if
I do a sketch of Emily

and present that
to Mabel Todd?

She can even
keep the sketch for herself.

Or one of your lovely
silhouette cuttings.

-Yes.
-Yes. Yes or perhaps...

That should suffice.

...a watercolor--
you could learn that

-and then do
a painting of her later.
-That would be my pleasure.

That would be marvelous
and it's a very helpful
suggestion,

but I wonder
if you wouldn't just impose,
suggest, persuade

our Emily to just remain
in the drawing room

while Mabel
is playing the piano

for a minute and simply
say, "Pleased to meet you."

What if Mabel
dresses like Emily

and looks at herself
in the mirror?

To some degree,
that's already been done,

-and it's not
been satisfactory.
-Oh. Oh.

Does Mabel know
that Emily is a person?

Because I do also have a cat
named Emily Dickinson.

So it wouldn't be lying.
She would be meeting
Emily Dickinson.

That was my wife.

Emily, I want you to know
that Austin promised
he would never touch me.

He wrote a letter to me
before we were married,

saying that if I married him,
he would never touch me.

-He did?
-Yes.

Well, why didn't you ever
speak of this before?

I found the very subject
distasteful.

Well, obviously,
he didn't keep his promise.

-Emily!
-Well, what did you expect
during the marriage?

Well, Emily, you enjoy
talking to me.

I thought Austin would
find that to be enough.

Emerson himself
said I was brilliant,
and then this Mabel comes along.

I thought
you'd be relieved.

Why would I
be relieved?

Well, because...

Do you understand
that when my children
come to town,

people point at them
and whisper?
My children.

People cross the street,
when they see them coming.

They-- they feel
sorry for them.

He's parading around town
with that strumpet.

I know that Austin
would never--

Would never?
Would never what?

He's trying to give
some land to her--
land that should be theirs.

He's had a lawyer
draw up a deed.

He wants you and Lavinia
to sign it.

Susan, I would never
let that happen.

-Never fear.
-Oh.

Never.

[Mabel]
In the month following,

their eight-year-old child,
Gilbert, died.

Oh, my condolences,
my dear friend.

Let me know
if there's any way
in which I may be of help.

[sniffling]

[woman 1]
Mrs. Todd seems very familiar
with Mr. Dickinson.

[man] It's scandalous.
I've never seen
anything like it.

[woman 2] I saw her ankle.

-[Austin laughs]
-Oh, Austin.

You have a wicked turn of mind.

I was re-reading
our passionate correspondence
the other night, as I often do.

-As I do, too, my sweet.
-[laughs]

And as I was
reading these letters

professing our love
for each other,

I was struck with
the inspiration

that these letters
would actually make

a beautiful published book.

You mean bound.

-No.
-You mean a bound volume.

Oh, no, published,

so the whole world
can read our pure love

and inspire everyone around--

those poor souls
who don't have what we have.

Oh, but, Austin,
I don't care.

I want to share
the pure love
that you and I have.

-Mabel.
-I was thinking

usually books
of letters are organized

in such a way where
it's chronological--

the correspondence--
over the years.

But I was thinking
maybe we can do--
we can or--

we can organize them
in topics, like--

like pure love,
unbridled passion,

um, excursions.

What else, sweet?

That, uh, the black mogul--
your wife.

I myself have connections
in publishing.

I've been published myself.

I've made a little bit
of a name for myself.

Dear Mabel, no.

-Oh!
-[both laugh]

[sighs]

Someday you'll find
a proper outlet for
your creative expression,

and then everyone will know
just how brilliant you are.

Hmm.

Why not paint more crockery?

[Susan]
"Emily, all's well.

There were two
or three little things

I wanted to talk with you about
without witnesses,

but tomorrow will do
just as well.

Has girl read Republican?

'It takes as long
to start our fleet
as the burnside.'"

A few newspapers did publish
some of Emily's poems.

But the results were...

disappointing.

This is my poem.

"The Snake"?

They do that.
It doesn't bother
the average reader.

Hmm.
I don't title my poems.

I always felt that what people
needed to understand

Emily's poems were titles.

So I gave all the poems titles.

Titles are important

because it's a clue
to the audience
of what they're reading.

You can't just sit down
and read jibber-jabber.

It's a clear thesis.
A title is a clear thesis.

I thought you'd be delighted
to see your poem in the paper.

Well, thank you so very much.

I'd also like to make note
of other contributions

that I gave to Emily's
book of poems.

I also did the cover art.

That's my painting...

that I gave to Emily.

That's why it's on
the cover of the book.

I'm sure she would have
chosen it, too...

if she were alive.

It's beautiful, no?

-[murmurs of approval]
-Thank you.

Your poem is in the paper.
Everyone will read it.

The title
ruins the experience.

Imagine if they called
Romeo and Juliet

They Both Die at the End.

[Susan]
Happy Valentine's Day.

No one knew how sick
Emily really was.

We were all shocked...

when we realized

that she would die.

The entire town

felt something was amiss

when our dear,
sweet spinster,
recluse poet

left our planet.

Emily's decline was swift.

[stone grinding]

"...and covered up
our names."

I think this is about--

I don't think. I know.

[insects chirping]

[Emily]
"You must let me go first, Sue,

because I live in the Sea
always and know the Road--

I would have drowned twice
to save you sinking, dear

If I could only have
covered your Eyes

so you wouldn't
have seen the Water."

I would like to ask
if you would wash her body.

Austin and I
are too distressed.

-Is Austin here?
-No.

I'll expect he's over
at the Todd's.

The basin and sponge
are at the foot of the bed.

[Martha] The romantic friendshi
of my Aunt Emily Dickinson
and my mother, Sue,

extended from girlhood
until death.

Aunt Emily was hardly
a frustrated spinster maid.

Her sweet Sue
was her inspiration.

She wrote her letters
and poems

and what my mother
called the letter-poem.

If you go to the letters
and the poems,

you will hear the story
of my mother

and my aunt as I understood it,

starting from when
they were teenage girls.

Thank you.

[light applause]

[seat clatters]

[seat squeaks]

[Emily]
Wild nights

Wild nights
were I with thee.

Wild nights should be
our luxury!

Futile the winds
to a heart in port

Done with the compass,
done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden,
ah the sea!

Might I but moor
tonight in thee!

Mabel.

I have something for you.

[Mabel] "Amuastablein"?

Yes.

What is it?

Oh, but don't you see?

It's the letters of our names,
Austin and Mabel, intertwined.

I will cherish this forever.
Thank you, Austin.

So, uh, Austin, I--

I've been putting together
Emily's letters

for this book
that I'm publishing,
and...

-Hmm?
-Um,

I'm looking
at her letters
to you about Susan,

and there seems to be
a very peculiar passion

that Emily has towards Susan.

Well, if it troubles you,
simply leave them out
of the collection.

-Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
-She must have written
a dozen letters a day.

No, no, no.
The prose is gorgeous.

I'm just simply saying
that the general reader

would find these letters
and the poems
more appealing,

if you will,
if they were,
say, addressed to a man.

Just imagine, uh,
Emily pining away
in her room,

unrequited love.

Why don't I think about that,
and while you think about it,

uh, I need you
to erase Susan's name
in these letters,

and we will dedicate them
to other correspondents?

Hmm. Uh, well...

Well, very good, my dear.

Amuastablein.

-[chuckles]
-That's exactly how I feel.

I'll take this to my study.

[Mabel reading]

Thank you.

[applause]

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