The Seventh Seal: Most eloquent

Imagine this cheerful scene from "The Seventh Seal": a knight returns from the crusades to his native Sweden with his faithful servant only to find the entire land stricken with the plague.

They plod along a windswept, rocky landscape rather bewildered by the whole scene until at last they come upon a figure sitting by the road. The knight, who remains on his horse, asks his servant, Jöns, to inquire about directions. Jöns approaches him from behind only to discover a withered corpse resting within a peasant's cowl. He returns to Block, the knight, with this memorable summation:

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.

To watch Bergman play this out in B & W with Swedish dialogue is an acquired taste but a salutary experience if you wish to observe Death and the knight playing chess for a while. Only a Swedish sensibility could simultaneously convey the profundity of death while describing a decaying corpse as merely "gloomy." Only people who love words deeply allow them to rest silently in the presence of such company.

Although Death sometimes gets to take the stage and lead mortals in a macabre dance or play a cosmic chess game, he usually is recognized by his calling cards: a still body or a silent voice. We are so awed by death that we fear stillness and silence even in the midst of life--pouring out effort and words to drive away death's seeming emptiness.

I have been spending a few hours now and then with my wife's father. His body is still and his voice is silent so those who can move and talk are genuinely awed at the mystery of what to do or say in his presence. His eloquence is beyond our plane of busy work and small talk. His gaze disrupts my habits. It indites my complacency and sends me home with more thoughts to ponder than a lifetime of sermons and lectures.

He is showing me the way--our way.