All language subtitles for The Seventh Seal (1957).

THE SEVENTH SEAL

And when the Lamb
had opened the seventh seal...

there was silence in heaven
about the space of half an hour.

And the seven angels
who had the seven trumpets...

prepared themselves to sound.

Who are you?

I am Death.

Have you come for me?

I’ve long been at your side.

Yes, I know.

Are you ready?

My flesh is afraid, but I am not.

Wait a moment.

You all say that.
But I grant no reprieves.

You play chess, do you not?

How did you know?

I’ve seen paintings
and heard ballads.

Yes, I am quite a skillful player.

You can’t be better than me.

Why play chess with me?

That’s my business.

You’re quite right.

But as long as I hold out against you,
I get to live.

And if I win, you set me free.

You drew black.

Very appropriate,
don’t you think?

Between a strumpet’s legs to lie

That’s the place for such as I

The Lord is up in heaven high
Far away off in the sky

While here below on every street

It’s Brother Satan you will meet

Everyone in Färjestad spoke
of evil omens and other horrors.

They say two horses devoured
each other last night.

Graves opened wide,

and corpses lay scattered about.

Four suns hung in the sky
yesterday afternoon.

Can you tell me
the way to the inn?

Did he tell you the way?

Not exactly.

- What did he say?
- Nothing.

- Was he mute?
- No, sire.

As a matter of fact,
he was quite eloquent.

- I see.
- Most eloquent.

Though what he had to say
was quite gloomy.

Good morning.
Have you had your breakfast?

Pity I can’t eat grass.

Can you teach me how?

We’re a little hard up right now.

Folks in these parts
don’t care much for juggling.

Mia, wake up!

I have to tell you what I saw!

Did something happen?

I had a vision.

No, it wasn’t a vision.
It was quite real.

I see.
You had another vision.

I really did see her.

Whom did you see?

The Virgin Mary.

Did you really?

She was so close
I could have touched her.

She wore a golden crown
and a blue robe with golden flowers.

She was barefoot,
and in her little brown hands

she was holding the Child
and teaching him to walk.

She saw me watching her
and smiled at me.

My eyes filled with tears,

and when I wiped them away,
she was gone.

And there was
a great stillness everywhere,

in heaven and on earth.

You understand?

The things you imagine.

I see you don’t believe me,
but it was real.

Not the reality you see.
A different kind.

Like when you said the devil
had painted our wagon wheels red,

using his tail for a brush.

Why must you always
bring that up?

Then we found
red paint under your nails.

Perhaps I did make that up,

but only so you’d believe
my other visions, the real ones.

Keep your visions in check...

or people will think
you’re a half-wit, which you’re not.

At least not yet, as far as I know.
Though I can’t be sure.

I didn’t ask to have visions.

It’s not my fault
if voices speak to me,

the Virgin appears to me,

and angels and devils
like my company.

I told you once and for all:

I must have
my sleep in the morning!

I’ve begged and pleaded,
but nothing helps.

So now I’m telling you:

Shut up!

Mikael.

I want a better life for Mikael.

He’s going to be a great acrobat.

Or perhaps a juggler

who can do
the one impossible trick.

What trick is that?

Making a ball
hang suspended in midair.

- That’s impossible.
- For you and me.

But not for him.

You and your dreams.

I wrote a song

while I lay awake all last night.

Want to hear it?
- Yes, sing it.

I’m very curious.

On a lily branch
a dove is perched

Against the Midsummer sky

He sings so sweetly
of Jesus Christ

And there’s
great rejoicing on high

Mia, are you asleep?

It was a lovely song.

I’m not done yet.

I heard,
but I’ll just sleep a bit more.

Sing me the rest later.

All you do is sleep.

Is this any mask for an actor?
I ask you.

If the priests didn’t pay so well,
I’d turn them down.

Going to play Death?

Scaring decent folk out of their wits
with this nonsense!

Where are we performing?

The saints’ feast in Elsinore...
on the church steps, no less.

Why not something bawdy?
People prefer it, and it’s more fun.

Idiot!

They say an evil pestilence
stalks the land.

The priests are speculating
in sudden death and moral bellyache.

What parts are we playing?

A fool like you can play
the soul of man.

Now that’s a bad part.

Who decides here?
Who directs this troupe? I ask you.

“To this law, O fool,
there’s no retort.

