The Seventh Seal

Antonius Block:
I shall remember this moment: the silence, the twilight, the bowl of strawberries, the bowl of milk. Your faces in the evening light. Mikael asleep, Jof with his lyre. I shall try to remember our talk. I shall carry this memory carefully in my hands as if it were a bowl brimful of fresh milk. It will be a sign to me, and a great sufficiency.

Antonius Block:
Nothing escapes you!

Death:
Nothing escapes me. No one escapes me.

Jonas Skat:
Is there no exemption for actors?

Antonius Block:
I met Death today. We are playing chess.

Jöns:
Love is the blackest of all plagues... if one could die of it, there would be some pleasure in love, but you don't die of it.

Antonius Block:
I want to confess as best I can, but my heart is void. The void is a mirror. I see my face and feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live now in a world of ghosts, a prisoner in my dreams.

Antonius Block:
Who are you?

Death:
I am Death.

Antonius Block:
Have you come for me?

Death:
I have long walked by your side.

Antonius Block:
So I have noticed.

Death:
Are you prepared?

Antonius Block:
My body is frightened, but I am not.

Antonius Block:
Have you met the devil? I want to meet him too.

Witch:
Why do you want to do that?

Antonius Block:
I want to ask him about God. He must know. He, if anyone.

Jöns:
Who will take care of that child. God, the devil, the nothingness? The nothingness, perhaps?

Antonius Block:
It can't be so!

Death:
Don't you ever stop asking?

Antonius Block:
No. I never stop.

Death:
But you're not getting an answer.

Antonius Block:
Wait a moment.

Death:
You all say that. But I grant no reprieves.

Antonius Block:
You drew black.

Death:
Appropriate, don't you think?

Church Painter:
Why should one always make people happy? It might be a good idea to scare them once in a while.

Jöns:
Then they'll close their eyes and refuse to look.

Church Painter:
They'll look. A skull is more interesting than a naked woman.

Jöns:
If you do scare them...

Church Painter:
Then they think.

Jöns:
And then?

Church Painter:
They'll become more scared.

Jöns:
Do you have any brandy? I've had nothing but water. It's made me as thirsty as a camel in the desert.

Jöns:
Our crusade was such madness that only a real idealist could have thought it up.

Mia:
You don't look so happy.

Antonius Block:
No.

Mia:
Are you tired?

Antonius Block:
Yes. I have boring company.

Mia:
You mean your squire?

Antonius Block:
No, not him.

Mia:
Who do you mean, then?

Antonius Block:
Myself.

Antonius Block:
Faith is a torment. It is like loving someone who is out there in the darkness but never appears, no matter how loudly you call.

Jöns:
Love is as contagious as a cold. It eats away at your strength, morale... If everything is imperfect in this world, love is perfect in its imperfection.

Blacksmith Plog:
You're happy, you with your oily words. You believe your own drivel.

Jöns:
Believe it? Who said? But I love to give pieces of advice.

Jonas Skat:
Kill me. I'll thank you afterwards.

Blacksmith Plog:
Jons, between you and me, isn't life a dirty mess?

Jöns:
Yes, but don't think of that now.

Blacksmith Plog:
It's what you make it.

Jonas Skat:
Hey, you scurvy knave, what are you doing with my tree? You might at least answer. Who are you?

Death:
I'm felling your tree. Your time is up.

Jonas Skat:
You can't. I haven't time.

Death:
So you haven't time?

Jonas Skat:
No. My performance...

Death:
Cancelled... because of Death.

Presented in sequential order

Narrator:
And when the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour... And the seven angels which had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound.

[Cut to Crusader Antonius Block, resting near crashing waves on the beach. Silence abruptly descends, and a black-robed man with an unnaturally white face appears.]

Block:
Who are you?

Death:
I am Death.

Block:
You have come for me?

Death:
I have been for a long time at your side.

Block:
This I know.

Death:
Are you prepared?

Block:
My body is, but I am not.

[Death approaches Block.]

Block:
Wait a moment.

Death:
You all say that. But I give no respite.

Block:
You play chess, do you not? … As long as I resist you, I live. If I win, you set me free.

[To decide who begins, Block hides a piece in one hand, but Death chooses the empty hand.]

Block:
Black for you!

Death:
It becomes me well.

[Block's squire, Jöns, returns from asking directions of a man who turns out to be long dead.]

Block:
Did he show you the way?

Jöns:
Not exactly.

Block:
What did he say?

Jöns:
Nothing.

Block:
Was he mute?

Jöns:
No, milord. He was most eloquent.

Block:
Indeed.

Jöns:
But very gloomy.

[A troupe of actors prepares for a village performance.]

Jof:
Going to play Death?

Jonas Skat:
Scaring decent folk out of their wits. … They say the plague stalks the land. The priests speculate in sudden death and moral bellyache.

[Jöns encounters a man painting a church mural about mass death.]

Jöns:
Why all this daubing?

Painter:
To remind people of death.

