Possession Page #3

And what do you do | in London, Mr. Michell?

Are you a teacher as well? | No, not yet. | I'm doing a fellowship.

- Which means what exactly? | - On the dole.

- [Chuckles] | - [Chuckles]

Um, my field's | Victorian poetry.

We had ourselves a poet | in this house once.

Terrible, sentimental stuff | about God and death | and the dew and fairies.

Why don't you show | this young man | Christabel's room, Maud?

And why don't you | stay tonight?

You're under no obligation | to stay, of course.

It's justJoan's way. | Misses our daughter.

Quite a drive back, | actually. | No, we're fine.

Oh, well.

Hardly ever come up here.

With the wheelchair, | of course, we bunk down | on the ground floor.

I haven't been up here | since I was a child.

Maud, is this the photograph | at your house?

Yes, that's | Christabel's niece, May.

That's my | great-great-grandmother.

Christabel wrote dozens of poems | about this place.

[Maud Reading] "Haunted | are they who haunt our dreams | and weaken our desires...

"and turn us | from a solid face.

'And in the depth | of wintery night, they slumber | in the night and bright.

"Dolly keeps a secret | safer than a friend.

"Dolly's silent sympathy | lasts without end.

"No rush of action, | this is our doom.

To live a long life out | in a dark room. "

Maud.

It's pretty | incredible, huh?

Fergus, it's me.

l-I'm out of town tonight | on business.

I've stumbled onto a connection | between Christabel | and Randolph Ash...

and have a few questions | for you.

Call me on 0 15-2263 2 416.

Roland.

- Roland. | - [Groans]

Roland. Roland. | No!

Roland, it's me. | It's Maud.

- What is it? | - Listen.

" Dolly keeps a secret | safer than a friend.

Dolly's silent sympathy | lasts without end. "

[Sighs] | God.

I was so sure.

Sympathy. | Sympathy.

Sympathy, meaning what?

Mutual affection | or understanding.

Favor pity or even accord. | But that's not it, is it?

That's what she told her.

She uses silent sympathy | in a more classical context.

Like structural support. | Dolly conceals it.

Yes, but not within, | beneath.

There's a door. | There's a door.

- I can't believe it. | - Let me see.

Be-Be careful. | They're very precious. | I'll be very careful.

Oh, God, we shouldn't | be doing this.

What do you mean, | we shouldn't be doing this? | Why'd you drag me up here then?

What are you doing? | I'm going to read.

Stop. We've got to | ask the Baileys.

You ask, | and the next time you see these | is under glass in New Mexico.

Stop it. | Stop. Stop. Stop. | All right. All right.

But can we please | at least do it properly?

Let me run downstairs | and get some note cards | and some pencils.

All right. | Go, go! Hurry!

Look at this. We've got | Ash and Christabel's | letters here.

Look. Come here. | Listen. | What?

"Dear Miss LaMotte: :

"It was a great pleasure | to talk to you...

"at dear | Crabb-Robinson's party.

" May I hope that you too | enjoyed our talk.

And may I have the pleasure | of calling on you."

[Gasps]

She says, " No, | but you may write.

"Would you rather | not have a letter, | however imperfect,

"than a plate | of cucumber sandwiches,

"however exquisitely | fine cut?

Know you would, | and so would I. "

[Roland] "I was entranced | and moved by your brief | portrait of your father. "

"I write nonsense, | but if you can't write again,

"you shall have a sober essay | on what you will.

"Yours to command | in some things.

[Roland] | "Where I was born, | Christabel Lamotte."

"was a small place too.

" Not like this. | Not bare.

[Roland And Randolph] | 'A brilliant, dusty hutch | of mystery"...

[Randolph] | is a cabinet of curiosities.

What did my eyes | first light on?

[Christabel] | I am a creature of my pen.

My pen is the best part | of me.

I send you now | two more poems.

[Randolph] | I eagerly read | your mythic tales of mire...

and found them | both charming and sad.

Your verse is rich, | but perhaps the metaphor | is richer.

[Christabel] | Dear Mr. Ash: :

I live circumscribed | and self-communing.

It is best so.

Not like a princess | in the thicket, more like | a spider in her web.

"Inclined to snap at visitors | or trespassers,

"not perceiving the distinction | until too late.

Thus, it is unwise to call. "

[Randolph] | I know you live very quietly.

but I could be very quiet.

I only want to discuss | Dante and Shakespeare,

Wordsworth, Coleridge, | and Goethe.

Not forgetting, of course, | Christabel LaMotte...

and the ambitious | fairy project.

[Man, Indistinct]

[Christabel] | Oh, sir, things flicker | and shift.

All spangle and sparkle | and flashes.

I have sat all this long evening | by my fireside,

turning towards | a caving in,

the crumbling | of the consumed coals,

to where I am leading myself...

to lifeless dust, sir.

[Randolph] | My dear friend... for I may | call myself a friend, may I not?

I speak to you as I would | speak to any person...

who possesses my true thoughts.

For my true thoughts | have spent more time | in your company...

than in anyone else's | these last few weeks.

Where my thoughts are,

there am I in truth.

"My dear friend:
: | It has been borne in upon me...

that there are dangers | in our continued conversation."

[Christabel] | The world would not look well | upon letters...

between a woman living | in shared solitude as I do...

and a man.

Even if that man | were a great poet.

And if one is to live | in this way,

it is imperative | to appear respectable | in the eyes of that world...

and your wife.

It is a sealed pact.

It is a chosen way oflife | in which I have been | wondrously happy...

and not alone in being so.

"I have chosen a way, | dear friend,

"I must hold to it.

" Be patient. | Be generous. Forgive.

"May I also request | that you return | my correspondence to me.

"In this way, | at least our letters | will remain together.

"I have known incandescence...

"and must decline | to sample it any further.

"This now goes to the post.

Forgive its faults | and forgive me. | Christabel."

[Randolph] | My dear Christabel: :

Your letter came as a shock | to me, I will confess.

I was at first | not only shocked, but angry | that you should write so.

As you've asked about my wife, | however, I will tell you.

I love Ellen, | but not as I love you.

There are good reasons | which I cannot discuss | why my love for you...

may not hurt her.

I do not feel I have been | a proper wife to you, Randolph.

Without children, | without ever | any kind of physical...

Nonsense, Ellen.

Nonsense.

There are many | types of love.

All sorts.

And ours | are good between us.

It has been most profound.

[Randolph] | I must say to you | what is in my mind.

I have called you my muse, | and so you are.

I could call you | with even greater truth...

my love.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. | What? What? | Don't do that. What?

So he sends his response. | He sends her more letters.

She doesn't answer them. | She ignores them.

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