Your life hangs by a thread...

and your time is short.”

Will the ladies fancy me
in this getup? I ask you.

- Jof?
- What is it?

Sit still and don’t say a word.

I’m as silent as the grave.

I love you.

What’s that supposed to be?

The dance of Death.

- That’s Death there?
- Yes, he’s dancing off with them.

Why paint such nonsense?

To remind people
they’re going to die.

That won’t cheer them up any.

Why always cheer them up,
damn it?

Why not scare them a bit?

- They won’t look at your paintings.
- Oh, yes, they will.

A skull is more interesting
than a naked woman.

If you scare them...

- They’ll think.
- And if they think...

- They’ll get scared.
- And run into the arms of the priests.

- I can’t help that.
- You just paint your pictures.

I paint things as they are.
People can do as they like.

Some will curse you.

Well, then I’ll paint
something amusing.

A man’s got to live.

At least till the plague gets him.

The plague? Sounds horrible.

You should see
the boils on the neck...

and how the body shrivels up

and the limbs flail around
like crazed ropes.

- Sounds nasty.
- Nasty indeed.

They try to tear the boils
right out of their flesh.

They bite their own hands,

scratch open their own veins,

and scream to high heaven.

Frightened?

Me? You don’t know me.

What’s that rubbish there?

Remarkably,
the poor wretches think

that the plague
is a punishment from God.

Crowds of “sinners” wander the land
whipping themselves and others

to please the Lord.

They whip themselves?

Yes. It’s a horrible sight.

Best to hide in a ditch
until they pass.

Got any gin?
I’ve had nothing but water all day.

I’m as thirsty as a desert camel.

I think I frightened you after all.

I want to confess
as honestly as I can,

but my heart is empty.

And the emptiness is a mirror

turned toward my own face.

I see myself in it,

and it fills me
with loathing and horror.

My indifference to my fellow men
has cut me off from their company.

I live now in a world of phantoms,

a prisoner of my own dreams.

- Yet you don’t want to die.
- Yes, I do.

What are you waiting for?

I want to know.

You want a guarantee.

Call it what you will.

Must it be so cruelly inconceivable
to know God through one’s senses?

Why must he hide in a fog
of half-spoken promises

and unseen miracles?

How can we 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 off
this God within me?

Why must he live on inside me
in this painful, humiliating way

when I want to tear him
out of my heart?

Why does he remain
a mocking reality

that I can’t shake off?

You hear me?
- I hear you.

I want knowledge.

Not faith or conjecture,
but knowledge.

I want God to reach out his hand,

show his face, speak to me.

But he is silent.

I cry out to him in the darkness,

but sometimes it feels
like no one is there.

Perhaps no one is there.

Then life is just senseless horror.

No man can live facing death

knowing that everything
is nothingness.

Most people give no thought
to death or nothingness.

One day they’ll stand on the far edge
of life, peering into the darkness.

Ah, that day.

I understand what you mean.

We carve an idol out of our fear

and call it God.

You’re upset.

Death visited me this morning.

We’re playing chess together.

This reprieve will enable me
to attend to an urgent matter.

What sort of matter?

My whole life has been nothing
but futile wandering and pursuits,

a great deal of talk
without meaning.

It’s all been in vain.

I say that without bitterness
or self-reproach,

knowing that
most men’s lives are the same.

But I want to use my reprieve
for one meaningful act.

So that’s why you’re playing
chess with Death.

He’s a skillful strategist,

but I haven’t lost a single piece yet.

How will you outwit him?

Through a combination
of bishop and knight...

that he has yet to catch on to.

Next I’ll charge his flank.

I’ll remember that.

You tricked me...

and cheated me.

But we will meet again...

and I’ll find a way out.

We’ll meet at the inn...

and continue our game there.

This is my hand.

I can move it.

Blood pulses through its veins.

The sun still stands
high in the sky,

and I...

Antonius Block...

am playing chess with Death.

My master and I
just returned from abroad.

Understand, my painter friend?

The crusades?

Precisely.

We spent ten years
in the Holy Land

letting snakes bite us,
insects sting us,

wild beasts maul us,
heathens attack us,

bad wine poison us,
women infect us,

lice eat us,
and fever consume us...

all for the glory of God.

For the glory of God.

Our crusade was so stupid

that only a true idealist
could have thought it up.

What you said
about the plague was horrible.

