Original subtitles

I've got a new Irish girl, too.

Orla's her name. She's a real hedge-whore, she is.

You can tell the way she's always shaking her back avenue.

They're all pinchcocks, these Irish girls.

All they think about is getting a pearly shower from some fella's big old

truncheon.

Always look at adjoined giblets with somebody's husband.

They're more fertile than whites, the Irish.

That's why they breed like rabbits.

Maggie, where is our luncheon?

Right here, madam.

Voila.

What is that?

This is called fiddlehead ferns.

The month of May is the only season you can get them. And those?

Those are crayfish. I caught them fresh this morning, and I've simmered it with

butter and wild garlic.

Bon appetit!

Hang on to this

one, Abby.

This patty can cook!

Delectable, Maggie.

Aren't you full of surprises?

How lovely.

I didn't know of your love for fresh seafood.

I would think of a summertime menu for yourself and Mr. Borden.

Who's Sarah, sir?

Your first wife?

Don't say her name, please.

Well... I have something to

tell you.

I am in a family way.

I'm... heavy with your seed, sir.

I see.

Thought you were making use of prophylaxis.

Well, indeed I am, sir.

But it is more an art than a science.

And you do mount me with some frequency, Mr. Borden.

Do you not have something to say about this?

I suppose I don't.

Allow me then.

I will have you bastard.

Unless you pay me.

And if you do so, I will get rid of it.

I will be discreet.

I won't miss a day of work.

And we can go back to doing what we do.

And if I don't?

myself to be extorted?

Then I will have to ask Mrs. Borden what she'll make of this dilemma.

I'll let you think about it.

The fevers have never come two months in a row.

May I take a look?

May I examine you down there?

To see if something's wrong.

Leon, you're back.

I need you to open your legs.

It's your hymen.

It's imperforated.

It's covering everything.

Your kidney is strong.

How do I stop the pain? I have to tear it.

You can have a doctor make an incision in the membrane.

or something else.

Good day, sir.

Has a parcel arrived for me?

Nothing for Mr. Borden today.

No, for me.

Bridget Sullivan.

I don't know if I can do this.

Let's try it.

And it wasn't cheap.

It's called the Chattanooga.

It's member goes inside you.

Just put it into gear.

And then it should go like this.

Maybe not.

Maybe we try something different.

Ooh, and what is this?

It's bouillabaisse, madame.

It's a French soup from Marseille.

I made it with the leftovers of the crayfish. It's part of the new summer

menu I made for yourself and Mr. Borge.

Where have you been, Emma?

Don't pry, Lizzie.

Where she's been is out of her father's hair, which is more than can be said for

you. Where she's been is out finding her husband.

Isn't that right, Emma? Mm-hmm.

You have a suitor?

I do.

Who? I said don't pry.

It's a warm body. It's all you need to know.

It's Bardwain, right?

Mm. Good family.

Mm.

Delicious, Maggie.

Oh, Mr. Borden, I almost forgot.

We must look for a new house painter.

I fired that swarthy, no-good Portuguese.

Why? Because it's me, Mr. Borden.

I was opening up the house, every window and door, to let the vapors out.

And then...

I noticed my ear bobs missing.

Where are my ear bobs?

That Portuguese had to have snuck in and pocketed them and then run off.

And what would Tiago want with your ear bobs?

Why, to sell them, of course.

To pay for his opium or whatnot.

Oh,

and Maggie.

Lazing around the house all day is doing no good for Mr. Borden's youngest here.

Tomorrow you will take Lizzie into town.

I know, to be seen alongside her is a burden, but that is why we pay you.

Maggie.

Perhaps while you're at it, you might pick up my new socks from the post

office.

That's it.

Are you all right? You look tired.

Yes, I'm tired.

It'll be fine in one or two days.

That's quite an axe.

More for felling trees than for woodworking, I'd have thought. Can I

take it just like that?

I suppose so.

Where are

we starting?

The matinee.

I got his tickets.

There,

or wolf or bull, unmeddling monkey or unbusy egg, she shall pursue it with the

soul of love.

And there I take this charm from all her sights, as I can hold it to the mother

earth. Point it now. Render up her page to me.

How canst thou thus forshame Titania?

Life set my credit with Hippolyta, knowing I know thy love to Theseus.

Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night from Perigenia, whom he

ravished? and make him with fair Egli break his faith with Ariadne and

Antiochia?

These are the forgeries of jealousy.

And never since middle-summer-spring met we on hill, in dale,

forest, or mead, by paved fountain or rushy brook.

What is she?

Her name is Nancy O'Neil.

They say she's the American Sarah Bernhardt.

She's enchanting. She's not very good.

Here. Please.

Now, don't just sock that in a drawer. That autograph is worth something.

