02x02 - Verbis Diablo

[bunniefuu]

Vanessa: Last week on Penny Dreadful...

They were trying to k*ll you.

[hisses]

[speaking demonic language]

It was the Verbis Diablo.

The word of the Devil.

Should we not begin by finding a way to understand the language?

Frankenstein: If I do as I have promised you, give you this thing living, will you leave me in peace?

You would do better to ask your soul to leave you.

I'm not what you think I am. I have blackouts.

Vanessa: What happens?

Ethan: I don't know. But there's usually blood.

Broker: The Ripper back again?

Rusk: This one is different.

This time there was a survivor.

Name's Warren Roper.

Your daddy says, "Come home," so home you come.

Let her live!

[shouting]

Sir Malcolm: Together we've seen things not of this world and have proven ourselves capable of defeating them.

What were they? You knew their kind.

They are Nightcomers. Witches.

Our task is made yet more daunting.

I shall begin by enticing dear Sir Malcolm.

My old friend Miss Ives won't escape me.

Ethan: Here's a woman who held her ground against Satan himself.

But now...

I've never seen her frightened.

♪

[knocking on door]

Sir Malcolm?

Come in.

What's happened?

Last night they came to me.

They were there, as real as you are.

Then...

They weren't.

Vanessa.

Is this what it is to go mad?

Your darkest fears made manifest before your eyes?

You're not a neurotic, Vanessa.

Then tell me where am I to find peace!

Not even my prayers are safe!

Do you know what that's like?

No.

But I understand the fear of twisting things that move at night.

Tell me I deserve peace.

I'm a poor minister for that, Vanessa.

That's not been my life.

But this I do know.

I'll not leave your side.

Wherever we walk, we walk together.

I don't know what I would do without you.

Will you do something for me?

Accompany me somewhere?

Where?

Somewhere I find a kind of peace.

Can...

Can you understand me?

My... My words might seem strange to you.

And my face.

Everything is strange to her.

She seems happy enough.

I hope she's not simple-minded.

She's perfect!

Go slowly. Give her time.

I want to fill her heart with poetry.

Let me fill her head with language first.

Honestly, it will be a process.

You'll understand that.

She must learn the actions of living anew.

Leave me to it.

I've had experience.

I've waited so long.

She needs poetry.

She needs to eat. Now go on.

Come back later.

Let me get to it.

If Proteus was any model to go by, she'll pick up language quickly.

Even more quickly since I reduced the trauma of the electrical charge.

It will come back to her.

So too human interaction and, well, perhaps memory.

And then?

I don't know.

Proteus was just beginning to regain the memory of his former life, when you k*lled him.

You don't need to remind me of my sins.

Just never forget your own.

And this?

Creating another sin?

Atoning for your first.

All the love and companionship you denied me, visit upon her.

She is our future, Creator.

Tread carefully.

[footsteps fading away]

[gasps]

My name is Victor Frankenstein.

Victor.

[train whistle blowing]

[crowd bustling]

Sir Malcolm: I suppose it's a private sort of atonement.

My wife is involved in the work here and I took it up.

Vanessa: And me?

You're looking for a kind of peace.

That's a long journey you must make alone.

But I find a touch of it here.

You must, I'm afraid. Cholera is rampant here.

[coughing]

Vanessa: How is this meant to help me?

Sir Malcolm: You will see.

[faint coughing]

Samuel. Thank you.

[child crying]

In the shadow of so much wealth, such suffering.

[woman crying]

[crowd bustling]

Vanessa: You work here?

Sir Malcolm: When I can.

And provide them with funds.

It makes me feel like I'm a better man.

[train screeching]

He'll live, but it was a close-run thing.

Thankfully, we've learnt a lot about reconstructive surgical techniques with the soldiers returning from India and the Transvaal.

Terrible wounds there.

I know.

We keep the more disturbing cases isolated.

Male orderlies only.

Sir.

[breathing heavily]

When will he be able to speak?

Don't know that he will be.

There's not much of his face left.

Get better, Mr. Roper. We have much to talk about.

I want to know who did this to you.

It's all so pretty.

The way the light hits things, I mean.

There's so much I don't remember.

That's a result of the accident that brought you here.

It robbed you of your memory, you see.

Will it come back?

I don't know.

Your voice is not as I would have expected.

Well, I sound like you, don't I?

That makes sense, doesn't it? Us being cousins.

Yes.

How else should I speak?

No other way.

Perhaps the accident impacted your brain in ways I hadn't anticipated.

It's all very unusual.

You haven't told me.

What's my name?

Lily.

Your name is Lily.

The flower of resurrection and rebirth.

Why does that make me sad?

Why should a flower make me sad?

I don't understand.

The words come out, but with so little meaning.

[crying]

Shh. Be still.

