THE FIFTH ACT
DEMONS
Good day, Mr. Jacobi.
Good day, Miss Vergerus.
What is it?
Is His Grace --
He is not to be disturbed.
May I speak to his wife?
She is indisposed, resting in her room --
And not to be disturbed.
My mother is out and I am busy.
His Grace might be annoyed if --
What is this concerning?
Some months ago, His Grace proposed a business deal.
Really? I don't recall.
Of course not, Miss Vergerus.
His Grace is careful to spare his family such trivial worries.
What worries of his could concern you?
Please don't force me to be vulgar.
To be candid, Mr. Jacobi, I find you unpleasant.
I've neither the time nor the inclination to speak with you.
Good-bye, Mr. Jacobi. - A pecuniary predicament.
I beg your pardon?
Your brother, His Grace, was in a pecuniary predicament.
May I sit down? - Not there! There.
In a peculiar way -- I don't know why --
I appreciate your straightforwardness.
And I do not appreciate your fawning.
What business do you have with my brother?
None at all, as far as I know.
I'm tired of your riddles.
Tell me what's on your mind and go.
I must speak to His Grace first. It's a matter of money.
A lot of money.
Does my brother owe you money?
On the contrary. It's like this:
In November His Grace wanted to borrow money.
Regrettably, Jews have certain principles, like never lending money to the clergy.
He suggested I should buy that chest for a reasonable sum.
I declined.
So you declined.
Foolishly so, since I've now changed my mind.
I'd like to buy that chest, and at almost any price.
Almost.
I will get my brother.
I told you not to disturb me.
Mr. Jacobi wants to buy the chest.
That man hangs on like vermin!
Stay where you are. I'll come get you in a few minutes.
Take your shoes off.
Forgive an old man's unfortunate weakness, Your Grace.
- You wish to buy the chest? - Yes.
For how much?
Here is the sum.
It seems you've changed your mind.
I may have an interested buyer.
- I'm being cheated, of course. - You're free to say no.
- Do you have you the money with you? - The money?
The money! Of course, Your Grace.
I have large bills right here.
Let me see.
Yes, here they are.
- Give me the money. - Of course.
If I may have Your Grace's name on the contract?
Forgive me if I retire.
I shall miss you, Miss Vergerus.
Do not take anything that is not your due.
Suspicions recoil on those who harbor them.
Your Grace will want to ensure that I'm not taking more than my due.
That's quite all right.
I just wanted to return the signed contract.
Please have a seat.
What would you say about that painting?
A beautiful and valuable work.
Would it interest you?
My resources are regrettably a bit strained at present.
How is your wife? - It's kind of you to inquire.
She is indisposed. This sudden heat disagrees with her.
- May I pay my respects? - Unfortunately not.
I understand.
Here is a letter for her from old Mrs. Ekdahl.
- I shall give it to her. - You're too kind.
Filthy Jewish swine! You damned, filthy Jewish swine!
You thought you could cheat me.
You'll regret this, you repulsive, hooknosed bastard!
Calm down!
That swine is trying to steal my children!
He can't. I have the key to the nursery.
Don't touch them!
Come on, quickly!
Come here.
First and foremost, let's have something to eat.
This is my nephew, Aron.
Let's go to the table.
I'd like to sleep.
Our guests are tired.
Have you tidied the room and made the beds?
I've done all you asked, Uncle.
This is Aron's puppet theater.
If you ask him nicely, he may give a performance.
Behind this door lives my nephew Ismael. He's sick.
The door must always be kept shut. Remember that, both of you.
Sometimes he sings, even at night.
It's nothing to worry about. You'll get used to it.
Mind the steps, Fanny, so you don't trip.
Now down this hallway.
It's a bit cold and damp,
because we don't dare light a fire or open the windows.
Straight ahead,
and then through that little door.
It's not so unusual.
This will be your home for the time being.
I hope you'll like it.
Go to bed now.
Good night, Fanny.
Good night, Alexander.
Lock the door at night and don't open it for anyone.
Don't forget to say your prayers. - Don't go.
You want me to stay? Then I'll sit here.