It’s worse than that.

Well, wherever you turn,
your rump’s always behind you.

There’s a great truth.

Your rump’s always behind you.

A profound truth.

Here you see squire Jöns.

He grins at Death,
scoffs at the Lord,

laughs at himself,
and smiles at the girls.

He lives in a Jöns-world
believable only to himself,

ridiculous to all,
including himself,

meaningless to heaven,
and of no interest to hell.

Your soup stinks like hell.
What’s it for?

She had carnal intercourse
with the Evil One.

And now she’s in the stocks.

She’s to be burned tomorrow,
and we must ward off the devil.

With that stinking muck?

It’s the best remedy:

blood mixed with the bile
of a big black dog.

The Evil One can’t stand the smell.

Neither can I.

Have you seen the devil?

- You mustn’t speak to her.
- Is it that dangerous?

I don’t know, but she’s thought
to be the cause of this plague.

Fate’s a roguish villain

Poor friend, you’re at his call

First you leap and bound

Then like a worm you crawl

Must you sing?

No.

Why look so surprised?
I steal from the dead.

A lucrative business nowadays.

No use running off
to tell the others.

Every man saves his own skin.

It’s as simple as that.

Don’t try to scream.

There’s no one to hear you,
neither God nor man.

Nothing to be surprised about.

I know you,
but it’s been a long time.

You’re Raval,
from the seminary in Roskilde.

Doctor mirabilis,
cœlestis et diabilis.

Am I not right?

Ten years ago
you convinced my master

to join a noble crusade
to the Holy Land.

You look uneasy.
Stomach bothering you?

I suddenly understand the meaning
of those ten wasted years.

We were too well-off,
too satisfied with ourselves.

The Lord sought
to chasten our smug pride.

So he sent you

to spew your holy venom
and poison my master’s mind.

I acted in good faith.

Now you know better, huh?
You’ve turned thief.

A more suitable and rewarding
occupation for scoundrels.

Isn’t that so?

Oh, I’m not a bloodthirsty man.

But next time we meet,

I’ll mark up your face like they do
with petty scoundrels of your kind.

I just stopped in
to fill my waterskin.

Jöns is the name.

A pleasant, talkative young man

who thinks only kind thoughts
and performs only noble deeds.

Farewell, my lass.

I could have raped you,

but I’ve tired of that kind of love.

It gets a little dry in the end.

Come to think of it,
I’ll need a housekeeper.

Are you a good cook?

I’m a married man, but with any luck
my wife is dead by now,

so I’ll be needing a housekeeper.

Don’t stand there gaping,
damn it!

I saved your life!
You owe me a great deal!

Damn jugglers!

They’re making fools
of themselves.

Stop that,
you tin-headed swine!

I’m not in the first part,
so I’m going behind the curtain.

Don’t stand there gaping,
you blockheads!

The horse sits in the tree
and crows

Wide is the path
but narrow is the gate

The Black One
dances on the shore

The hen mews in a lake so dark

The day is red
but the fish is dead

The Black One
crouches on the shore

The serpent flutters
high in the sky

The Virgin is pale
but the mouse is content

The Black One
runs on the shore

The ram hisses

Through his two teeth

The gust is strong

And the waves crash

The Black One
makes dung on the shore

The sow lays eggs
and the cat sows

The night is like soot
and the dark remains

The Black One stays and stays

And stays on the shore

God has sent his punishment
down upon us.

You shall all perish
from the Black Death.

You there, gaping like cattle,

and you sitting there
in your glutted complacency,

don’t you know that this
could be your final hour?

Death stands at your back.

I see the crown of his head
gleaming in the sun.

His scythe flashes
above your heads.

Which of you
will he strike down first?

You there, staring like a goat...

will nightfall see your mouth

twisted into
its last unfinished gasp?

You, woman...

blooming with lust
for life and pleasure...

will you grow pale
and wither before the dawn?

You there...

with your bulbous nose
and idiotic grin...

do you have another year
to defile the earth with your refuse?

Don’t you obstinate fools know
you’re going to die?

Today, tomorrow, the next day...
you’re all doomed.

You hear me?

Doomed!

Lord, have mercy on us
in our humiliation.

Turn thy face not away
in loathing and contempt,

but be merciful to us

for the sake of thy son,
Jesus Christ!

All that damned ranting
about doom.