Thank you, my dears. My dear audience, thank you. So, Neil, you were

extraordinary. And so were you. Oh, no.

Beautiful audience.

I see every one of you out there. Thank you.

Oh, yes. Oh, you don't have a pen, dear. Oh, can I borrow this?

Thank you so much. Oh, yes.

Miss O'Neil, you were extraordinary.

Just marvelous.

Thank you. Look at that hair.

Doesn't quite work, does it?

But for the effort, brava.

This is going to sound like a terrible opinion to some, but I really hate the

color purple.

Really?

Why is that?

It is the shade of a boil on an Italian beggar.

The shade of a cancer that needs to be cut out.

Eliminated at once to save the patient.

Anyway, I hate it, the color purple, and I always will.

Thank you.

Miss O'Neil. Lucy.

You're staying in Fall River for the next few weeks, aren't you?

Yes.

Then off to Poughkeepsie.

I wondered if you might like to come to dinner.

You're probably staying at one of those dreadful boarding houses, and I wondered

if you might like a home-cooked meal.

Maggie is a wonderful cook.

We're the boarding house just down Second Street.

Sounds splendid.

I'll have beef wellington.

Red, but not blue.

Pink in the center and cool.

Also, and this is important, the various side dishes.

Peas, for instance, and carrots, these mustn't be allowed to touch.

And if they do, I become nauseous and lose my appetite entirely. And as my

body is my instrument, the instrument becomes malnourished.

See you then.

See you then.

Nice axe.

We should have written that down.

Yes? Dear God, you look awful.

I thought you might read to me.

A mob pressed a local magistrate to question the Countess about the peasant

girls who disappeared.

But the Countess blamed her handmaidens for the murders.

May God bless you.

May God bless you. May God bless you.

had her fingers torn out.

Doriotta was burned alive.

And because the mob pitied the youngest, Katarina, she was simply beheaded.

And just like that, the Countess had discovered a new hobby.

I'm sorry.

What's happening?

What's wrong?

It's nothing.

I'm passing a fetus.

What can I do?

Put two drops of the, you see the bottoms?

Can you fill this glass with two drops of the first one into the glass?

Yes.

And then two, three spoons of second one.

And then you fill it to the brim with the, with the big.

It's all right, it's fine.

Thank you.

It stops the infection.

Thank you.

There's something I... Something I have to tell you.

What? Anything?

This blood is your blood.

That's your father.

That's why he has me working in his workshop.

So he can be alone with me.

So he has me to himself.

No, no.

That can't be true. Yes. No.

You don't have to stay here. I want to stay.

I'll stay.

I want to stay.

Miss Borden,

would you do me the honor of being my wife?

Oh, Bard!

Emma! Emma! Hey, darling!

I don't understand.

Does your sister live here? I've been here a month and I hardly ever see her.

My darling.

Mama comes and goes with the wind.

Emma. Everything a girl could want just falls into her lap. My darling.

My darling.

I'm here.

Oh, Bart.

Of course I'll marry you. Of course.

I'm not marrying him.

Sure, Bart is handsome and very well endowed.

And rich enough, I suppose.

So I'll string him along for a few months and then break it off.

Just like the last two.

Why?

Getting hogtied to one man for the rest of your life, Lizzie? That sounds fun to

you? That same ass breath, that same ball bag slapping at your madge until

death comes to relieve you of the tedium?

I'm telling you, it's not for me.

And I'm not letting them at father's money anyway.

That's what they're really after.

How much is father worth?

Do you really not know?

Well, I suppose we're quite well off with the servants and cholera outbreaks

are keeping the coffin business breezy.

$300,000.

Listen to you.

You so clearly love having a tormentor.

That's why father doesn't respect you.

That's why you won't get anything.

What do you mean?

When they die, father knows how feeble-minded you are.

You get 5%, I get the rest.

Five percent, Lizzie.

That's still a shit barge of money.

That's $15,000. With that, you can buy your own house. You can buy a plot of

land and still have enough money to not lift a finger for the rest of your life.

That isn't what I mean.

I know.

But money is freedom.

And you can pick cherries all you want. And you can tend to your dove coat.

You can be free, so free that no one can tell you anything.

You know, at 11 weeks baby doves stop looking so strange.

They can open their eyes.

They stop looking like little demons.

What did you do that for?

My kiss for my beau.

Maybe I shouldn't be here.

Maggie, look at all the motes.

They're like little angels.

They're like little fairies watching over us, protecting us.

Fairies.

Your fairies are my life's chore.

They land on every surface that I dust off so that I dust it all over again.

Hello. Hello.

I can't believe it's May.

Paris is so beautiful in May.

One day I'll take you.

And we'll have champagne and oysters.

Except we couldn't have oysters in May.

Why?

In May, sea gets warm and air gets hot.