I'll go and see to Ismael.
My name is Aron. Ismael is my brother.
Our parents died when we were small.
Good night.
What kind of book is that?
It's a book of stories, thoughts, words of wisdom and prayers.
It's written in Hebrew.
You understand that language?
- Shall I read you something? - Yes, please.
Uncle Isak?
Are you sure His Grace can't come and get us?
You can put your mind at ease.
Come on, read.
It may be a bit choppy, since I have to translate.
A young man journeys down an endless road
in the company of many others.
The road leads across a rocky plain where nothing grows.
The sun's fire burns from morning to evening.
They can't find shade or coolness anywhere.
A harrowing wind stirs up huge dust clouds.
The youth is driven forward by an incomprehensible anxiety...
and tormented by a scorching thirst.
Sometimes he asks himself or one of his traveling companions
about the goal of their pilgrimage.
But the answer is uncertain and tentative.
He himself has forgotten why he ever set out on his journey.
He's also forgotten his native land...
and the journey's final destination.
Suddenly, one evening he finds himself standing in a forest.
Dusk sets in and all is quiet.
Perhaps the evening wind sighs through the tall trees.
He stands amazed...
but also anxious and suspicious.
He's all alone...
and he discovers his hearing is weak,
since his ears are inflamed from the merciless light of day.
His mouth and throat are parched from the long pilgrimage.
His lips are cracked,
pressed together around curses and harsh words.
So he doesn't hear the ripple of flowing water
and doesn't notice its reflection in the dusk.
He stands deaf and blind at the edge of the spring...
unaware of its existence.
Like a sleepwalker he wanders unaware between the sparkling pools.
His blind skill is remarkable, and soon he's back onto the road...
in the burning, shadowless light.
One night by the camp fire he's seated near an old man
who's telling some children about the forests and springs.
The youth recalls what he's been through,
but faintly and indistinctly...
as in a dream.
He turns to the old man, skeptical yet courteous, and asks,
"Where does all this water come from?"
"It comes from a mountain whose peak is covered by a mighty cloud."
"What kind of cloud?" the youth asks.
The old man answers,
"Every man carries within him hopes, fears and longings.
Every man shouts out his despair or bears it in his mind.
Some pray to a particular god.
Others address their cries to the void.
This despair, this hope...
this dream of deliverance, all these cries, all these tears
are gathered over thousands and thousands of years...
and condense into an unmeasurable cloud around a high mountain.
Out of the cloud rain flows down the mountain...
forming the streams and rivers that flow through the great forests.
That's how the springs are formed where you can quench your thirst...
wash your badly burnt face...
cool your blistered feet.
Everybody has at some time heard of the mountain, the cloud and the springs...
but most people anxiously remain on the dusty road in the blazing light."
"Why do they stay there?" asks the youth in great astonishment.
"I certainly don't know," replies the old man.
"Perhaps they've convinced themselves and each other
that they'll reach their unknown destination by evening."
"What unknown destination?" asks the young man.
The old man shrugs his shoulders.
"In all probability the destination does not exist.
It's deception or imagination.
I myself am on my way to the forests and the springs.
I was there once when I was young...
and now I'm trying to find my way back.
It's not easy, let me tell you."
The next morning the youth set out with the old man
to seek the mountain, the cloud, the forests and the rippling springs.
Shall we have a seat?
May I tempt you with a glass of sherry? - No, thank you.
No.
- An almond cookie? My sister's specialty. - No, thank you.
Not that either.
I want the children back.
This is a small town, and tongues will soon be wagging.
I fear you've misunderstood the reason for our visit.
We're here on behalf of the family
to ask that you set Emilie and the children free.
We can't say with certainty that we know what has occurred.
We only know that our dear Emilie is extremely unhappy
and that the children hate the bishop's palace.
We certainly understand
that divorce is a painful step
for a highly placed servant of the church,
and we'd like to make appropriate compensation
for your painful loss.
I've spoken with my mother,
and we're ready to place a considerable sum at your disposal,
which you may, of course, use...
for charity, a foundation,
or some other purpose close to your heart.