Is that sustenance
for modern people?

Do they really expect us
to take it seriously?

You laugh at me, sire.

But I’ve read or heard
or lived through

all the tales men tell each other.

Even the ghost stories
about God the Father,

Jesus Christ,
and the Holy Ghost...

I took them all in
without batting an eye.

What are you shouting about?

I’m Plog, the smith,
and you’re Jöns, the squire.

- That may be.
- Have you seen my wife?

No, but if she looks like you,

I’d do my best to forget I had.

Then you haven’t seen her?

- Maybe she’s run off.
- You know something?

Quite a lot.
But not about your wife.

Maybe they can help you
in the tavern.

It’s true. The plague
is spreading along the west coast.

People are dying like flies.

Business should be good
this time of year,

but I haven’t sold a damn thing!

They speak of Judgment Day,

and there’s all the evil omens.

They say a woman gave birth
to a calf’s head.

People are crazed.
They flee and take the plague with them.

If all that’s true,
then we should enjoy life

as long as we’re still standing.

Many have died
trying to purge themselves in fire,

but better to die pure
than live for hell, the priests say.

This is the end...

that’s what it is.

No one dares say it aloud,
but this is the end.

People are crazed with fear.

- You’re scared yourself.
- I’m scared as hell!

Judgment Day
becomes Judgment Night,

when the angels descend
and graves open.

It will be a terrible sight.

Want this bracelet?
You can have it cheap.

- I can’t afford it.
- It’s genuine silver.

It’s nice,
but I’m sure it’s too expensive.

Excuse me,
but have any of you seen my wife?

- Is she missing?
- They say she’s run off.

- Run off?
- With an actor.

An actor?
If her taste is that bad, let her go.

You’re right.

My first thought, of course,
was to murder her.

Murder?
That’s a different story.

And the actor with her.

The actor?

- Yes, the one she ran off with.
- Whatever for?

Are you dense, or what?

Oh, the actor!
Now I understand.

Yes, there are
far too many of them.

Guilty or not, you should kill him
just for being an actor.

Listen, you.
You’re lying to the smith.

Me? Lying?

You’re an actor too.

A friend of yours probably
ran off with his old lady.

Are you an actor too?

Me, an actor?
I’d hardly call myself that.

We should kill you too.
It’s only logical.

You’re very funny.

You’ve turned pale.
Guilty conscience?

You’re funny.

Don’t you think he’s funny?
I see you don’t.

Perhaps we should
mark up your face

like they do
with petty scoundrels of your kind.

What have you done
with my wife?

You mean to hurt me? Why?

Have I offended anyone
or got in the way?

I’ll leave right now
and never come back.

Stand up
so everyone can hear you.

Speak louder.

Show us your acting skills:
Stand on your head.

What have you done
with my wife?

Get up and dance!

No, I can’t.

- Imitate a bear.
- I can’t imitate a bear.

We’ll see about that.

Get up! Be a good bear.

I can’t be a bear anymore.

Remember what I said I’d do
if we met again?

I always keep my word!

What’s his name?

Mikael.

- How old is he?
- Over a year now.

- He’s big for his age.
- You think so?

Yes, I guess he is.

You were
in that performance earlier.

Was it awful?

You’re prettier
without that paint on your face,

and this dress suits you better.

You think so?

Jonas Skat ran off and left us,
so we’re in a real fix now.

- Is that your husband?
- Jonas?

No. The other one’s my husband.
His name is Jof.

Oh, him.

Now it’s just the two of us.

We’ll have to do
those confounded tricks again.

- You do tricks too?
- Oh, yes.

And Jof is a good juggler.

Will Mikael be an acrobat too?

- Jof wants him to be.
- But you don’t?

I don’t know.
Perhaps he’ll become a knight.

That’s not much fun either.

- No, you don’t look happy.
- No.

Are you weary?

Why?

I’m in dull company.

- You mean your squire?
- No, not him.

Who then?

Myself.

I understand.

Do you really?

Yes, I understand quite well.

I’ve often wondered
why people torment themselves so.

Mia.

Jof! What is it?

Jof, where have you been?

Come sit down.
Where have you been?

Let me see.

Why’d you go to that tavern?
You drank there, of course.

I didn’t drink a drop!

I suppose you sat boasting
about your angels and devils.

People don’t look kindly
on those kinds of tales.

