January 17, 2019

Chapter I

THE EDUCATION OF A CREATIVE GENIUS

A. IB’s school experiences, the image of teachers, and learning Latin as a rite of passage

“Latin was the only subject which truly interested him.”

Thus Marianne Höök described Ingmar Bergman’s secondary school experience (Höök, 1962, p. 30), in the first Swedish language biography on Bergman that I encountered.[1] The fact that Ingmar Bergman was given a secondary education rooted in the classics is to be expected, given the era and the socio-cultural and economic environment of his youth; the fact that he found Latin interest­ing is not as shocking as some people might imagine either; what is unique is the creative genius which was being molded by all the varied experiences of his childhood and education, including, neither least nor most important, the study of Latin and Greek litera­ture. Nevertheless, the influence of the classics is important enough that it deserves to be examined in detail in any explora­tion of the possible sources of his creative productivity. In fact, his reading in the Latin classics is one part of the complex of influences upon his development which is most easily document­ed, especially in comparison to the many speculations about conflicts with father figures and various school experiences outside the regular, prescribed curriculum which can be found in more bio­graphically oriented studies.[2] We can be confident that the young Ingmar Bergman was not so culturally deprived as the occasional contemporary freshperson in an American mythology class who is shocked to learn that Debussy’s “Afternoon of a Faun” is not about Bambi or one of his kinfolk.

The elation that the above line from Höök brought to this Latin teacher’s soul turned to chagrin almost immediately, however, when I discovered that Bergman’s very first script to reach the screen, Torment,[3] from 1944, was about the teenage crisis of a youth who is part of a gymnasium class being tormented by a Latin teacher who is sadistic in the full techni­cal psychiatric sense. Caligula, as his students call him, has a terrifying classroom manner exemplified by a scene (present­ed in the film as a flashback in the form of a nightmare) in which he places his pointer, which he always wields like a weapon, against the back of the neck of Jan‑Erik Vidgren (Widgren? —spelling needs to be verified), our suffering hero, and says: “I have to kill you, Mr. Vidgren. You are totally without talent for the dead languages, but when you are dead, you ought to become more at home with them.”[4] It is clear that no one in the class takes this as a light-hearted joke.

Soon after the film begins, Jan‑Erik becomes infatuated with Bertha, the girl behind the tobacco counter of a shop near the school, but during their first evening together, he discovers, to his horror, that she is also Caligula’s love slave, a situation from which she begs to be rescued with a terrified desperation born of ample experience of the Latin teacher’s psychological brutality.[5] On a later visit to the girl’s room, Jan‑Erik finds her dead, and Caligula cowering in a corner muttering incoherent­ly about his innocence. Caligula recovers, however, and The Estab­lish­ment comes to his rescue against Jan‑Erik: since there is no evidence of physical abuse on the girl’s body and an autopsy reveals that she had a congenital heart defect, Caligula is exonerated and Jan-Erik is expelled from school.

Although Alf Sjöberg, who directed the film, exercised his control over many of the details in such a way as to suggest an allegory of Europe under Hitler’s National Socialists, Bergman has consistently denied any such intentions, and he has also expressed deep regrets for the damage done to his Latin teacher’s personal and professional reputation, saying that it was the entire system of education and child rearing that he meant to attack.[6] The key word in Swedish is fo”ro”dmjukelse: `humili­ation,’ the Socratic method gone mad in an educational context, but which, according to Bergman, characterized Swedish society as a whole in his youth. In a television interview shortly before his famous tax-evasion arrest, he added that forty years of Social Democracy have only made it more subtle and effective, not eliminated or even diminished it.[7]

Possible sources for this aspect of Torment, the use of the school system as a microcosm of society as a whole, are not hard to find in Scandinavian literature. First, there is the Norwe­gian novel Gift (Poison), the first part of the “Lövdahl” trilogy by Alexander Kielland.[8] Among the schoolboys in the novel is a sensitive but physically weak boy known as Marius, who is very good at Latin, but not at anything else, academic or otherwise. Long hours of desperate study of his other subjects take their toll, and little Marius begins to lose his health and fade even in Latin, but then one day his healthy, hearty friend Abraham Lövdahl persuades him to go fishing instead of studying. The next day, his lack of preparation leaves him totally confused, and he cannot answer even the simplest questions in his favorite subject. His teacher loses his temper:

“This goes too far! Are you stubborn? What is ’round table’ in Latin? ‘The round table’? Now, answer!”[9]

In­stead, poor Marius faints and falls to the floor. In bed at home, his condition worsens and he becomes delirious. Upon hearing his incoherent mumbling of “Monebor, moneberis, monebitur,” his mother goes out for the doctor. When she returns inside, little Marius is smiling.