We agree that everything must be handled with utmost discretion,
and my mother is willing to take Emilie and the children to Italy
and remain there for at least a year.
Let me first say that I fully appreciate
the respect and generosity the Ekdahls extend to me in this difficult hour.
At the same time, it's necessary, though painful,
for me to speak very clearly.
The children have been abducted from their home.
They must unconditionally and without delay be returned to their legal parents.
Every delay will cause all of us --
not least their mother --
unspeakable suffering.
When the children are returned, I'll be prepared to listen
to any proposals the Ekdahl family may have.
But to avoid any further misunderstandings...
I must make it clear that a divorce...
is absolutely out of the question.
I'm very grateful for your precise and clear standpoint.
But I'm obliged to mention that the children will never...
be returned to the bishop's palace to be subjected to the suffering
that up till now has befallen them.
Perhaps I should add that on this point the Ekdahls are in complete agreement.
The matter is therefore not open to discussion.
The children are part of our family,
and we therefore consider ourselves responsible for their well-being...
and development.
It grieves me...
that the Ekdahl family should be dictating conditions.
Especially since, as their stepfather, I have the law on my side.
And furthermore, as a representative of the church,
I have the moral advantage.
But we have the children, my dear brother.
I'm glad you're able to laugh in this awkward situation.
Perhaps legal proceedings and police action will be unavoidable.
I doubt it, my dear Edvard.
You'd rather shit in your pants than suffer the disgrace
of the parish hags whistling through their false teeth.
You may well have morality and the law on your side, old man,
but bear in mind that I'm in league with immorality,
and even were you to win in court,
we who side with immorality
will have spread so many credible rumors about your person,
your way of life, your household,
your sister, your servants,
your sanity, your sexual excesses,
your phony hair, your hypocrisy, your hypochondria,
and your lack of decency that you'll be forever forced to preach
to Huguenots, hooligans and Eskimos!
I'm not saying this to frighten you, my esteemed friend.
I only wish to lay all the cards on the table.
So let me see you listen to reason.
If you have any, that is.
Your clownish antics are amusing.
I'd be inclined to laugh if your babble didn't contain
what I would call a real and material threat.
Let me tell you something,
my fine lord bishop,
something you might not understand.
I can see through you.
You're a cad of monumental proportions!
Shut up, Gustav Adolf! Think of your blood pressure!
I must apologize, my dear Edvard.
Even if we have differing views in what seems to be an irresolvable conflict,
we must behave like civilized beings.
I disassociate myself entirely from Gustav Adolf's expressions and attitudes
and assure you that he represents no one but himself.
He certainly does not voice the family's opinion.
My esteemed brother must forgive me.
A thousand apologies.
I'm a boor -- at least that's what my wife says.
I have no eye for people's inner qualities.
I drink too much. I'm embarrassed. I apologize.
We'll say no more about it.
I'm prepared to listen to an honest man's honest opinion,
even if he is a bit...
brusque.
A glass of sherry? I assure you it's quite good.
Thank you very much.
I'm awfully sorry.
I'm so fond of that silly Emilie, that silly little creature.
We love her. The whole family loves her. Isn't that so, Carl?
And when our brother Oscar died, we didn't care for her sufficiently.
We have much to blame ourselves for.
One can be so damned slack and self-centered.
I said that to Alma this morning.
If we hadn't been so slack and self-centered,
this would never have --
I don't think we can reach an agreement under present circumstances.
Let us consider our confidential and frank conversation
as a cautious exploration.
I fear I do not share your cautious optimism.
I consider our negotiations terminated...
and feel compelled to make my standpoint quite clear.
The children must be returned to their home within 12 hours.
Otherwise I'll be forced, though it conflicts with my principles,
to report the matter to the police and the public prosecutor.
Is it conceivable that if the children were returned,
we could begin informal talks about their future relations with us?
I'm a believer in firm rules and principles...
a fact that in no way conflicts
with my sincere and passionate love of freedom.
May I understand your statement
as an indirect promise of future discussions
regarding the sensitive question of Emilie's and the children's
freedom of movement?