It will take time.

But you'll learn.

I'll show you what life is.

Cousin, teach me.

I am at your mercy.

I shall.

[crying]

I've an appointment with our friend at the British Museum.

And then some errands. Would you like to come?

I'll stay for a bit.

And, Sir Malcolm.

Thank you.

I'll see you at home.

You'll be back before dark?

Of course.

[faint murmuring]

Would you like some soup?

Ma'am?

Would you like some soup?

Yes, ma'am. Thank you.

May I sit with you?

Yes, ma'am.

I can't speak to the quality.

It's fine, ma'am.

My name is Vanessa Ives. And it's "Miss."

Miss Ives.

My name is John Clare.

Mr. Clare.

They make me nervous.

Who?

The nuns.

Why?

I was raised in the faith. It was arduous for me.

Have you religion?

Are you offering it?

Do you require it?

I never have.

Then I shan't offer.

And I would be a poor advocate.

The Almighty and I have a challenging past.

Not sure we're speaking these days.

[chuckling]

[stammering] I read the Bible when I was younger. But...

Then I discovered Wordsworth and the old platitudes and parables seemed anemic.

Even unnecessary.

Mr. Wordsworth has a lot to answer for, then.

[chuckling]

Is it not this, Miss Ives, the glory of life surmounts the fear of death.

Good Christians fear hellfire, so to avoid it, they are kind to their fellow man.

Good pagans do not have this fear, so they can be who they are, good or ill, as their nature dictates.

We have no fear of God, so we are accountable to no one but each other.

That's a profound responsibility.

And why you do this, no doubt.

Helping those in need.

I came here for selfish reasons.

Do you truly not believe in heaven?

I believe in this world and those creatures that fill it.

That's always been enough for me.

Look around you.

Sacred mysteries at every turn.

But no exaltation in life beyond this?

"To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour"

With respect to Blake, I see no wild flowers here, only pain and suffering.

Then you need to look closer.

Nun: You are required, Miss Ives.

Yes. In a moment.

Duty calls.

I'm not used to working like this.

Those ridiculous little shoes are agonizing.

[both chuckling]

Thank you for the soup.

Thank you for the conversation.

You have beautiful eyes.

[crowd bustling]

Woman: I hope that's your sister.

I'm sorry?

Your sister, I hope.

Don't tell me your wife.

Oh, no. A friend.

You could see how I could make the mistake.

I mean, you look very similar.

The pale skin, the dark hair, fully intoxicating eyes...

If you don't mind my boldness.

I live to shock, I think.

You know, I try to stop myself, but I just can't.

Well, I don't try that hard.

My name is Dorian Gray.

Angelique. No last name.

Utterly mysterious, don't you think?

I don't know what to think.

Probably best.

Thinking would age you terribly.

It's best you stay beautiful and a bit simple.

Oh.

You are beautiful, did you know that?

I've been thought so.

Don't be coy.

I tried coyness once, couldn't carry it off.

I can imagine.

I saw you sitting here and I thought to myself...

Well, I like to be around beautiful things.

You should see my bedroom.

Swags and chintz to choke a horse, and I've choked my fair share.

Would you like to see my bedroom?

It's close.

I'm sorry. Not today.

Is it her?

The girl in the photograph?

Did she break your heart?

Such as it is, she broke it.

I'm sorry.

I had my heart broken once.

But not as a child, as a woman.

A true pain that was. I swore to myself, never again.

Did you keep your oath?

Yes.

And my life is sadder because of it.

If you should ever want to mend your heart, this is where I work.

And your heart?

Waiting.

Stay young and beautiful, Dorian Gray.

It suits you.

[whooshing]

[crowd murmuring]

Mrs. Poole.

Sir Malcolm. What a surprise.

[thumping]

Where will it end?

This rush to embrace all things mechanized.

You don't favor the modern conveniences?

No, I am a Luddite at heart, pitching gears and cogs into the river willy-nilly.

No, I favor the old ways.

I was much the same.

But one loses relevance if one doesn't change with the times.

What change do you seek here?

A gift for Miss Ives, in fact.

Ah, dear Miss Ives.

And it's scent for me.

I'm trying to decide.

A man's opinion is advisable.

Will you help me?

If I'm able.

This is my old scent.

I want something new.

Very nice.

[laughs] "Very nice."

Such a man.

Like you charge by the word.

Here.

To clean your palate.

Also very nice.

[laughs]

Now, this is my choice.

I think.

I sense something of the old days in it.

The old days, the days before now.

When the old gods walked the Earth.

[inhales]

[speaking demonic language]

What do you think?

I like that one.

I thought you might.

[knocking on door]

Yes?

Our guest has arrived.

Mr. Lyle.

Miss Ives!

Our lamentable separation has trebled my pleasure at seeing you again.