Jöns:
That won't make them any happier.

Painter:
Why make them happy? Why not scare them?

Jöns:
Then they won't look at your picture.

Painter:
Yes, they will. A skull is more interesting than a naked woman.

Jöns:
If you scare them-

Painter:
They think-

Jöns:
Then they think.

Painter:
And are still more scared.

Jöns:
And fall into the arms of the priests.

. . .

[Jöns points to a part of the mural with a line of suffering people.]

Jöns:
What's that rubbish there?

Painter:
People think the plague is a punishment from God. Crowds wander the land lashing each other to please the Lord.

Jöns:
Lashing each other?

Painter:
Yes, it's a horrible sight. You feel like hiding when they pass.

Jöns:
Give me a gin. I've had nothing but water. I feel as thirsty as a desert camel.

Painter:
Scared after all?

[Block goes to confess at a confessional alcove in a church.]

Block:
I want to confess as best I can, but my heart is void. The void is a mirror. I see my face and feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live now in a world of ghosts, a prisoner in my dreams.

Priest:
Yet you do not want to die.

Block:
Yes, I do.

[As Block looks away, we see now that the "priest" is actually Death.]

Priest/Death:
What are you waiting for?

Block:
Knowledge.

Priest/Death:
You want a guarantee.

Block:
Call it what you will.

[Block kneels as if praying to the figure of Jesus.]

Block:
Is it so hard to conceive God with one's senses? Why must He hide in a midst of vague promises and invisible miracles? How are we to believe the believers when we don't believe ourselves? What will become of us who want to believe but cannot? And what of those who neither will nor can believe? Why can I not kill God within me? Why does He go on living in a painful, humiliating way? I want to tear Him out of my heart, but He remains a mocking reality which I cannot get rid of. Do you hear me?

Priest/Death:
I hear you.

[Block turns to kneel before the priest behind the confessional screen.]

Block:
I want knowledge. Not belief. Not surmise. But knowledge. I want God to put out His hand, show His face, speak to me.

Priest/Death:
But He is silent.

Block:
I cry to Him in the dark, but there seems to be no one there.

Priest/Death:
Perhaps there is no one there.

Block:
Then life is a senseless terror. No man can live with Death and know that everything is nothing.

Priest/Death:
Most people think neither of Death nor nothingness.

Block:
Until they stand on the edge of life and see the Darkness.

Priest/Death:
Ah, that day.

Block:
[laughs bitterly] I see. We must make an idol of our fear, and call it God.

Priest/Death:
You are uneasy.

Block:
Death visited me this morning. We are playing chess. This respite enables me to perform a vital errand.

Priest/Death:
What errand?

Block:
My whole life has been a meaningless search. I say it without bitterness or self-reproach. I know it is the same for all. But I want to use my respite for one significant action.

Priest/Death:
So you play chess with Death?

Block:
He is a skillful tactician, [smiling] but I have not yet lost one piece.

Priest/Death:
How can you outwit Death?

Block:
[smiling] By a combination of bishop and knight. I will break his flank.

[The "priest" turns to face Block through the screen.]

Priest/Death:
I shall remember that.

[Block stands up, startled.]

Block:
Traitor! You have tricked me! But I'll find a way out.

[Jöns is chatting with the mural painter while they drink.]

Jöns:
Our crusade was so stupid that only an idealist could have thought it up.

[Block is talking with Mia, the troupe's actress, as she plays with her infant son Mikael.]

Block:
Is Mikael going to be an acrobat?

Mia:
Jof wants him to be.

Block:
But not you?

Mia:
No. [smiling] Perhaps he will be a knight!

Block:
That's not such fun, either.

Mia:
No, you don't look happy.

Block:
No.

Mia:
Are you tired?

Block:
Yes.

Mia:
Why?

Block:
I'm in boring company.

Mia:
You mean your squire?

Block:
No, not him.

Mia:
Who, then?

Block:
Myself.

[Block and Jöns are treated to a meal by Jof and Mia.]

Jof:
I've written a song about the spring! Would you like to hear it?

[Jof gets up to fetch his instrument, but Mia stops him.]

Mia:
Our guest may not care for your songs.

Jöns:
Oh, yes. I write songs myself.

Jof:
You see!

Jöns:
There's one about an enormous fish which you haven't heard.

[Block clears his throat.]

Jöns:
And you're not going to hear it, either.

. . .

[As Block broods, Mia offers him a bowl of wild strawberries.]

Block:
We worry about so much.

Mia:
It's better to be two.

. . .

Block:
To believe is to suffer. It is like loving someone in the dark who never answers.

. . .

Block:
I shall remember this hour of peace: the strawberries, the bowl of milk, your faces in the dusk. Mikael asleep, Jof with his lute. I shall remember our words, and shall bear this memory between my hands as carefully as a bowl of fresh milk.

[He drinks from the bowl.]

Block:
And this will be a sign, and a great content.

[Jöns is commiserating with disconsolate blacksmith Plog.]