I never said
a damned word about angels!

Then you were singing
and dancing again.

You’re always performing.
People don’t like that either.

Look what I bought for you.

You couldn’t afford this.

I bought it anyway.

Oh, how they beat me!

Why didn’t you hit them back?

I just get frightened and angry.

I never get a chance
to hit back.

But boy, did I get angry!

I roared like a lion.

Were they scared?

No, they just laughed.

Doesn’t he smell nice?

He’s so solid.
You’re a sturdy one.

A real little acrobat.

This is my husband, Jof.

Good evening.

You have a fine son there.
He’ll bring you much joy.

Yes, he’s a fine boy.

Have we nothing to offer our guest?
- Nothing for me, thank you.

I picked wild strawberries
this afternoon.

And there’s milk fresh from the cow.
- That we had permission to take.

We’d be honored
if you’d share our humble meal.

Sit down and I’ll bring it.

Please.

- Where are you headed now?
- The saints’ feast in Elsinore.

I’d advise against that.

Why, if I may ask?

The plague has spread
along the southern coast.

Tens of thousands are dying.

Ah, there’s no end
to trouble in life, is there?

Come with me through the forest.
You can stay at my castle

or follow the eastern coast.
It’ll be safer.

These strawberries were growing
up on the hillside.

I’ve never seen any so big.

Just smell!

I wish you a hearty appetite.

My humble thanks.

Your offer is attractive,
but I must think about it.

It would be nice to have
company through the forest.

I’ve heard it’s full of trolls
and ghosts and bandits.

It’s not a bad idea,
but I must think it over.

With Skat gone,
I’m in charge now.

I’m director
of the entire company now.

“I’m director
of the entire company now.”

Some strawberries?

That man saved my life.

Come join us, my friend.

Jöns the squire
offers his thanks.

Oh, how lovely this is.

- For a little while.
- Almost always.

One day is like another.

Nothing strange about that.

Summer is better than winter,
of course, because you aren’t freezing.

But spring is best of all.

I wrote a song about spring.
I’ll get my lyre...

Not now, Jof.

Our guests may not care
for your songs.

- By all means. I write songs myself.
- You see?

I have one about a randy fish
I bet you’ve never heard.

And I guess you’re not going to.

Some don’t appreciate my art,
and I wouldn’t impose,

sensitive soul that I am.

People have
such troubles these days.

It’s always better being a couple.
Do you have no one?

- I had once.
- Where is she now?

I don’t know.

You look so solemn!
Was she your beloved?

We were newly married.

We played and laughed endlessly.

I wrote songs
to her eyes, her nose,

her beautiful little ears.

We hunted together.

At night we danced,
and the house was full of life.

How about some strawberries?

Faith is a heavy burden,
you know?

It’s like loving someone
out in the darkness

who never comes,
no matter how loud you call.

How unreal all that seems now

sitting here with you
and your husband.

How insignificant all of a sudden.

Now you don’t look so solemn.

I will remember this moment.

The stillness, the dusk...

these wild strawberries,
this bowl of milk...

your faces in the evening light.

Mikael asleep...

Jof with his lyre.

I’ll try to remember
what we spoke of...

and I’ll hold that memory
in my hands

like a bowl full to the brim
with fresh milk.

And it will be a sign for me...

and a source
of great satisfaction.

I’ve been waiting.

Forgive me. I was detained.

Since I gave away my strategy,
I beat a retreat.

Please. It’s your turn.

- What are you so happy about?
- That’s my secret.

Of course.

I take your knight.
- As you were meant to.

- Did you trick me?
- Of course!

You fell right into my trap.
Check.

Why do you laugh?

Never mind my laughter.
Just save your king.

You’re very sure of yourself.

Our game amuses me.

Your move.
And be quick. I’m in a hurry.

I know you have much to do,

but our game must proceed
at its own pace.

Will you be escorting
those jesters through the forest?

The ones called Jof and Mia,
who have a little son?

Why do you ask?

No reason.

Have you seen Jöns?
We must be going.

I think he’s in the tavern.

God in heaven!
If it isn’t Plog the smith!

Are you blubbering here
all by yourself?

Look at the smith,

moaning like a rabbit
drowning in piss.

- Your wife again?
- Yes, I have yet to find her.

It’s hell with women
and hell without them.

Best to kill ’em
while you’re still having fun.