My heart shall burst.

This is Mr. Ethan Chandler.

Mr. Chandler!

You are so very tall. You render me Lilliputian.

Hello, Mr. Lyle.

American! I am undone.

Shall we?

Given you're an expert in dead languages, we thought to appeal for your help.

So we're to have another adventure in translation, are we?

Brazen our way into the mystic past?

If you're willing.

I feel Mr. Chandler can provide able rescue should we find ourselves suddenly afoul of the odd glyph.

Well, I do have a g*n belt.

Stop.

[knocking on door]

Ah, the good doctor.

How many adventurers are we, then?

This completes our company.

I'm glad. Mischief is best enacted in small groups at very close quarters, don't you think, Mr. Chandler?

Sorry I'm late.

Mr. Ferdinand Lyle, Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

How do you do?

Doctor. Charmed.

So you're the chappy who's going to translate the mythical language?

Not so mythical as you think, young man.

The Verbis Diablo, the Devil's tongue, has roots as old as Aramaic, and likely much older.

It was an oral tradition for the most part, like most now-dead languages.

We haven't entirely lost it, we've just forgotten it.

And if I were to tell you it's spoken now?

In London?

I should express surprise, but not complete bafflement.

Note I said it was an oral tradition for the most part.

There is one written example of the language.

Relics of a sort.

In a long-forgotten box deep in the archives of the British Museum, and I can't imagine anyone has looked at them in years.

In the 11th century, a Carthusian monk known to us only as Brother Gregory began to lose his mind.

He said he was possessed by a demon, perhaps the father of all demons, the fallen angel himself.

In any event, this demon spoke to him in the Verbis Diablo.

Brother Gregory wrote down what it said on whatever was to hand.

Having nothing like science to consult, his brothers finally pronounced Brother Gregory mad and locked him away.

But his lunatic ravings are now in the British Museum.

The only existing written example of this seemingly dead language.

If we seek to understand the Verbis Diablo, we must start there.

Can you get the relics? Bring them here?

Oh, yes.

Like most of the plundered riches of the British Museum, they are scrupulously ignored.

I'll just plunder them back.

Perhaps Mr. Chandler could accompany me?

My pleasure, sir.

Will you bring your g*n belt?

Both g*ns.

What happened to Brother Gregory?

Ah.

Locked away by his brothers, the visitations from the demon did not abate.

They were deep within him.

A curse, if you will. Seemingly inescapable.

And?

After years of confinement, and torment, they were finally convinced he was not in fact mad, but possessed by the Devil.

They b*rned him at the stake.

God love religion.

Man: Thank you so much.

Woman: Do call again.

Certainly.

May I help you?

May I see Miss Angelique?

But of course.

Come this way, please.

♪

I trust you shan't be disappointed.

I'm sure not.

Be firm with her. She is willful.

Like all children.

I hope you know what you bought.

I do.

[sh*ts f*ring]

I should feign modesty, I know.

[sh*ts fired]

Your turn.

When you asked for my company this afternoon, I did not expect this.

Glad I could surprise.

You delighted, Sir Malcolm.

Such the most distracting time I've had in eons.

Courage, then.

It's pulling to the left a bit.

[chuckling]

Always blame the equipment.

Would you like to try a new g*n?

Oh, I'll try anything new.

Beside vegetables.

It's made by the Mauser company.

A prototype.

Semi-a*t*matic f*ring mechanism.

There's nothing else like it on Earth.

Does your wife like sh**ting?

No.

What does she like?

We're estranged.

Should I pretend sorrow?

Pretend nothing, Mrs. Poole, it wouldn't become you.

Will you divorce?

That's impossible.

The scandal to her name would be too great.

I must respect that.

I'm sorry.

A man's g*n.

An extension of a man's arm.

Like the bow of an elegant battleship.

Just so you know, about my wife.

There is no love between us, not for some time, if I'm honest.

But I am bound to her.

That is how I must live now, and in the future.

I appreciate your honesty, Malcolm.

And it's always good to have something to aim at.

I've not had the greatest amount of experience with this.

I'm surprised you've had any.

Is this how you remember me?

Sorry?

When we were young together?

A bit.

They were long summer afternoons and we were comrades in great adventures.

Pirates on the Spanish Main or conquistadors exploring the New World.

They were happy days, our youth.

We were close?

Very.

When there were thunder storms you came to my bed.

We never slept.

We clung together until the storms passed.

Did I admire fair-haired ladies?

I did.

They always seemed kinder.

Like angels.

You're making me into an angel.

Or maybe just the cousin you always wanted.

Who was he?

The other man when I awoke. The strange one.

He was someone you used to know.

Your intended.

To marry?

Yes.

Did I love him?

I don't know.

Must I love him now?

That's for you to say.

