The artist Johan Borg
disappeared some years ago
without a trace, from his home
on the island of Baltrum
in the Frisian Islands.
His wife Alma
later left me Johan's diary,
which she had found
among his papers.
This diary and Alma's account are the basis of this film.
Can someone move that chair?
And lower that a little...
A Film by Ingmar Bergman
Have you been...
Listen, we're not quite finished yet.
No? All right.
Quiet, all! Rolling!
Take!
Camera!
And begin.
No...
I have nothing more to tell.
I've given you the diary.
And you wonder why I choose to stay on here?
We've lived in this house together almost seven years.
Come winter, I can move to the mainland,
work at the store as I have done before
when money was short.
The baby is due in a month, the doctor has said.
He examined me in May,
before the very last time we came out here.
It was on a Friday, I remember.
It was quite late...
about 10:00, I think.
But it was still light out.
We'd planned to stay here until August.
We were going to be completely alone.
He didn't want to see another human being here.
He was afraid.
He liked that I was quiet.
He liked...
We got here at about 3:00 in the morning.
We found a wheelbarrow in a shed on the beach.
When we got here, we were happy to see the apple tree in blossom.
Then we discovered footprints
under the kitchen window in the flower bed.
It annoyed Johan,
but we forgot about it, because...
Yes, we were happy.
We were happy to be home in our own house again.
Johan was uneasy.
He always grew anxious when his work did not go well,
and it had not gone well for some time now.
And he became sleepless.
He was frightened, as if he was afraid of the dark.
It had gotten worse in the last few years.
- I know what. - What?
- I'm going to draw you. - No!
- Yes! - Oh, no.
- Please let me! - No.
- Yes, if you sit over there. - No.
Oh, come on now. Go on, Fatso!
- Here? - A little farther back...there.
- Are you cold? - No.
I knew that.
So sit, just sit like you always do.
Don't straighten up.
And pull the coat down a little over your shoulder...
...just like that, and pull your hair up
so I can see your neck better.
Fine, that's right. And where are my glasses?
And the damned bow is broken again.
There, can you sit just like that a moment?
If day after day,
I patiently drew you...
Hello!
Now, look...
I haven't shown these to anyone.
You see, I made sketches of them!
This is the one who turns up most often.
And he's almost harmless.
I think he's homosexual.
And then there's the old lady,
the one always threatening to take off her hat.
Do you know what happens if she does?
Her face comes off along with it, you see.
And here...
He's the worst of the lot.
I call him the Bird Man.
I don't know if it's a real beak or only a mask.
He's so strangely quick...
...and he's related to Papageno of The Magic Flute.
And the others!
The meat-eaters, the insects...
...and especially the spider men.
Here, the schoolmaster, his pointer in his trousers.
And then all the cast-iron, cackling women.
You must stay awake a little while longer.
In just an hour or so it will be dawn...
...and then I can sleep.
A minute is actually an immense space of time.
Wait, here it starts.
Ten seconds.
These seconds...
You see how long they last?
The minute isn't over yet!
Ah, finally.
It's gone now.
Say something.
Talk to me, Alma.
Hey, you...
...there's something I've thought about for a long time.
Are you listening?
We've lived together for seven years now...
No, that's not what I was going to say.
Now I know.
Isn't it true that old people who have lived a lifetime together
start to resemble each other?
They finally share so much,
their thoughts and their faces take on the same expression.
Why do you think that is?
I hope we will get so old that we...
...think each other's thoughts...
...and we get little, dried-up,
identical wrinkled faces.
What do you think about that?
Are you sleeping?
Come now.
Let's go to bed now.
Okay.
Don't look so frightened, child.
I'm not dangerous.
Give me your hand.
Well?
Can you feel my hand now?
My fingers,
the veins under my skin?
At my age, the hands can get a little cold.
I am, after all, 216 years old.
No, what am I saying?
Seventy-six, I mean.
No, I had better be on my way now.
Now, what was it I was going to say?
Now I remember.
