Spirits of the Dead

SPIRITS 0F THE DEAD

Hughes!

Hughes!

Are the horses ready?

Whenever you wish, Madam.

Get them, now!

Your guests are still in bed,

Milady.

I slept badly last night!

Wake them! I need fresh air!

I want to ride, to forget

this dream I had!

Are you sure it was a dream?

Sometimes you need me...

to tell you what you did

was real.

Get out!

You're always lurking about!

At the age of twenty-two,

Frederique,

Countess of Metzengerstein

inherited the entire family fortune.

Rarely had a noble of this land

come into such a legacy.

She ruled over it capriciously:

Both night and day

according to her whim.

That morning, haunted by her

nightmare of the dawn,

she decided to take her guests

to the castle

where she had spent

her childhood.

Marquis!

Give me something to drink!

Blood!

Swine!

Milady!

What! Can't I enjoy myself?

Surely one can still laugh.

I love this place.

It's beautiful!

You have ten finer castles.

Finer than childhood?

Fool!

Is that boy still annoying you?

Shall I throw him out?

And supposing he flies...

It would be a pity!

Shoot straight and true!

The cord must break!

Shameful debaucheries,

flagrant treacheries,

unheard of cruelties soon taught

her vassals

that nothing

could guarantee them security

against the remorseless fangs

of this petty Caligula.

Come!

Come on!

Give me the necklace, boy!

- Is this our room?

- I have a surprise for you.

What is it?

There she is.

Don't be silly!

I knew him long before you did!

The other way!

All encouraged her in her whims,

not only her depraved friends,

but many others who feared

her displeasure.

The sole exception to this rule,

was the less well to do branch

of their related Berlifitzing

family,

who were traditional enemies

of the Metzengersteins,

and openly critical

of Frederique's behavior.

These two families had been

locked in discord for centuries,

and their deadly enmity

reaching so far back

that none could remember

its origins.

At this time the young

Baron Wilhelm of Berlifitzing

lived alone in his family's

castle.

Although he was her closest

neighbor,

he had never spoken to his

appalling cousin,

Frederique of Metzengerstein.

For her part, Frederique, if

by chance she caught sight

of her cousin from afar,

would mock at him and openly

show her scorn.

But Wilhelm seemed not to

notice her.

His lively intelligence would have

made him a great success in society

but nothing interested this

young misanthropist

who divided his life between

hunting and his stables.

Help me!

Quickly!

If I find the idiot who

set this trap,

he'll be flogged for two hours

and I'll apply the vinegar

myself.

Hurry!

And stop staring!

When a vixen gets caught,

she plays dead.

even if she's injured.

Does it hurt?

Chance alone brought Frederique

and Wilhelm together.

The girl would have preferred

to hate this face

that she knew not, but instead

she was unable to forget it.

Something within her had changed.

Haunted by the memory of

a gloomy, mocking glance,

she had but one desire- to see

Wilhelm again.

Hunting the vixen,

Wilhelm Berlifitzing?

Sultan!

Sultan!

He'll be back.

I'm cold!

A Metzengerstein offers

his cloak to a lady.

You don't, apparently!

You never speak, Cousin.

My ankle still hurts

from the trap.

Prince!

Do you only speak to animals?

Come this evening.

You'll find what you need.

Most of my guests are boars,

buzzards and bears.

It should amuse you.

I won't be part of

your collection.

I'm not accustomed to being

refused.

- Do not keep bad habits.

- Who do you think you are?

A happy man.

Frederique!

Wilhelm!

Rejected and ridiculed when

she'd never been so sincere

Frederique angrily suppressed

the emotions

that had drawn her towards

her cousin.

Hughes!

Her only thoughts were

her vengeance.

Hughes!

Yes, Milady?

How did he come here?

He galloped here through

the flames.

- Whose is he?

- Nobody knows.

Not even the Baron Wilhelm's

servants.

No one knows this horse.

- No one can approach him!

- I'll try.

Milady...

The Baron Wilhelm is dead!

What?

He tried to save the horse

he loved and died.

Everything went up in flames.

Everything.

Hughes!

Hughes!

Hughes!

Yes?

You will repair this...

as it was before.

But that's impossible, Madam!

You will, because I wish it!

Find the best tapestry-maker.

Frederique had ordered the stables

to be set on fire

without imagining that

Wilhem would perish in the flames.

His death satisfied neither her

love, nor her bitterness.

She felt a dark foreboding.

Terror took hold of her.

What are you thinking?

Nothing. Go on.

From that time forth, a marked

change took place

in the outward behavior

of the young libertine.

She no longer left her estate,

excluding all companions.

Qr could the wild, unearthly

horse that she rode constantly

have claimed some mysterious

right of friendship...

Frederique remained faithful

to him.

In the glare of noon,

at the dead hour of night,

in sickness or in health,

in calm or in tempest,

Frederique seemed riveted to the

saddle of that colossal horse,

his audacities so well

accorded with her own spirit.

I don't know.

Some days, the threads sing.

and tie themselves in knots.

I asked you how long.

Weeks... months perhaps.

This spell, which she accepted

with all her being,

reached even

into her solitary moments.

She would spent hours before

the tapestry

that was slowly taking shape.

Fascinated, she watched

the agile hands of the old man,

bringing back to life

the great black steed.

His fingers, so deftly knotting

the threads,

seemed to be weaving with

a fatal logic,

her own destiny.

Help me now, my hands.

You always served me well.

Do not betray me.

Have you worked it out?

- Is it blood?

- No, fire!

Frederique had accepted

and now desired her own end.

She rushed toward the flames.

Like Wilhelm, with Wilhelm,

she will die by fire.

- I want to confess!

- After Mass. People are waiting.

- No! Right away!

- Please...

- After Mass.

- Now, I said!

Proceed.

I don't know how.

Tell me what to do. Help me.

I'm not a Catholic.

In that case, my son,

we'll talk after Mass.

I want to confess,

you must hear me!

Do not shout.

You're in God's house.

I don't care about God!

I need to understand.

I want to talk.

I've killed a man.

Someone from this town?

I don't know...

I don't think so.

- Ah, a stranger?

- Yes.

Well... no. I know him.

I have always known him.

You're drunk!

Listen to me!

It's your duty.

Why did you kill him?

I'll tell you everything,

from the beginning.

Franz von Lowenstein.

William Wilson!

It's from Italy.

It must be from your Mother.

Attention!

At ease.

Silence! Stop that!

Wilson did it!

Wilson!

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down!

Who's that?

He's the new boy.

- What is your name?

- Wilson. William Wilson.

- What's your name again?

- William Wilson.

His name was Wilson?

The same as yours?

Same name, precisely.

- A coincidence.

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