“‘Praise be the Lord! You seem to be much better, little Marius! You’re smiling so con­tentedly,’ she says. ‘Mensa rotunda’, Marius answered and died.”[10]

In Bergman’s Torment, Jan‑Erik also faints under the pres­sure of Caligula’s merciless interroga­tion, which provides the opportunity for his family doctor to deliver an editorial against the pressures of the educational system.

In 1940, just two or three years before Bergman was hired by Svensk Filmindustri to rewrite such works into filmscripts, there appeared the Danish novel Det Forsömte Foraar, (check Danish vowels in SS review) by Hans Scherfig, another work of dark satire, which has been published in English as Stolen Spring.[11] It de­scribes a school gone crazy with mental vio­lence, not just of teachers, such as the French teacher Oremark, against students, but of teachers against teachers, students against students, and students against teachers, one of whom, Blomme, is in fact murdered, poisoned by one of his own students, but the sadism perpetuates itself, especially against the more humane teachers, a phenomenon also depicted in Torment and another “youth in crisis” film Bergman did in cooperation with Alf Sjöberg: Last Couple Out, from 1956.[12]

The learning of Latin, however, has a second significance in several of Bergman’s works: the struggle to master Latin is an integral part of the puberty crisis and a rite of passage into adulthood, and Latin grammar is a symbol of the incomprehensibil­ity of adult behavior to idealistic, youthful souls. These themes are present, but in the background, in Torment; the crude wisecracks typical of adolescents often blend together their anxieties about Latin and their other fears about life: at one point, some boys are discussing what they will do with their Latin grammar books if they make it through “this Hell.” One says, “I’m going to use mine for toilet paper.” Another answers, “It’s not good enough for that — I’m going to bury mine seven miles under the Earth and spit on it.”[13] At another point in the script, there is an imperfect quote of line 203 of the first book of Vergil’s Aeneid, a line with special meaning to every young Latin student:

“Perhaps someday it will be a joy to remem­ber even these things.”[14]

In Through a Glass Darkly, from 1961, 15 year old Minus (note the meaningful Latin nickname!) is spending a lot of what should be a pleasant summer at the seashore doing remedial studies in Latin.[15] At one point, his schizophrenic sister Karin, who is giving him some tutorial help on Latin and almost everything else in life, comes up behind him quietly while he appears totally absorbed in his Latin book and discovers that he has his gaze fixed upon a set of pin-up “girlie” pictures care­fully stashed among the pages of the grammar text, thus neatly tying together his inability to cope with Latin and with sexuali­ty. In another part of the script, Minus, devastated by the failures and chaos in the lives of the adults around him, at­tempts to escape psychologically by repeating desperately the rules for the sequence of tenses of subjunctive subordinate clauses within indirect statement, perhaps the most arbitrary and ill‑attested set of prescriptions in all the rules of Latin composition, but no more incomprehensible to him than adult behavior. Near the end of the film, as Karin’s illness reaches the point at which she must be permanently hospitalized, she pleads with their father, who is guilty of almost totally ignor­ing the upbringing of his son: “Papa, you must study Latin with Minus;” the Swedish läsa (`to read’ or `to study’) has an impor­tant ambiguity here, since David, the father, is every bit as immature and out of balance in life as his son: David needs not only to tutor the boy and lead him into adulthood, but also to finish the journey himself (any significance of name in connec­tion with biblical David?).[16]

The relationship between language learning and the attain­ment of true adulthood is expanded from Latin to the whole symbolic field sur­rounding Bergman’s focus on the failures of human communication and isolation as the essence of tragedy in The Silence (1963). Ester considers it a matter of desper­ate impor­tance to leave as a legacy to her ten year old nephew Johan the few words that she has learned of the mysterious language of the anonymous foreign country through which they have been travel­ling.[17] Ester is not a teacher, but a translator, a re­lat­ed linguistic profession which is clearly a sign of intel­lectual sterility in this film and in Bergman’s stageplay To my Terror (1947).[18] (Since the material surrounding this note is all drawn from my Morgantown paper, I need to go back to my early drafts of that project to see if there is anything good which was cut because of the time constraints.)