There's so much that frightens me.

I don't know how to feel or act.

In the smallest ways even. How to sit and speak.

Don't let me be hurt.

I won't.

Mr. Chandler.

Mr. Lyle.

Come this way. We shall be out ***.

I'll do my best.

Lyle: This way.

Have you known Miss Ives for long?

A fair piece.

Extraordinary sort of woman.

That she is.

Oh!

Mr. Swenson, hello.

This is, um...

My brother.

I promised to show him our special archives, as one does, you know.

As you say, Ferdinand. Sir.

Sir.

Your brother?

Well, I'm not made for such skullduggery!

My heart is fluttering like mad. Feel my pulse.

Now don't swoon on me.

Oh, Mr. Chandler, how you talk!

But he won't question it.

The British Museum holds the world's largest collection of historical p*rn, aside from the Vatican, of course.

People are always sneaking in for a look.

[muttering]

Constantinople. G.

G.

What's this?

I'm not a thorough medievalist, but it's an heraldic family symbol of some sort.

"So the hounds will protect."

You read Latin!

Was raised with it.

Ah.

A classical education will always out.

But that's "wolves," not "hounds."

On battle shields the heraldic iconography's not actually meant to strike terror in the opponent, as you'd think.

Rather, it's meant to evoke protection.

The figures are more spirit guides and totems of significance to the owner.

Dragons and griffons and the like.

"So the wolves will protect."

Yes, grisly bit of business.

But that's why they call them the Dark Ages.

I saw wolves where I grew up, in the New Mexico Territory.

Timber wolves.

Enormous things.

Oh?

They hunted in packs.

They'd isolate a cow or a sheep or what have you by barking and growling.

But when they finally att*cked, it was completely silent.

They'd...

They'd tear out the windpipe first.

You couldn't hear anything, but the blood splashing on the ground.

They didn't protect anything. They just fed.

What a life you've led.

Long time ago.

I've found it.

This way.

I researched my own family crest once.

Distinctly disappointing.

Two interlocking fish on a field of lavender.

I ask you, fish?

Ah!

Ah!

As I said, forgotten by all.

The Verbis Diablo.

[train approaching]

[baby crying]

Ooh.

[playing with rattle]

[baby fusses]

Quiet, Helen. Shh.

[train whistle blowing]

Yes. Shh.

[train brakes squealing]

[baby crying]

Shh, shh, shh.

She's colicky tonight.

Teething, do you think?

Mmm.

♪ Dance to your daddy, my little babbie ♪
♪ Dance to your daddy, my little lamb ♪
♪ You shall have a fishy in your little dishy ♪
♪ You shall have a fishy... ♪

[brakes screeching]

Alfred?

[screaming]

[baby screeching]

[crying continues]

Lyle: I've never absconded with national treasures before.

Sir Malcolm: Did you have any difficulty?

Oh, it was heart-stopping!

Miss Ives.

Mr. Chandler was heroic, as you might imagine, but I like to think I acquitted myself with singular vigor.

Born for action, this one.

[chuckling]

Vanessa: What are these?

Lyle: Apparently whatever Brother Gregory could find on which to write the demon's words.

Ethan: There's Latin here.

Sir Malcolm: And Arabic here.

Lyle: A veritable Tower of Babel.

Ethan: Well, who's good at puzzles?

Doctor?

Frankenstein: Down here.

Cosmetically, she is transformed.

Who could recognize the woman she was?

Yes.

Hello.

Language came back quickly.

Her memory?

No. I don't remember you.

We were...

Friends.

Yes.

Will you allow us to meet again?

This may take time.

Be patient with each other.

Lily, may I introduce...

John Clare.

Mr. Clare.

This isn't what you expected, and I appreciate that.

You thought me a fraud at first, albeit a terribly good one.

A theatrical spiritualist beyond compare, n'est-ce pas?

But then the occultist dabbler found himself amongst the real thing.

Now, I needn't remind you of the consequences of disloyalty, need I?

All those photographs.

So indiscreet.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

I just can't imagine what the Museum Governors would make of them.

Or the gentlemen of the press.

Well, I can imagine, actually.

First, you'd lose your job.

Then your position in society.

And your wife's money.

Then you'd just be a sad old sodomite in too much rouge and a flamboyant wig.

I'll have you know my hair is completely real.

[cackling]

Brava.

So.

Regale me. What do they know?

Nothing.

I can misdirect them as you see fit.

No. Let her follow the bread crumbs to me.

And your interest in Miss Ives?

The wicked c**t is of no concern of yours!

Tell me about him, though.

The man.

Mr. Chandler?

Mmm.

Simple, really. Uncomplicated, I would think.

Like all Americans.

You have it?

Remain, little man.

[speaking demonic language]

[humming]

[thumping]

[breathing heavily]