Nagging and pig swill.

Screaming babies
and stinking diapers.

Sharp nails and sharp words.

The devil’s own aunt
for a mother-in-law.

And when you climb into bed
to get some sleep...

Then it’s a different tune.

Sobbing and moaning
to wake the dead.

- “Why don’t you kiss me good night?”
- “Why don’t you sing me a song?”

“Why don’t you love me
like before?”

“You didn’t notice my new dress.”

“All you do
is turn over and snore.”

- Damn it all!
- Damn it all?

She’s gone now. Rejoice!

I’ll twist their noses off with pliers

and bash their chests in
with a hammer.

I’ll give them a nice little tap
on the head with a sledgehammer.

There he goes blubbering again.

Maybe I love her.

Maybe you love her?

Listen,
you big misguided ham shank:

Love is nothing but lust,
lust, and more lust,

with a lot of cheating, lies,
and general tomfoolery thrown in.

- It hurts all the same.
- Of course it does.

Love is the blackest
of all plagues,

and the only pleasure
would be to die of it.

But it almost always passes.

No, mine won’t.

Yes, yours will too.

Only a few wretched fools
die of love.

If everything is imperfect
in this imperfect world,

love is most perfect
in its perfect imperfection.

You’re lucky,
with that oiled jaw of yours.

You believe your own twaddle.

Who says I believe it?

But ask for a word of advice
and I’ll give you two.

I’m a man of learning, after all.

Jöns, could I go with you
through the forest?

I’m so lonely...

and they’ll just laugh
at me at home.

Just don’t blubber all the time,
or we’ll leave you behind.

Little brother!

Watch out, Jöns!
That one’s a fighter, and off his rocker.

Right now he’s a sniveler.

I’m sorry if I hurt you.

I have such
a confounded temper.

Shake hands.

Give me a hug, little brother.

Thanks. Maybe later.

We’re in a hurry at the moment.
But thanks.

Look!

- What’s this I see?
- You see something?

Who’s that I spy
at the forest’s edge

if not my own dearly beloved
with actor in tow!

Watch out!

It’s the filthy smith
who insulted my beloved lady,

the fair Kunigunda.

What did you call her?

Kunigunda.
Are you deaf now too?

Her name is Lisa.
Strumpet Lisa.

Rumpy, smutty, slutty Lisa.

He’s so vulgar!

Or think of another word
yourself for “tramp”...

you gilded shithead!

Vulgar brute!

You stubble-headed bastard
of seven mangy mongrels,

if I were in your lice-infested rags,

I’d feel such boundless shame
about my own person

that I would immediately rid nature
of my own mortifying countenance.

Be careful, you perfumed...

Dung heap.

Dung heap.

Or else...

I’ll blow you down to actors’ hell
with one great fart...

where you can sit and...

Recite monologues.

Recite monologues to each other
till dust runs out the devil’s ears!

Bravo!

And I’ll prod you in the belly so hard
your guts will run out your ears.

And I’ll punch you so hard

that you’ll never again perform
your tricks for Turks and cannibals.

Why are you laughing?
This is serious.

In southern lands there are
human-like animals called apes.

- What of it?
- Just mentioning it.

My dear little Plog.

What?

Darling Plog,
forgive me for everything.

She’ll start crying any minute.

I have to cry.
It’s just too dreadful.

You can’t imagine
how horribly that man deceived me.

Look here, Kunigunda.
Truth be told...

Next it’ll be his favorite dish.

Plog, when we get home,

I’ll fix you pork dumplings
with rutabagas and lingonberries.

That’s your favorite,
isn’t it, my dear little Plog?

Yes, but first I have to kill him.

Yes, do that.
Kill him good and proper.

I can’t stand him anymore.

Good Lord,
why did you give us woman?

He’s nothing
but a false beard, false teeth,

false smiles, and rehearsed lines,
empty as a jug.

Just kill him!

Dear Plog...

if you thought I’d try to justify
my so-called reality, you were wrong.

Kill me. I’ll thank you afterward.
- What’s that?

The actor sows emotional confusion...
that’s half the battle.

Don’t just stand there gaping.

He has to put up a fight,
or I can’t kill him.

He has to at least provoke me.

My friends, I will plunge
this dagger into my breast...

and my unreality will soon be
transformed into a new, solid reality:

an absolutely tangible corpse.