A quite different sort of teacher with psychopathic problems appears in The Devil’s Wanton (1949).[19] This film has a complex structure, with two layers of framing devices surrounding the central tale of Birgitta‑Carolina, an innocent but mentally handicapped young woman forced into prostitution by totally depraved guardians. At the beginning of the film we are introduced to a group of movie makers at the end of a working day. Unto the set wanders the old math teacher of one of the group; he has just been released from an insane asylum and his attempts to reassure the others that he is now completely harmless hint that his illness had been of a dangerous sort. He proposes that they work together on a film about what the world would be like if the Devil seized total control. The math teacher concludes this prologue, however, with the view, spelled out in some detail, that nothing at all would be changed — human beings have already made the ultimate Hell for themselves. A certain supernatural aura around the old man leaves little doubt that he knows first hand the subjects which he’s been discussing: “He became a devil himself,” says one of the actors, “but a gentle devil.”[20]

A variation on this same combination of form and character appears in Bergman’s comedy The Devil’s Eye (1960).[21] The outer framework takes the form of a lecture about the geography, demo­graphics, and socio‑political situation in the Infernal Regions. In obvious parody of Vergil guiding Dante and the Sibyl guiding Aeneas on their heroic underworld journeys, an anonymous academic of undefined rank and status, complete with blackboard and rubber tipped wooden pointer, presents the prologue, epilogue, and several breaks between acts in a manner which is an outstanding example of the way in which the imperative to maintain scholarly objectivity can result in pedagogical banality and a totally boring style of presentation of even the most inherently fasci­nating type of material.

The Full Professors of Bergman’s films are, for the most part, a despicable lot. One example occurs in Secrets of Women (1952), a film which is a feminine miniature of Plato’s Symposium, or a mini‑Decameron, if you prefer.[22] Over an ample sup­ply of coffee, four women explore the nature of love on a down to earth level, not as a philosophical abstraction, but by describing crises in their marriages. Their husbands are four brothers, each a different stock male stereotype. The story told by the professor’s wife was actually taken from an earlier stageplay by Bergman, Rachel and the Cinema Doorman.[23] Her husband is total­ly incompetent at human relationships, spiritual or sexual. When he discovered that the only time she had ever achieved orgasm was during her one and only act of unfaithfulness, he threatened suicide, but didn’t have the guts to go through with it and can only sit and pout. In the course of the action, it is also revealed that he has been eternally working on an edition and com­mentary on a renaissance work which is a totally insignifi­cant, obscure aspect of intellectual history, and that the project will almost certainly never reach completion. (Sound familiar?)

This same stereotype reappears as Professor Ekdahl, one of the three Ekdahl brothers in Fanny and Alexander (1982).[24] Professor Ekdahl has incompetence in his personal finances and mental cruelty to his devoted wife added to the charges against professors in general, although he shows a certain superficial political acumen in the use of his status during the negotiations after the rescue of the children from the Bishop’s house. He is also startlingly crude in his behavior at times, reflecting the nail biting, nose picking Latin teacher of Bergman’s stageplay To my Terror, and, perhaps, in his flatulant moments, the Dionysus of Aristophanes’ Frogs.[25] (cf. Tourette’s Syndrome?)

On the other hand the one pedagogue who manages to be the main character of a Bergman film is not only a brilliant scholar, but save­able and worth saving as a human being; I am referring to Professor Borg of Wild Strawberries (1957), whose case will be discussed in detail in a later chapter.[26]

Even this brief and superficially discussed set of selec­tions should be sufficient to show that the image of the teaching profession in Bergman’s films is not flattering. Before we organize a protest, however, we need to remind ourselves that in the early “puberty crisis” films the schools and their authori­ties are merely an artistically convenient microcosm of the authoritarian, patriarchal structure of the society surrounding them. Furthermore, the cold, isolated academics are only several examples among many others in Bergman’s films of the Sophoclean tragedy of isolation which comes upon a wide variety of gifted individuals who fail to heed the warning of Ist Corinthians 13: 1‑2.

B. The content of his courses in the classics. 1. __//gymnasium//__

The fact is that Bergman says he enjoyed studying Latin because it put him in touch with ancient minds, not for linguis­tic or philological reasons.[27] It is time that we review the list of ancient minds with which he established contact.