In his black satchel under the bed,
there's the sketchbook with drawings...
Tell him not to do that.
And then one more thing.
He hides his diary in the same satchel.
Read it!
No, no!
DIARY
Wednesday, July 22nd.
I have recently been ill.
Not seriously, but unpleasant enough.
Pardon the interruption, but I have pondered for days
how most appropriately I might approach you.
I deemed it most polite to get directly to the point.
My name is von Merkens, Baron von Merkens.
Borg.
As you may know, I own this island.
I live in the old castle on the north side.
Would you and your wife care to join us
for a simple family supper?
That's kind of you.
It will be very simple, but I'll give you a good wine.
And our salmon fishing is renowned.
Good-bye.
I should also say that my wife and I
are among your admirers, your...fondest admirers.
Thursday, July 27th.
A very warm, hazy day.
I am still sickly after my illness.
Do you see this mark?
Be more careful, my love,
or it will end in disaster.
Don't you remember? I was leaving for a party,
and I was wearing my green brocade dress.
Afterwards, I had such trouble putting my hair up again!
And then I forgot my gloves.
I have something I must speak to you about.
I've received a letter that I must show you.
It was sent yesterday.
And here is what it says...
"You do not see us, but we see you.
"The most horrible things can happen.
"Dreams can become unveiled.
The end is near..."
"The wells will run dry,
"and other fluids will moisten your white loins.
Thus is it decided."
I almost became ill reading it.
How hot your hands are.
Do you have a fever?
Before I see you, I always get so wound up.
Can you understand that?
I wander as if in a dream the whole afternoon.
All my chores become so unreal and meaningless.
Be so kind as to help me with the zipper in my dress.
It always gets caught.
A strong wind indeed! But magnificent, is it not?
This place must be a painter's dream or what?
I've lived here for quite a while.
One returns to the scene of the crime, so to speak,
and commits new crimes!
You appear to be tired. Don't over-exert yourself.
I mean, at our age, a certain caution is to be advised.
Youth is of tougher mettle.
I happen to know.
My name is Heerbrand, psychiatric curator.
I finger people's souls and turn their insides out.
What do we see then? I hardly need to tell you.
As an artist, you know the human heart.
What don't you see in your facial studies,
not to mention in your self-portraits?
Why do you look at me like that? Did I anger you?
Your nerves out of sorts? Something plaguing you?
Shut up!
I think I need to ask you for more money.
What you gave me this month is almost gone.
We must pay the store next time we go to the mainland.
The bill is 1 76.50, and then there's the milk.
Don't just shovel over money like that.
You have to look at my accounting!
It's quite important, at least to me.
I received 500 on the 3rd.
You bought me that blanket, rather expensive--35.
But it's warm and lovely when I lie alone.
And here's the previous bill from the store.
It's high because we had to buy flour, sugar, and canned goods.
Comes to over 200 kronor--219.
And there's pocket money and stamps
and a chain for my bicycle
and new radio batteries...
...and the potato peeler...
...then soap, washing powder, a nail brush.
You need a new toothbrush. The one you have looks horrible.
- No. - Well, it does.
Then 50 kronor for your boy's birthday.
And postage--75 öre.
That's about 500 kronor.
7,36.
You can count it to be sure.
We're invited to the castle on Friday.
I know.
How do you know that?
Good evening.
My wife Corinne.
You're very welcome. Welcome.
My mother Countess von Merkens.
My brother Ernst.
A pleasure. A pleasure.
Here is Archivist Lindhorst.
Delighted. I am one of your fondest admirers.
And this is Curator Heerbrand.
A pleasure. I believe we've met already.
Would you like a drink?
- May I serve a little... - Yes, by all means.
The summer heat makes you so thirsty.
So how long have you been there?
I thought you had been living here for months,
we've been hearing about you for so long!
Time flies so quickly! Delighted you could come.
Damned awful housemaid. But she's cheap, of course.
My brother cannot afford better.
I would like you all to observe that the reason the soup...