Jöns:
Love is the blackest of all plagues, but you don't even die of it, and usually it passes.

. . .

Jöns:
If everything is imperfect in this world, love is perfect in its imperfection.

Plog:
You're lucky. You believe in your own twaddle.

Jöns:
Who says I believe it? But I like giving advice.

[Errant troupe member Jonas Skat, after escaping his amour Lisa and her angry husband Plog, hides in a tree. Death appears and begins to saw the tree.]

Skat:
Hey, you scurvy knave, what are you up to?

[Death continues to saw without responding.]

Skat:
You might at least answer. Who are you?

Death:
I'm felling your tree. Your time is up.

Skat:
You can't. I haven't time.

Death:
Huh. You haven't time?

Skat:
No. I have my performance!

Death:
Cancelled, owing to Death.

Skat:
My contract?

Death:
Annulled.

Skat:
My family…

Death:
For shame, Skat!

Skat:
Yes, I'm ashamed, I'm ashamed. [pauses] Is there no exemption for actors?

Death:
Not in your case.

Skat:
No loopholes?

[As soldiers prepare a scaffold for an accused witch, Block talks with the pale, thin girl.]

Block:
They say you've had commerce with the devil.

Witch:
Why do you ask?

Block:
For very personal reasons. I, too, want to meet him.

Witch:
Why?

Block:
I must ask him about God. Surely he knows.

Witch:
You can see him any time.

Block:
How?

Witch:
If you do as I say. Look into my eyes.

[Block does so.]

Witch:
Well, do you see him?

Block:
I see terror. Nothing else.

Witch:
Nothing? No one? Nothing?

Block:
No.

Witch:
Is he not behind you?

[Block quickly turns, but sees nothing.]

Block:
No. There is no one.

Witch:
He is with me everywhere. If I stretch out my hand, I feel him. Even now. The fire won't hurt me.

Block:
Has he said so?

Witch:
I know.

Block:
Has he said so?!

Witch:
I know! I know! You must see him, too. The priests could see him, and the soldiers. They dare not touch me.

[Block advances on the soldiers working on the scaffold.]

Block:
Why have you broken her hands?

Soldier:
It is not us.

Block:
Who?

Soldier:
Ask the monk there.

[Block turns to address the monk.]

Block:
What have you done to the child?

[The monk turns to reveal himself as Death, once again.]

Death:
Will you never stop asking questions?

Block:
No. Never.

Death:
But you get no answer.

[The soldiers move the scaffolding into place near the fire.]

Jöns:
Who will look after that child? The angels? God? Satan? Emptiness? No, emptiness, milord!

Block:
It cannot be!

Jöns:
Look at her eyes. Her poor mind is making a discovery. Emptiness!

Block:
No!

Jöns:
We are helpless. We see what she sees, and her terror is ours.

[Block is distracted from the chessboard by Jof and Mia's sudden departure.]

Death:
Have you lost interest?

Block:
Lost interest? On the contrary!

Death:
You look worried. Are you hiding something?

Block:
Nothing escapes you!

Death:
Nothing escapes me. No one escapes me.

Death:
When next we meet, the hour will strike for you and your friends.

Block:
And you will reveal your secrets?

Death:
I have no secrets.

Block:
So you know nothing?

Death:
I am unknowing.

[Death arrives at the knight's castle.]

Block:
Out of the darkness we call to thee, O Lord! Oh, God, have mercy on us! We are small and afraid and without knowledge!

Jöns:
In the darkness where you say you are, there is none to listen to your lament. You are reflected in your own indifference.

Block:
God, you who are somewhere, who must be somewhere, have mercy on us!

Jöns:
I could have purged your worries about eternity, but now it's too late. But feel, to the very end, the triumph of being alive!

Karin:
Quiet, quiet!

Jöns:
Yes, but under protest.

[Jöns's housekeeping girl approaches Death, kneels, and smiles up at him.]

Girl:
It is finished.

[As a new day dawns for Jof, Mia, and Mikael, Jof sees a line of people dancing on the horizon.]

Jof:
Mia! I see them, Mia! I see them! Over there against the stormy sky. They are all there. The smith and Lisa, the knight, Raval, Jöns, and Skat. And the strict master Death bids them dance. He wants them to hold hands and to tread the dance in a long line. At the head goes the strict master with the scythe and hourglass. But the Fool brings up the rear with his lute. They move away from the dawn in a solemn dance away towards the dark lands while the rain cleanses their cheeks of the salt from their bitter tears.

Mia:
You with your visions!

[Jöns is chatting with the mural painter while they drink]

Jöns:
For ten years we sat in the Holy Land, bitten by snakes, mosquitoes, and wild beasts, slaughtered by the heathens, poisoned by the wine, given crabs by the women, bled by the crabs, rotted by fevers, all for the glory of God!

[They both cross themselves]

Jöns and the Painter:
For the glory of God!

Jöns:
I tell you, our crusade was so stupid that only a true idealist could have thought it up.