Here insert the syllabi and a reference to the merits of Pontén.

B. 2. University (Högskolan?)

(Search for specific evidence rather than generalizations remains to be done.)

C. Ovidius’ and other great Latin poets’ clear or explicit influences.

[[C. 1. Euripidean/Ovidian monologues by women]]

(This section needs to begin with a paragraph tracing the genre of the woman's dramatic monologue from Euripides through Apollonius and Vergil to Ovid, with perhaps also footnotes to some secondary studies of each of the above. Also explain Ovid as a rhetorical poet.
Include complete text from Winter Light??)

Pastor Tomas Ericsson opens a letter from his ex-mistress and as he begins to read, her face appears on the screen and the letter turns into a dramatic monologue. If it were translated into Augustan Latin elegiac couplets, mutandis muta­tis, and buried in a report on a new manuscript of Ovid’s Hero­ides, I’m not sure that all scholars would immediately recognize it to be spurious. It certainly exemplifies “grief mixed with anger,” Wilkinson’s label for Ovid’s Epistles.[28] Although Tomas has not fled, but only ended their intimate relationship, Märta fits perfectly W. S. Anderson’s characterization the women of Heroides I-XV:[29]

“They are separated from the man they love, to whom they have entirely committed themselves. . . . The plain­tive [and plaintiff] heroine regards herself as alone, deserted, abandoned (sola, deserta, relicta).”

Note (third paragraph on the third page of the handout distributed at the conference reading):

“Such thoughts can pass through the head of a school­teacher of an evening when the telephone doesn’t ring and it’s dark and lonely.”[30]

Anderson writes:

“Deep in her memory is fixed the scene of her parting from her beloved.”

Bergman captures the vividness of Märta’s memory of the past summer’s grief by using a flashback scene only while Märta narrates precisely that part of her long monologue.

Anderson continues:

“Nevertheless, all the heroines believe that they have a claim on the man: an explicit or implicit foedus or bond links the two, which imposes fides, loyalty, on them both.”

Note these words of Märta’s from page 80 of Three Films by Ingmar Bergman:

“After all, we’d been living together quite a while, almost two years. One would think this represented a certain little capital in our poverty, in tendernesses exchanged, and in our clumsy attempts to get round the lovelessness of our relationship.”[31]

Anderson adds:

“The heroines have remained faithful and regularly represent themselves as still loving (amans), but the long absence of the man, perhaps also information about his disloyal behavior, leads to complaints, unhappy charges that he is anywhere from slow to respond (lentus) and iron-hearted (ferreus) all the way to cruel (crudelis), criminal (sceleratus) and faithless (perfidus).”

Märta charges the clergyman with ignoring the message of Jesus and the Gospels: love:

“I grew up in a non-Christian family, full of warmth and kindness and loyalty — and joy. . . . One thing in particular I couldn’t understand, your peculiar indifference to the gospels and to Jesus Christ.”[32] (Three Films by Ingmar Bergman, p. 51)

Let me quote Anderson once more:

“The heroine hopes, usually in vain as we know, by these complaints to stir the conscience of her beloved and so bring him home, to re-create the foedus and the once-glorious context of reciprocal passion.”

Märta’s last remark in her letter shows that she is aware of the chances for failure, but the appeal is the same:

“Dearest Tomas — this has turned out to be a long letter. But now I’ve written what I don’t dare to say even when you’re in my arms: I love you and I live for you. Take me and use me. Beneath all my false pride and independent airs I’ve only one wish: to be allowed to live for someone else. It will be terribly difficult.”

“When I think the matter over, I can’t understand how it is to happen. Maybe it’s a mistake. Dearest, tell me it’s not a mistake.” (Three Films by Ingmar Bergman, p. 82.)[33]

Howard Jacobson’s book, Ovid’s Heroides, gives a much more detailed analysis of these epistles as a genre; Märta’s letter fits his analysis to perfection.[34] (each of the following list­ed items must be expanded with a more detailed explanation or quote from Jacobson, footnoted; an Ovidian example, quoted if possible; and a direct quote of the material in Märta's monologue which is relevant. -- see my notes from Jacobson in file folder from Madison paper.)

Märta begins and ends with a clear reference to the fact that it is a letter to distinquish it from an ordinary dramatic monologue.