We live in one place now. We used to travel a lot.
Do you enjoy travel? Nothing is as stimulating.
Alma is an unusual and beautiful name.
I'm completely incapable of feeling aggression.
I can muster bureaucratic vengefulness...
Here, we're used to humiliation. We find it pleasurable...
...our fangs have remained intact.
Nowadays I want to be loved.
I once bought a painting from a well-known artist.
No comments now, Ernst!
Then I hung it upside down in my salon
and invited the artist over, along with a lot of people
who appreciated a good joke!
What a laugh we had then! My God, how we laughed.
What do you say, sir Artist? Wasn't that a fine joke?
...the sores never heal, the pus never ceases to flow.
The infection is constant--worse, faster, or slower towards the end.
The resistance of the heart decides the outcome.
I am constantly losing weight.
I travel the world over consulting specialists.
Sometimes the loss just stops,
as it did this summer, but then it starts again.
My husband says it's psychological,
that it all began when we lost our money.
I embezzled the family fortune!
- I am the guilty one! - We've heard this...
Why is Lindhorst sitting at our table?
Can't we just sell and leave?
My fault, my fault, all this suffering.
My fault!
And then I shouted, "To hell with your medicines!
"It won't go away. It will never go away!
"You must operate it away. You must just slice it off!
I am an old hag. There must be a limit!"
And then he laughed and said,
"No, madame Countess,
I have never heard of any limits at all!"
Yes, we have children, two boys.
Oh, no, not here. They live with an uncle...
whom I believe is an acquaintance?
I understand you know Veronica Vogler.
And very well, after what I've heard.
An extraordinarily beautiful woman.
Veronica Vogler is charming!
Have you also met her? Truly very charming.
No?
Such hatred in those eyes!
Fredrik, the cacti you planted need to go!
I mean, I don't enjoy them at all.
Actually, I am allergic to them.
You shouldn't drag them along...
All right, then! We shall take coffee in the library.
- Help me a little. - Yes...
Ladies and gentlemen! Your attention!
May I offer a small puppet show to divert us?
Can we extinguish the lights?
There. Good.
Our guests of honor.
Come, come. There.
Music.
The Magic Flute is the greatest example.
One moment. I shall prove this presently.
Tamino's guides have just left him in the dark courtyard
outside the Temple of Wisdom.
The young man cries in deepest despair,
"Oh, eternal night, when shalt thou pass?
When shall the light find my eyes?"
The fatally ill Mozart secretly empathizes with these words.
And the reply from the chorus and orchestra is also,
"Soon, soon, youth..."
"...or never."
The most beautiful,
the most shattering music ever written.
Tamino asks,
"Is Pamina still alive?"
The invisible chorus answers,
"Pamina, Pamina is still alive."
Hear...
the strange and illogical but genial rhythm...
Pami...na.
This is no longer the name of a young woman...
...but an incantation, a sorcerer's formula.
A naïve text-- in short, a commission...
and yet the highest manifestation of art.
Would you not agree, sir Artist?
Pardon me.
I call myself "artist" for want of a better term.
There is nothing self-evident in my creative work
except the compulsion to do it.
Through no intent of my own,
I have been pointed out as something apart,
a five-legged calf, a monster.
I have never fought for that position,
nor do I do so now to keep it.
Yet I may well at times
have felt the winds of megalomania sweep across my brow.
But I believe myself to be immune.
I need only for one second remind myself
of the utter unimportance of art in the human world
in order to cool myself down again.
But that does not mean the compulsion does not remain.
- So speaks a true artist! - This is a real confession.
Magnificent! What courage! What clarity!
I suggest we raise our glasses to our artist--
not only a genius but a thinker, too!
I'll be damned. I never would have suspected.
A flowering rose for your hair.
I must have scratched your cheek with my fingernail.
Let me see. I think it's bleeding!
My handkerchief... No, it is clean.
- Our artist is wounded. - I'm so clumsy.
Stay calm now. You've had too much to drink.