Disintegration in our lives...
is due in large part to broken ties between people...
who otherwise have the capacity to respect and love each other.
A cruel and incomprehensible mystery.
To think that a man like me,
almost 220 pounds,
with a fully grown beard and a developed mind...
should have to sit here on this silly, uncomfortable chair
and listen to this unmitigated hypocrite.
"Disintegration in our lives!"
Kiss me where my back changes its name!
You shut up, Carl -- Shut up! --
while I tell this spiritual masturbator what we have up our sleeves.
Listen to me!
I'll tell you something, Edvard Vergerus.
I've acquired your promissory notes.
You didn't know that, did you?
Yes, my friend.
110,000 kronor in debts.
So I'll be dictating conditions now.
Turning pale now, are you?
The holy man's looking pale, eh, Carl?
I'd say his nose even grew a bit too.
You're a special kind of bully, Edvard Vergerus.
One thing I've learned in my profession is to recognize the smell of a bully,
even if he wears a cassock.
And I know how bullies should be treated.
They must be bullied!
Emilie is to have her divorce,
or I'll declare His Holiness bankrupt!
Idiot.
What?
I said idiot. You're an idiot.
I thought it honorable to tell him he doesn't have a chance.
I get so tired of you sometimes, Gustav Adolf.
Really? What stupid thing have I done now?
You'll soon see.
A moment ago we spoke of the advantage of putting our cards on the table.
I beg to return to that metaphor shortly.
To Mr. Ekdahl I'd like to say...
that I pity him.
He has a poor opinion of the world and a simplistic view of people.
He suffers from the widespread misconception
that man is ruled by his needs.
He believes that everything can be bought and sold.
Mr. Ekdahl is the son of one of the country's greatest artists.
Despite this he has grasped little or nothing...
of the spirit's unlimited power
over matter.
He is a wretched Caliban,
groping with clumsy hands for his dull tools.
I pity him and feel sincere compassion for him.
My esteemed Carl, I thank you for a respectful and dignified conversation.
I regret we have not come to an agreement.
Try sometime to tell your brother --
No, he would never understand...
that there are people who have no needs...
who are indifferent to money...
who dismiss the world's luxuries,
who happily allow themselves to be slandered
because their conscience is clear
before God the Almighty.
Now, to return to our game of cards, which Mr. Ekdahl spoke of so wittily.
Allow me to play the last card.
Excuse me for a moment.
That man is the devil himself!
Have you ever seen such a cold-blooded scoundrel?
- If you hadn't behaved like -- - An idiot.
I admit it, and I'm sick about it.
No, that's not the word. I'm terribly sorry.
- Be quiet, he's coming. Shut up! - I'll shut up.
Dear, dear Gustav Adolf.
Dear Carl.
I can't begin to express my gratitude for your care and affection,
but unfortunately you've misunderstood.
Isak Jacobi took it upon himself to abduct the children.
It's terrible and unbelievable.
It's nice and safe here.
Edvard is good to us, and we're very happy.
I implore you with all my heart
to bring back my children.
It's true that I've been anxious and unhappy.
It's true that I went and talked to Helena.
It's true the children had difficulty adjusting to their new surroundings.
It's true we live a stricter and more serious life than at home.
But I'm happy and safe.
Edvard is goodness itself.
You must believe me.
I implore you with all my heart:
Bring back my children!
I cannot live without them!
Dear friends, do as I say.
It's all a terrible misunderstanding.
Farewell, gentlemen.
I have to pee.
Damn, there's no chamber pot.
It won't be easy to find the toilet in the dark.
I hope there aren't any ghosts.
Damn, I think I've lost my way.
Now I'm lost for sure.
It's not my fault it's all gone wrong.
I can't leave you. I just can't.
It would be better if you'd take off for heaven.
You can't help us anyway.
I lived my whole life with you children and Emilie.
Death makes no difference.
What is it, Alexander?
Why can't you go to God and tell him to kill the bishop?
Or doesn't God give a damn about you, or any of us?
Have you even seen God on the other side?
Not a bastard has a thought in his head.
Idiots, the whole bunch of 'em.
You must be gentle with people.
Aren't you coming to bed?