Her letter compresses the past, present, and future hopes into the critical moment, thus covering the whole story, not just the present; this compression is based on a combination of narrative and psychic portraiture which is not psychoanalytic, but psychosynthetic, pulling together a unified character from the present and the past. (Need to rediscover some Vergil scholar’s criticism of Ovid as "motion-picture" writ­er?) Ja­cob­son refers to the Heroides as a casebook in abnormal psy­cholo­gy;[35] let me quote Ingmar Bergman himself from the inter­views in the book Bergman on Bergman: “Märta is something of the stuff saints are made of, i.e., hysterical, power-greedy, but also possessed of an inner vision. . . .” (Saint Birgitta??)

“For me Märta is something furious, alive, intractable, pig-headed, troublesome. A great and — for a dying figure like the clergyman — overwhelming person. When she writes a letter, it isn’t three pages, but twenty-seven (3 X 3 X 3) pages which flood his desk. At every moment her whole way of speaking to and being with him is overwhelming. When they sink down at the altar-rail she doesn’t kiss him once. No, she kisses him seventy-nine times (archetypal exag­geration??.) Slops her kisses all over him. Not for a moment does she reflect that if there’s one thing he really has no wish for at that moment, it’s kisses. She won’t give him up. . . .

“For me she’s a monstrosity, a primitive natural force. . . .” [36]

Märta’s letter contains a more complete set of examples of the typical themes which Jacobson finds in the Heroides than most of the Heroides them­selves do. Märta’s claim to be worthy of love (Jacobson, pp. 390ff.) can be found in God’s answering her prayer by making Tomas the great task of her life.

The “inauspicious wedding night” theme (Jacobson, pp. 392ff.) is explicit in her complaints (near the bottom of page one on the old handout), about “our clumsy attempts to get around the lovelessness of our relationship.”[37]

She blames her sleeplessness (Jacobson, pp. 395ff.) on the eczema in the second paragraph of the letter.
Jacobson’s “one soul out of two” theme (pp. 397ff.) finds expression first to God: “Give me a meaning to my life and I’ll be your obedient slave!” (top of page three of the old hand­out)[38] and later to Tomas: “I love you and I live for you. Take me and use me (second paragraph from the bottom of page three).”[39]

Like Ovid’s heroines, she argues that she has worthy ances­tors on the basis of their loving treatment of her (first para­graph on page two of old handout) and fulfills the “physician heal thyself” theme (Jacobson, p. 399) by praying when the pastor cannot (see the flashback).

Although none of the many other dramatic monologues by women in Bergman’s films fit quite so perfectly, many of them show ample traces of this uniquely Ovidian genre model.

To Joy in­cludes an exchange of letters seeking reconcilia­tion, read as dramatic monologues — like later sets in Heroides.

Letter to Eliz. and confession of Alma in Persona — Ovidian to be sure, but with complications of narrative viewpoint, etc. — Also Persona as one long monologue.

[[C. 2. Proserpina figures (as conclusion to above using Wild Strawberries scene as transition to C. 3.?) In Wild Strawberries, the elder Sara, frequently referred to as Sara I, is surprised by Isak’s brother Sigfrid (a truly inaus­picious name for a husband or lover) while picking the strawber­ries and spills them when he kisses her.

The following is from Horace Gregory’s translation of the fifth book of Ovid’s Metamor­phoses:

“This was the place where Proserpina played; She plucked white lily and the violet Which held her mind as in a childish game To outmatch all the girls who played with her, Filling her basket, then the hollow of small breasts With new-picked flowers. As if at one glance, Death Had caught her up, delighted at his choice, Had ravished her, so quick was his desire, While she in terror called to friends and mother,  A prayer to mother echoing through her cries, Where she had ripped the neckline of her dress, Her flowers had slipped away – and in her childish, pure simplicity she wept her new loss now with bitter, deeper sorrow than her tears For the brief loss of spent virginity.”[40]

This is the text in Four Screenplays, pp. 231-32:
(perhaps I will want to start the quote a paragraph or two earlier.)

“Suddenly he kissed her hard and rather skillful­ly. She was carried away by this game and returned his kiss with a certain fierceness. But then she was conscience-stricken and threw herself down on the ground, knocking over the basket of wild strawberries. She was very angry and began crying with excitement.

Sigfrid: Don’t scream. Someone might come.