Come, stay by me for a little while now.
He doesn't sleep at night. That's why he can handle so little.
Come, let's you and I get some fresh air.
The core of the castle dates from the 14th century.
It's been in our family since the late 16th century.
We got a little over-excited. We live in such isolation.
We gave you a scare, but you won't leave us now, will you?
See there, Corinne, our castle is rather beautiful at night.
Yes, and that would be only at night.
My garter! Look away now, Mr. Heerbrand!
- Where has Ernst gone? - Ernst, friend, where are you?
I just went off on my own a bit.
I'm ashamed that the grounds are so unkempt.
Imagine ten years ago-- a paragon of garden art.
We never kiss. Have you thought of that?
I can almost count our kisses.
There is something that frightens me almost to insanity.
I meet an unknown man in the road.
We converse.
Suddenly he turns and lands a vicious blow on my cheek!
His face is corpse white and his eyes are full of hatred.
And I understand nothing!
I only feel nauseated. My nose is bleeding,
I stammer some silly excuses, horribly shaken,
and I ask myself, when the man has disappeared,
"Is this how it is? Is this how it must be?"
I can never forget the man's eyes.
- The worst thing was... - Nothing to worry about.
...the blow, that blow...
The worst of all was the man's eyes...
Are you leaving already?
No, before you leave you must see
where I've hung your painting of Veronica Vogler.
Alma, dear, come along, too.
She's sleeping. We won't disturb her.
- I'm not sleeping. - Of course we'll go along.
Come, then, both of you. Won't take a moment.
Alma, you are about to see
something very beautiful your husband has made.
Here is the painting,
directly in front of my bed.
I can see it each morning and night.
It has become like a part of my solitary life.
I love her.
How long did you live together?
Pardon my asking something so personal.
- Five years. - Really?
So he's told you?
He loved her, didn't he?
I didn't need to ask that.
It was a first-class scandal at the time.
But so romantic...
- Jealous? - I don't believe so.
My husband is quite jealous. Well, he's an excellent lover.
Look at this mark, by the way.
It's a scar from another man's, shall we say, advances?
A never-ending spring of renewed desire.
It's all very trivial, of course, but it's stimulating for me.
I need to come up with something new soon.
That mark can't evoke fascinated admiration forever.
Can you help me?
Alma, little dear, don't get angry.
It was only in jest, of course, but it was a stupid joke.
Come, let's go down to the others.
I have, in any case, bought a considerable piece of your husband...
...have I not?
I have to confess that I have read your diary.
It makes me sick with fear!
Wait. Hear me out.
I need to tell you what I've been thinking these past few days.
Here's what I've been thinking.
I see that something is going to happen, something evil,
but I don't know what to call it.
But if you think I'm going to run away, I won't!
I won't run away no matter how frightened I am!
And one more thing.
They're trying to separate us. They want you for themselves.
As long as I'm with you, it's much harder for them.
I won't run away, no matter how much they try!
I'll stay right where I am!
Johan, answer me!
- Do you hear how quiet it is? - Yes, it is quiet.
There was a time when nights were for sleep...
...deep, dreamless sleep.
I cannot sleep.
I wake out of fear.
- Are you tired? - No, not so terribly.
I have held vigil each night until daylight.
But this is the worst hour.
- Do you know what it's called? - No.
The old people used to call it the "Hour of the Wolf."
It's the hour at which most people die
and most children are born.
It's now that the nightmares come to us.
- And if we are awake... - We are afraid.
We are afraid.
What is it?
Nothing. I just thought of something from my childhood.
It was some sort of punishment.
They threw me into a closet.
They shut the door.
It got quiet and dark.
I was horribly scared.
I kicked and pounded,
because they had told me that a little person lived in that closet...
...who gnawed the toes off naughty children!
When I stopped pounding, I heard something rattling,
and I knew my hour had come.
And in a kind of...silent panic,
I climbed onto some shelves
and tried to heave myself up by my hands.
Clothes tumbled around me.
I lost my grip and fell.