The clock has struck 4:00.
I can't sleep.
Neither can I.
Elsa's very sick. We ought to send for the doctor.
He's coming in the morning.
What are you drinking? - Hot broth.
It helps against insomnia. - May I?
Be my guest.
Can't you forgive me?
I'm staying with you, aren't I?
I don't understand this sudden yielding.
Drink while it's hot.
- You insist that the children return? - Yes.
In that case, it's hopeless.
I don't care if it's hopeless. I care only for what is right.
Isn't that Elsa calling?
Stay here. I'll see to her.
Can I help you, Aunt?
It's so dark.
What time is it?
Almost half past 4:00.
It's been a long night.
Try to get some sleep.
My legs hurt.
They're swollen and aching.
I've heard the universe is expanding.
Heavenly bodies are hurtling away from each other at a bewildering rate.
The universe is exploding,
and we find ourselves at the very moment of explosion.
You once said you were always changing masks...
until finally you didn't know who you were.
I have only one mask.
But it's branded into my flesh.
If I tried to tear it off --
I always thought people liked me.
I saw myself as wise, broad-minded and fair.
I had no idea...
that anyone could hate me.
I don't hate you.
No, but your son does.
I'm afraid of him.
Who's behind the door?
It is God behind the door.
- Can't you come out? - No living being may see God's face.
- What do you want? - To prove that I exist.
This is the end of me.
Shall I show myself?
Now you will see me.
Here I come, Alexander.
- Admit you were scared. - I wasn't a damned bit scared.
"This is the end of me."
Ouch! That hurts.
Don't cry.
I didn't mean to scare you. At least not that much.
I've been working all night on this puppet.
A rich circus owner in England is mad about our puppets.
I heard you tiptoeing around.
Hear that? My brother Ismael is awake.
He's singing.
Poor Ismael.
Human beings are more than he can bear.
Sometimes he gets furious. Then he's dangerous.
Doctors say his intelligence is light-years beyond normal.
He reads continuously.
He's incredibly learned and knows everything by heart.
You said you'd been up all night, but I saw you asleep.
There are many strange things that can't be explained.
You realize that when you dabble in magic.
Have you seen our mummy? - No.
Come.
Look carefully, Alexander.
Can you see it breathing?
It's been dead 4,000 years, but it breathes.
I'll make the room dark.
- What do you see? - It's shining.
Exactly.
No one knows why it's luminous.
No one can explain why.
The unknown makes people angry.
It's better to blame it on mirrors, machines and projections.
Then people laugh,
and that's healthier from all viewpoints, especially financially.
Watch carefully now.
My father and mother ran a magic theater in St. Petersburg.
One evening, in the middle of a performance...
a real ghost appeared.
It was my father's aunt, who had died two days earlier.
The ghost lost her way among the machines and projectors.
It was a fiasco, and Father had to refund the tickets.
- I know quite a bit about ghosts. - Do you?
Uncle Isak says we're surrounded by different realities,
one on top of the other.
There are swarms of ghosts, spirits, phantoms,
souls, poltergeists, angels and demons.
He says the smallest pebble has a life of its own.
More coffee? - Yes, please.
Everything is alive,
and everything is God or God's thought.
Not only good things, but the cruelest too.
What do you think?
If there is a God,
then he's a shit, and I'd like to kick him in the butt.
Your theory is very interesting
and appears to be justified.
Shall we take Ismael his breakfast?
For my part, I'm an atheist.
If you've been raised as a magician and learned all the tricks since childhood,
then you can do without supernatural interference.
As a magician, I create the believable.
The audience provides the unbelievable.
You're definitely no idiot, Alexander, especially considering you're only nine.
- I'll be eleven in November. - Here.
I've brought your breakfast.
Your sister gave me sleeping pills for my insomnia.
I had put three in the broth.
I didn't mean for you to drink it.
When you went to see Elsa, I put in three more.
You will sleep soundly.
When you wake up, I will be gone.
I'm going back to my children...
to my home...
and my family.
I'll change and you'll come back.
I'll never come back!
I'll poison your life!
I'll follow you from town to town!
