All language subtitles for The Aspern Papers (2018)

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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