I swung my fists through the air
to shield myself from that little creature.
All the while I wailed in fear
and begged to be forgiven.
Finally the door opened and they let me step out into the daylight.
My father said,
"Mother tells me you're sorry."
I said, "Yes, please forgive me."
"Prepare the divan, then," he said.
I went to the green divan in my father's room,
took some cushions, and stacked them.
Then I fetched the cane, unbuttoned my trousers,
and leaned forward onto the cushions.
He said, "So how many strokes do you deserve?"
And I answered, "As many strokes as possible."
And he struck me with the cane,
hard enough
but not more than I could bear.
When the caning was over,
I went to Mother and asked,
"Mother, can you forgive me now?"
And she cried and said, "Of course I forgive you."
Then she offered me her hand.
I kissed it.
Alma, are you listening?
Are you asleep?
No, I'm awake.
My back aches.
To think it's pitch black out still.
And so quiet...
Strange, how the sea is never still.
Frightening somehow.
- Are you crying? - No, I'm not crying.
I'm thinking of the child
and this great, quiet darkness.
Maybe it will never get light again.
Poor dear.
Give me your hand.
That's much better.
Remember that day I said I'd been snakebitten?
Yes.
It wasn't a snakebite.
Not a snakebite?
I thought I'd never tell a soul. I don't even know if...
You have to tell me!
You must never tell anyone else.
No, I promise, I'll never tell anyone.
Remember that place by the cliffs? We were there early this summer.
Yes.
Is the door locked securely?
I checked twice.
Good morning!
Forgive my intrusion. A thousand pardons.
Looks like a storm coming! I thought I'd stop in for a moment.
I do also have an errand.
May I sit down? This won't take long.
I am to convey an invitation from the castle.
We had thought a little party... No, not a big gathering.
Just something to distract those poor people
stuck in the castle year round, gnawing on each other!
As I said, not a large party.
But it will interest you that Veronica Vogler will be there.
And you will come too, yes?
All right, then it's agreed.
Incidentally, von Merkens and I discussed the other day
your possible need to defend yourself.
I mean, from all the small game on the island.
That is all for the moment. Good morning, dear friends.
Hope to see you at our little party.
Shouldn't you lock that weapon away?
No, why?
And what do we do now?
You can tell me about Veronica Vogler.
What do you want me to say?
That it went on for five years?
You know that already.
We were discovered. It was a huge scandal.
The story was quieted down... and then it ended.
That's not what it says in your diary.
"My attachment to Veronica finally was painful for us both.
"I followed her in the streets, jealously spied on her.
"l believe my passion stimulated her,
"but she was always passive and indecisive.
"We often ended in frightening confrontations
"far from any semblance of reason.
We traveled from town to town evading relatives or lawyers."
No!
"We incarnated the words of the Bible,
that man and woman shall be of one flesh."
"Then her husband came and fetched her.
"I was sent to the hospital.
We did not see each other for several years."
You said once that what you liked about me
was that God had made me in one piece...
...that I had whole feelings and whole thoughts.
You said it was important that there were people like me.
It sounded so lovely.
It made me so happy.
I was wrong.
I don't understand a thing.
I don't understand you!
You're nothing but frightened!
And you want to stay here and possibly be killed!
Do you think I want to see you run after that woman,
talking to those ghosts, guarding myself all the time?
Do you think I want that?
But I'll stay.
Get up from the table now.
Now walk towards the door.
Now walk through it.
You go down the steps.
It's not dark anymore. You can find your way.
How delightful! Welcome!
Carry the tray, please.
Thank you. It's my supper, you see.
Old Lindhorst, who is worldly, says that old harlots
have an unhealthy desire to fill their mouths and stomachs.
You really don't care for anything?
Wasn't there to be a party here this evening?
Not as far as I know.
No, don't leave!
Please help me off with my stockings.
You don't like to touch me.
I sense it clearly.
I don't understand.
Veronica Vogler has come...
...and I'm the only one who can tell you where she is.