I'll ruin your children's future!
Poor Edvard, you don't know what you're saying!
I am awake!
I'm horribly awake.
Help me into bed at least.
I can't see anymore...
and I feel dizzy.
Are you there? I can't see.
Ismael, I've brought your breakfast.
Good morning, Ismael.
This is Alexander Ekdahl, a friend.
Leave us alone, Aron.
Don't worry. I won't eat him...
even if he does look appetizing.
You can come back in half an hour.
Go now, Aron. - Uncle Isak --
Uncle Isak is an old goat and needn't know of Alexander's visit.
Go now.
No, thank you.
My name is Ismael, but you already know that.
"And he will be a wild man.
His hand will be against every man,
and every man's hand against him."
I'm considered dangerous. That's why I'm locked up.
Dangerous in what way?
Write your name here.
The pencil's pretty dull, but it should still serve.
There, Alexander Ekdahl.
Now read what you've written.
It says "Ismael Retzinsky."
Perhaps we're the same person, with no boundaries.
Perhaps we flow through each other,
stream through each other boundlessly and magnificently.
You bear such terrible thoughts...
it's almost painful to be near you.
Yet it's also enticing.
Do you know why? - I don't think I want to know.
You've heard of making an image of someone you dislike
and sticking pins in it?
It's a rather clumsy method
when you think of the swift paths an evil thought can travel.
You're a strange little person.
You won't speak of that which is constantly in your thoughts.
You're thinking of a man's death.
Wait a moment.
I know who you're thinking of:
a tall man with fair, graying hair.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
He has clear blue eyes and a boyish face.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
He's asleep and dreams he's kneeling at the altar.
Above the altar hangs the crucified prophet.
In his dream he gets up and cries out,
"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
There is no answer,
not even a laugh.
Don't talk like that.
It is not I talking.
It is yourself.
You are not to hesitate.
He's sound asleep, plagued by nightmares.
Give me your hands.
It isn't really necessary, but it's safer.
The doors will be thrown open.
A scream will echo through the house.
- I don't want to. - It's too late.
You have only one way to go, and I am with you.
I obliterate myself.
I merge into you, my child.
Don't be afraid. I am with you.
I'm your guardian angel.
It is 5:00 in the morning, and the sun has just risen.
The doors are thrown open.
No, wait.
First a horrible scream echoes through the house.
A shapeless burning figure moves across the floor,
screaming.
I don't want to.
Let me go! Let me go!
The police are here and insist on speaking to you.
Honored, Mrs. Vergerus.
It is my painful duty,
as the town's ranking administrator of justice,
to have to inform you of the terrible circumstances
surrounding your husband's horrible death.
Furthermore, according to the law of the land,
and in the presence of this witness, Chief Inspector Jespersson,
I must conduct a short and, I assure you, in all respects formal interrogation,
for which I beg your forgiveness.
Your husband,
His Grace the bishop,
lost his life this morning under terrible circumstances.
May I, madam?
We think we've been able to determine the course of events.
Miss Elsa Bergius, who was gravely ill, lay in bed.
On her bedside table stood a lamp.
By some unfortunate accident, the lamp fell on the bed
igniting her nightgown, hair and bed linens.
Blazing like a torch, she ran through the house
and by chance made it into the bishop's bedchamber.
According to His Grace's sister, Miss Henrietta Vergerus,
he was in a heavy sleep
from a soporific
you had given him earlier that night.
After a heated quarrel with your husband,
you left the house
at 4:20 a.m.
Miss Bergius flung herself on him,
igniting his bedclothes and nightshirt.
His Grace woke up and succeeded in freeing himself
from the dying woman who was still ablaze.
But he could not extinguish the flames
that were now engulfing him.
Old Mrs. Vergerus found her son
with his body burnt and face charred.
He showed faint signs of life and said he was in unbearable agony.
Ten minutes later, the doctor and ambulance arrived on the scene,
but by then His Grace had already been released from his suffering
and had taken his last breath.
Although I can't overlook the fact
that the sleeping aid you gave him possibly made the disaster worse,
I also cannot attach any serious importance to it.