Hold on a minute.
I didn’t mean any harm.

I forgive you, Kunigunda.

Farewell, my friend.

Pray for me sometime.

Oh, dear!

I didn’t mean it like that.

I was beginning to like him.

He’s dead.

Totally, enormously dead.
The deadest actor I’ve ever seen.

This is all terribly sad,
but it’s his own fault, poor thing.

And this is what I’m married to!

Now you have
your little Lisa back.

Happy now?

Jöns...

just between you and me,
isn’t life...

Yes, it is.

But don’t think about that now.

It’s crazy, that’s what it is.

I played that scene well.

I’m quite the actor.

Now to find a tree
I can climb up...

so no bears, wolves,
or ghosts can get me.

Tomorrow I’ll look for Jof and Mia,

and off we’ll go to Elsinore.

I’ll sing myself a little song.

I am a little bird
who sings whate’er he will

Workmen in the forest.

They’re cutting down my tree!

Hey, you pupated pecker,
what are you doing to my tree?

Can’t you at least answer?

Courtesy costs nothing.
Who are you?

I’m cutting down your tree
because your time is up.

You can’t. I don’t have time!

You don’t say.

I have a performance!

Canceled on account of death.

But my contract!

Terminated.

My family, my children...

Skat, you should be ashamed!

Yes, I am ashamed.

Are there no reprieves
or exemptions for actors?

No, not in this case.

No loopholes?

No exceptions?

The moon’s come out
from behind the clouds.

Good.
Now we’ll see the road better.

I don’t like the moon tonight.

The trees are so still.

Because there’s no breeze.

He means they’re unusually still.

It’s completely quiet.

- If only we could hear a fox.
- Or an owl.

Or a human voice...

besides our own.

Where are you going?

- The execution grounds.
- Ah, yes, the witch.

Why burn her at night
when people need diversion?

Shut up, by all the dev...
by all the saints.

The devil is with her.

Then you’re eight brave men.

We’ve been paid.
This is a volunteer job.

Can you hear me?

They say you’ve been
in league with the devil.

Why do you ask?

Not out of idle curiosity,
but for very personal reasons.

I too want to meet him.

Why?

I want to ask him about God.

He must know...

or no one does.

You can see him
anytime you wish.

How?

You must do as I say.

Look into my eyes.

Well, what do you see?
Do you see him?

I see dumb terror in your eyes.

Nothing else.

No one? Nothing?

No.

Isn’t that him behind you?

No.

There’s no one there.

He’s with me everywhere.

I need only reach out my hand
and I feel his.

He’s with me even now.

The fire won’t hurt me.

- Did he say that?
- I know.

- Did he say that?
- I know!

You must see him too.

The priests could see him,
and the soldiers too.

They’re so afraid of him
that they dare not touch me.

Why did you crush her hands?

- It wasn’t us.
- Who, then?

Ask the monk over there.

What did you do to that girl?

Do you never stop asking questions?

No.

Never.

Yet you get no answers.

I thought we might kill
all the soldiers,

but she’s nearly dead already.

I told you to be careful!
Don’t go near her!

Take this.

It will stop the pain.

What does she see?
Can you answer that?

- She feels no pain now.
- You didn’t answer my question.

Who’s watching over that child?

The angels? God? Satan?

Or just emptiness?

Emptiness, sire.
- That can’t be!

Look in her eyes.

Her poor brain’s
just made a discovery:

emptiness in the moonlight.

No!

We stand by helpless,
arms hanging at our sides,

for we see what she sees,
and her terror is ours.

Poor child.

I can’t stand it!

He sings so sweetly
of Jesus Christ

And there’s
great rejoicing on high

It will soon be dawn...

but the heat hangs in the air
like a damp blanket.

I’m so afraid!

We know something’s going
to happen to us,

but we don’t know what.

Judgment Day, perhaps.

Judgment Day.

Give me some water!

I have the plague!

Don’t come past that stump.

I’m afraid of dying!

I don’t want to die!

Won’t you have pity on me?

Help me.

At least talk to me!

It’s no use.

Absolutely no use.

I’m sure of that.

I’m dying. I’m...

What will happen to me?

Will no one console me?

Have you no compassion?

Can’t you see that I’m...

Will no one help me?
Just a little water.

It’s pointless.

Utterly pointless.

I tell you, it’s pointless.

Help me!