Look closely at my feet, Artist.
Have you seen younger, tighter arches?
Look closely. Look at my heel,
how smooth and fine it is.
Such strong toes and beautiful nails.
Kiss my foot.
Yes, go ahead.
Yes, there!
You've been sweet,
and I'll tell you where she is.
Try the west gallery.
She was there five minutes ago.
- Pardon me, I thought-- - You're always welcome, dear friend.
You come, you go, you stay. You have complete freedom.
Let us speak openly as well.
You have come to find Veronica Vogler.
I should perhaps mention before you see her
that Veronica has been my mistress for several years.
She has kindly related in detail your common past.
I can assure you I suffer.
I shall be by your bed tonight.
Every word, every kiss, every movement across your bodies...
Nothing will be spared me.
Come, I'll show the way.
Oh, it's only my jealousy. Please go away.
Yes, of course. Of course.
It's Conductor Kreisler playing.
Conductor Kreisler is a master at his instrument.
Don't you think Veronica has waited long enough?
She began preparing for your visit already this morning.
She has become even more beautiful.
My husband is suffering.
He is jealous.
And your touching little companion...
Three shots, one of them fatal.
Wonderful music.
I think I must take off my hat so I can hear better.
It really smells of glue!
Though she insists it is all synthetic.
Plain old glue is what it is. She can't fool me.
We have our tricks, don't we?
Let's see now if we're presentable.
How pale you are, dear friend. What a sight!
Your lips are as blue as if you'd eaten blueberries.
We must do something. Sit down here.
Let's see what we can do.
Right.
A lovely cupid's bow...
A sensual lower lip is always titillating.
Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot.
This will soothe them.
Well, dear me.
And so, a few lines on the eyelids.
There now!
Some fresh color to your skin wouldn't hurt.
Well, what next? Yes, borrow my robe.
There and there... and there.
And see there. It suits you, it suits you!
Wait, beautiful pajamas are called for on occasions such as this.
A nice perfume? No?
You prefer to smell of yourself, of course.
Each to his own scent, but a little...
...gives a scent anyway.
I knew it.
See yourself now in the mirror.
Now you are yourself
and yet not yourself,
the ideal state for a meeting between lovers.
Come now! This way!
There is her door.
You see what you want to see!
Veronica, no!
No, them... Don't pay attention to them!
I thank you...
...that the limit has finally been transgressed.
The mirror has been shattered.
But what do the splinters reflect?
Can you tell me that?
Yes, he fired three shots.
One scratched my arm. I still have a little scar.
I fell over from sheer terror.
I thought it best to lie still.
I heard him pace back and forth, behind and around the house...
...then he ran toward the path.
I stood up, went inside,
washed off the blood, and put on a bandage.
Then I hid the pistol and sat down to wait.
He was gone some minutes, then he came running back.
I hid myself to be on the safe side.
He looked absolutely insane.
He walked around the cottage talking to himself...
...then he got out the diary and began to write.
He wrote for hours.
Then by mid-morning he packed his satchel
and headed off toward the woods.
I thought it best to follow him.
He might harm himself.
Don't you see me?
- Where is he? - I know where you can find him.
Come.
Call to him, then.
Well, there is one thing I've wondered.
Are you in a hurry?
I'd like to ask you something.
It's like this.
Isn't it true that when a woman has lived a long time with a man...
...isn't it true she finally becomes like that man?
Since she loves him
and tries to think like him
and see like him.
They say that it can change a person.
Was that why I began to see those ghosts?
Or were they there anyway?
I mean, if I'd loved him less
and not bothered about everything there around him...
...could I have protected him better then?
Or was it that I didn't love him enough
that made me so jealous?
Was that why those "cannibals," as he called them...
...was that why we came to such grief?
I thought I was so close to him.
Sometimes he said he was also close to me.
One time he said it with certainty.
If only I could have followed him, all the time.
There's so much to keep pondering...
...so many questions, sometimes I don't know which way is which,
and I get completely...