Therefore, I must characterize the event as an ill-fated coincidence
of extremely unfortunate circumstances.
Therefore I beg
to extend to you
my deepest, most sincere condolences.
Come, Jespersson.
Madame, I had the honor to wait upon you yesterday,
but your maid showed me the door with an offensive message.
Monsieur le marquis, I blush at your presumption
and can only deplore the fact that my servants this morning
were unable to show you the door once again.
You say that you love me, sir.
In that case, be so kind as to spare me your presence,
because, frankly, it does me only harm,
not to mention the anger over the embarrassment you caused me
in the presence of her Majesty the Queen.
Marquis, to what do we owe the honor of such an early visit?
- Count! - Marquis!
Only the thought of the blood you have shed for your king, sir,
prevents me from instantly and with all my power
throwing back in your face...
The infamy you have committed against the marquise --
The infamy you have committed against the marquise.
It's not enough this is the worst rubbish ever written in the French language.
In addition, the translation is terrible, Mr. Landahl.
I'm telling you honestly, even though I know you've gone to great trouble.
I know it was done in haste, Mr. Morsing,
but we find ourselves in a crisis.
In the past we performed Shakespeare and the great Molière.
We were even so bold as to let Henrik Ibsen's voice be heard.
Public taste, Mr. Morsing.
They no longer wish to hear the songs of giants.
They're content with the tunes of dwarfs.
No one cares about our theater, neither the public nor the Ekdahl family.
Funds are running dry.
Our actors fare badly.
Hanna.
Emilie dear.
Now you'll stay with us, won't you?
I don't know why I'm so damned moved.
Dear Mrs. Ekdahl.
I'm at a loss for words.
Now everything will be right again.
Dearest Emilie.
Welcome back.
Thank you.
My dear, dear friends.
I am more moved than I can say.
Dear friends...
dearest Mama...
my most beloved wife, Alma...
my darling Emilie, more beautiful than ever.
My wonderful children, Petra,
Jenny and Putte,
and little Miss Helena Viktoria,
lying so peacefully in her bed.
And dear Maj...
of whom I'm very fond.
And not forgetting my incomparable brother Carl,
and his sweet wife.
My most honored friend,
Isak Jacobi,
who has rendered immeasurable service to this family.
Dear Vega and Ester,
and you good friends who faithfully help us up the hill of life.
Last, but not least
dear and admired,
greatly talented and brilliant artists,
if I could I would encompass you all in one big embrace
and plant a kiss on your brows.
A kiss which, more than words,
would tell you of my happiness and love.
Cheers, everyone!
Just imagine: We're all together again!
Our little world has closed around us in safety,
wisdom and order.
After a period of fear and confusion...
death's shadows have been routed,
winter has been put to flight, and joy has returned to our hearts.
Now I must have a look at little Helena Viktoria.
She's laughing at me, my daughter Helena Viktoria.
Now for a speech.
Go on, laugh at your old father.
Never mind what he says. It's only nonsense.
My wisdom is simple.
There are those who despise it, but I don't give a damn --
Forgive me, Mama. I noticed you raised your right eyebrow.
You think your son is talking too much. Don't worry. I will be brief.
Therefore... and consequently...
we Ekdahls have not come into the world to see through it.
Never think that.
We are not equipped for such excursions.
We might just as well ignore the big things.
We must live in the little world.
We will be content with that
and cultivate it and make the best of it.
Suddenly death strikes.
Suddenly the abyss opens.
Suddenly the storm howls, and disaster is upon us.
All that we know.
But let us not think of all that unpleasantness.
We Ekdahls love our subterfuges.
Rob a man of his subterfuges and he goes mad and begins lashing out.
Damn it all, people must be intelligible!
Otherwise we don't dare to love them or speak ill of them.
We must be able to grasp the world and reality
so we can complain of their monotony with a clear conscience.
Don't be sad, dear splendid artists.
Actors and actresses, we need you all the same.
It is you who must give us our supernatural shivers,
or better yet, our innermost diversions.
The world is a den of thieves and night is falling.
Evil breaks its chains and runs through the world like a mad dog.