Don’t you see
I’m trying to console you?

Shall we finish ourgame?

It’s your move.

I take your queen.

I didn’t see that.

- What is it?
- I see something dreadful.

I can hardly even tell you.
- What is it?

The knight is
playing chess over there.

So I see.
Nothing dreadful about that.

Don’t you see who he’s playing?

He’s all alone.
You mustn’t scare me...

No, he’s not alone.

- Who’s with him?
- Death.

He’s playing chess
with Death himself.

You mustn’t say such things.

We have to get out of here.

- We can’t do that.
- We have to try.

They’re engrossed in their game.
They won’t notice if we slip away.

Your move, Antonius Block.

Have you lost interest in our game?

Lost interest?

On the contrary.

You look anxious.
Are you hiding something?

Nothing escapes you, does it?

Nothing escapes me.

No one escapes me.

I am worried, it’s true.

You’re afraid.

I’ve forgotten
how the pieces were.

I haven’t.

You can’t get off that easily.

- I see something interesting.
- What do you see?

Mate at the next move.

True.

Was your reprieve of some use?

Yes, it was.

I’m glad.

I’ll be leaving you now.

When next we meet...

you and your companions’ time
will be up.

Will you reveal your secrets then?

I have no secrets.

So you know nothing?

I know nothing.

What a strange light.

It’s the thunderstorm
that comes at dawn.

No, it’s something else,
something terrible.

You hear that roaring
in the forest?

Probably the rain.

No, it’s not the rain.

He saw us. He’s chasing us.

He’s caught up!
He’s coming toward us!

Climb inside, Mia! Quick!

The Angel of Death is passing by...

and he’s very large.

You feel how cold it is?

I heard from returning crusaders
that you were on your way home.

I waited for you here.

The others all fled from the plague.

Don’t you recognize me anymore?

You’ve changed too.

Now I can see it’s you.

Somewhere in your eyes...

somewhere in your face...

only hidden and frightened...

is the boy who went away
so many years ago.

That’s all over now...

and I’m a little tired.

Do you regret having gone?

No...

I regret nothing.

But I’m a little tired.

I can see that.

My friends are over there.

Have them come in.
I’ll set the table for breakfast.

“And when the Lamb
had opened the seventh seal...

there was silence in heaven

about the space of half an hour.

And the seven angels

who had the seven trumpets

prepared themselves to sound.

The first angel
sounded his trumpet...

and there followed
hail and fire mingled with blood...

and they were cast upon the earth.

And a third part of the earth
was burnt up...

and a third part of the trees
was burnt up...

and all the green grass
was burnt up.

And the second angel
sounded his trumpet...

and as it were a great mountain
burning with fire

was cast into the sea.

And a third part of the sea
became blood.”

Was anyone there?

No, sire. I saw no one.

“And the third angel

sounded his trumpet...

and there fell
a great star from heaven...

burning as if it were a lamp.

And the name of the star
is called Wormwood.”

Good morning, noble lord.

I am Karin, the knight’s wife,

and I bid you welcome to my house.

I’m a smith by trade,

and quite good,
if I say so myself.

My wife Lisa.

Curtsy to the noble lord, Lisa.

She’s a handful sometimes,
and we had a little spat,

but no worse than most people.

Out of our darkness
we call to thee, O Lord.

O God, have mercy on us,

for we are small
and frightened and ignorant.

In the darkness
where you claim to be,

where all of us probably are,

there’s no one to hear your cries
or be moved by your suffering.

Dry your tears and mirror yourself
in your own indifference.

God, you who are somewhere,
who must be somewhere...

have mercy on us.

My herbs could have purged you
of your anxieties about eternity,

but now it’s too late.

Even so, feel the immense triumph
of this final moment,

when you can still roll your eyes
and wiggle your toes.

Quiet, quiet.

I will be quiet, but under protest!

It is finished.

I see them, Mia.

Over there,
under the dark, stormy sky.

They’re all there:

the smith and Lisa,

the knight, Raval,
Jöns, and Skat.

And Death, the grim master,
bids them dance.

He commands them to hold hands

and dance in a long line.

The stern master leads the way
with his scythe and hourglass.

But Skat dangles
at the end with his lyre.

They dance away from the dawn

in a solemn dance,

away to the dark country,

while the rain runs down
over their faces...

and washes away
their salty tears.

You and your visions.