And first of May, Fall River flushes the sewers. Now sewerage flows right out

over our oyster shoals. And oysters are filter feeders, you know. So summers,

they get a bacillus in them.

They sit out just a few minutes in the sun and they start to stink.

Eat one.

It could kill you.

With the oysters.

Poison them?

Yes.

I mean... We wouldn't really.

They would poison themselves.

We would just give them what they want.

No.

You should be ashamed for even saying that.

Just think of it.

No.

Thank you.

killing these birds, Lizzie.

You are.

I told you I couldn't stand the cooing.

The noise, the noise has driven me to the brink.

But you are thick, willful.

So I did what you made me do.

No, no, no, no.

Shut your mouth or I'll fill it with bird shit.

I have relieved you of that useless hobby that nearly condemned you to the

fate of a hideous old maid.

You should thank me.

I have removed that distraction.

Now you can concentrate on a new hobby.

Father. How can I help?

Aren't you curious?

I'm covered in blood and feathers.

All right.

What happened?

Father, she murdered my doves.

She murdered them.

With no pretext, no provocation.

I need you to do something.

For once in your life, show me that you care about me. I am your daughter.

You stand by and you watch as she treats me as you does and you do nothing.

You do nothing.

Nothing.

That's what I do, is it?

feels like to be me you do nothing to help me no one does

i have no son i have no

respite from the droning of shrill female voices on and

on and on and on in a house that i toil for night and

day and all that i ask all that i ask is that you don't bring me your

troubles!

Birds!

Birds! I don't give a Christ's dick

cock about your birds!

I don't give a single solitary ever fuck!

thick to understand

I

understand

We're gonna kill them.

Yeah.

Mr. Borden, look!

A new menu for summer!

is cunty getting out of your comfort zone learning how to let go is cunty

having cum on my shirt is cunty setting boundaries is cunty respecting others is

cunty too pick yourself first is cunty learning to love yourself is cunty c u n

t i'm gonna do what's best for me i'm cunty that's cunty c u n t

i'll prioritize my own needs i'm cunty that's cunty cunty cunty wow

Rosemary.

Ginger.

And... Cardamom.

It's hard to find, but... It'll hide the smell.

Voila.

Ooh.

You really think it'll work?

Oh, yeah.

You really think it'll kill them?

Yeah. They call it fibriosis.

First, they vomit, and they vomit blood.

Then, they have blood coming out of their ass, and out of their eyes, out of

every orifice.

It's a gruesome way to die, but it is happening.

Emma might sup with us tonight.

Why would you think that?

She's betrothed now.

She has no need to suck herself swollen off her father's largesse like some at

the table do.

I'd like to commend you, Mother.

For what?

Why, for the eradication of those doves.

You know how I loathe the feces of fowl.

Took you long enough.

Or have I forgotten how to read a clock?

I'm very sorry, madam.

What is that?

Soup? Yes, madam.

Smells delightful.

Although I'm almost past hunger. You kept us waiting far too long.

Shall I serve you first, then, madam? Or Mr. Borden? No, me. Me first.

Bless us, O Lord, in these that gifts which we are about to receive from thy

bounty through Christ our Lord, amen.

Mm. Mm.

Oh, that does smell good.

Mm.

Delicious.

It's tasty.

I was hungry.

That's cardamom.

Is it?

Delicious.

I might go back for seconds.

Ooh, I've got a big one.

This Maggie is a much better cook than the last Maggie. And without that hunch

in her back, she looked like a little gnome.

What? Just that last bite.

Strange taste to it.

Is it... Mine is delicious.

If possibly there was always... Oh.

Excuse me, excuse me one.

It's nothing. It's just a spot of blood.

I am purged.

It is...

It's

the cardamom.

I'll fetch the doctor.

They are still resting, but the vomiting is continuous.

I fear they may not make it through the night.

Mrs. Borden mentioned oysters?

Yes. Yes, I had one.

And it... I feel fine.

So does Maggie.

Hmm.

That is quite the puzzle.

Quite dangerous, you know, to eat oysters in May.

Good fishmonger would have told you that.

I finished the cleaning. You go take a bath.

Hmm.

They must have vomited it out.

They poached it.

Maggie!

Yes, Mrs. Borden?

Good morning, Lizzie.

You do know that's your name, don't you?

I called for Maggie.

Maggie?

I'd like to fire you, or at least have you strung up in a tree outside the

magistrate for that bilious concoction that made Mr. Borden and myself so ill.

I tell you, sometimes a good purge like that is just what the doctor ordered. I

feel good as new this morning.

Restored.

Fix us Johnny Cakes and coffee, Maggie. You should have thought of as much

already.

Nothing for me.

Think I'll just take the air.

They still don't suspect anything.

We could try a different poison.

No, I know how we're gonna kill them.