The poison affects us all,
us Ekdahls and everyone else.
No one escapes,
not even Helena Viktoria or little Aurora.
So it shall be.
Therefore let us be happy while we are happy.
Let us be kind, generous, affectionate and good.
It is necessary, and not at all shameful...
to take pleasure in the little world.
Good food...
gentle smiles...
fruit trees in bloom, waltzes.
My dearest friends, I'm done talking,
and you can take it as you like:
The sentimental ramblings of an uneducated restaurateur
or the pitiful babbling of an old man.
I don't care.
I hold a little empress in my arms.
It's tangible yet immeasurable.
One day she will prove everything I just said wrong.
One day she will not only rule the little world,
but everything.
Everything.
You still sitting there?
Aren't you going to bed?
Now we'll have champagne.
We will, will we?
Well, I'm going to bed.
- We're supposed to have champagne. - Don't forget your jacket.
Yes, Colonel!
There, there, my child.
Be a good girl now, so that Mama can go to bed.
I think you've finished eating, in any case.
- I'll take her. - Thank you, Rosa.
- How do you like it here? - Everyone's so kind.
Especially Mr. Ekdahl.
He must be a real friend of humanity.
That he certainly is.
He's particularly kind to young girls, so you watch out, Rosa.
Oh, my!
- Good night, madam. - Good night, Rosa.
We're going to have champagne.
If you're a good boy, I'll bring you a beer and sandwich in bed.
I'm sure Emilie will want a glass of champagne.
We'll raise a toast to our daughters.
Go to bed now, Gusten.
I'm so damned happy!
That's nice, Gusten, but you'll have a headache tomorrow.
Imagine: We're together again.
I'm going to the country tomorrow to speak with the workmen.
Do you need anything taken care of?
I'll be there until Thursday. - I'll come on Tuesday.
Don't you think I have the best wife in the world?
Much better than you deserve.
And the world's prettiest little mistress.
A real darling.
- Are you going in the morning? - Not until 2:00.
When I see you, I want to weep with joy.
To think you're back with us again!
- Good night, Gusten. - Good night.
Be a good boy now, and remember that Alma needs her sleep.
I know what Alma needs.
Aunt Emilie.
- What do you two want at this hour? - We want to move to Stockholm.
Marianne Egerman is opening a boutique and wants us to help.
- And we'd like to. - We'd very much like to.
But we have a big problem.
Papa insists on that café for Maj.
He's so kind.
- Maj's had enough of his tutelage. - He's so kind.
She wants to live her own life and decide for herself and her baby.
I don't know what to do.
We've spoken to Mama.
She was awfully upset at first and said we couldn't do that to Papa.
Then she calmed down and said that life must take its course...
and that one shouldn't force one's children.
Though she felt sorry for Papa's sake.
It's awful.
You must think of yourself.
After all, Papa's an old man. Isn't that true, Aunt Emilie?
Go to bed now. I'll have a word with Grandmama.
Emilie, how nice to see you! Welcome!
I need to speak with you.
- Would you like a cognac? - No, thank you.
Is it anything serious?
Oh, yes. Maj and Petra want to move to Stockholm.
What do you think?
You can't escape me.
One other thing.
You're right.
On his deathbed, Oscar asked you to take charge of the theater.
I was there. I remember it well.
Gustav Adolf will be awfully hurt.
Why all this concern for Gustav Adolf?
He has a good head for business,
but he doesn't know a thing about theater.
It's your theater, my dear Emilie.
It's about time we explain to our backwoods Napoleon
that he's facing his Waterloo.
I'd like you to read a new play by August Strindberg.
That nasty misogynist!
No, thank you.
It's called A Dream Play.
I thought we'd both perform in it.
Not on your life. I haven't appeared on stage in --
All the more reason. I won't disturb you any longer.
You never disturb me.
What are you laughing at?
Now we're the ones in charge, aren't we?
Do you think so?
- Good night, dearest. - Good night, my dear.
"Everything can happen. Everything is possible and probable.
Time and space do not exist.
On a flimsy framework of reality,
the imagination spins, weaving new patterns."