Sara: Look at the wild strawberries, all spilled. And what will Isak say? He is so kind and really loves me. Oh, how sorry I am, oh, what you’ve done to me. You’ve made me into a bad woman, at least nearly. Go away, I don’t want to see you anymore, at least not before breakfast. I have to hurry. Help me pick up the strawberries. And look, I have a spot on my gown.”[41]

(Insert more explicit drawing of the comparison and a comment or crossreference to earlier comment on Ovid's spirit of fun and games and Bergman's exact capturing of it here.)

The main symbols, the spilled treasure and the torn or spotted dress, are much too universal to be taken as solid evidence that Bergman was consciously using Ovid’s archetype of violated innocence, but I wasn’t in the least surprised to learn from the syllabi mentioned above that he had read it once. The strawberry patch, like the food in the land of the Lotus Eaters, has brought Borg escape from the present, but by reminiscence rather than forgetfulness.[42] (perhaps this last sentence only belongs in a special Smultronstället section in another chapter, with a crossreference here.)

C. 3. Ovid’s contrast of true and false loves

[[C. 4. Contrasting female stereotypes, referring back to .2 and .3 above, but this part should only mention the most specifically and clearly borrowed Ovidian stuff — general Earth Mothers and Aphrodites, etc. go in Chapters 5 and 6 — and the two chapters must be carefully coordinated in the final revising.]]

C. 5. Other Ovidian aspects.
See Seneca review done for BMCR and other sources to pursue further the issue of Ovidian/Senecan character portrayal as psychosynthesis rather than psychoanalysis.

C. 6. The Pathology of Love in ancient poetry.

C. 7. Vergilian aspects.

[[C. 8. Horatian classicism of word choice, etc., and the neces­sity of hard, systematic work to produce a “bronze monument.”]]

C. 9. Other Classical authors.

Should there be a special Classical Tradition section here on Racine, O’Neill, Gide, etc. or should that stuff be only appear­ing __passim__ or in section D. ?

D. The influence of Nietzsche, the Cambridge School, and other classical scholarship of recent times, along with a note on Strindberg’s classicism.

E.  Another very important link in Bergman’s intellectual development: his love of classical music, including many works which are themselves influenced by ancient literature and art.


[1] “Latin var det enda ämne som verkligen interesserade honom.”

[2][references to Livingston, Steene, his sister, his book, Cowie, etc. etc.]

[3][Will need translation comments, reference to British play, etc. if this is the first reference.]

[4][Swedish text in footnote, with reference to title manuscript if this is the first quote.]

[5]Aspects of this film which reflect the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice will be discussed in chapter 3.

[6][Need several sources for each point]

[7][Need complete reference to the Donner tapes]

[8][need facts of publication on both original and translation]

[9][Should have a precise page reference to the trans.]

[10][as in number 8, which also needs to give credit to Prof. Edlund-Barry.

[11][Complete facts of pub. of original and of Frank Hugus’s translation.

[12][need all the title BS and stuff on Sista paret ut.]

[13][Note should give Swedish of quotes and also explain problem of Swedish miles and mythical significance of ‘seven’.

[14] [Give location in film if possible, and Vergil’s Latin: Forsan et haec olim meminesse juvebit, with facts of pub. of an edition.]

[15]Give Swedish title, etc. Perhaps this would be a good place to put the "undecided age in the scripts" problem.

[16][Need Swedish text and locus in film manuscript.]

[17][Swedish title, facts of pub. of printed screenplays in both lingoes, etc.]

[18][Swedish title and any facts of pub. and trans. info.]

[19][Needs Swedish and British titles and a discussion of the significance of the real title.]

[20]”Han blev fan själv. . . . men en mild fan.” [Give page in manus if available.]

[21][Swedish title, play source, complexities of authorship.]

[22][Explain title complications and give cross reference to other part of book where formal Symposium aspects will be dis­cussed.]

[23]Rakel och biographvaktmästaren [give facts of pub.]

[24][titles are not a problem, but give anyway for consistency, and then point out that there are several versions of this film, of varying lengths, in circulation.]

[25][I suppose that this requires some reference to specific lines and a specific translation, perhaps even some expansion of the details of the comparison meant, but only in this footnote.]

[26][This may not be the first reference and therefore not require a note.]

[27][document the source of this quote]

[28]”Dolor ira mixtus,” L. P. Wilkinson: Ovid Recalled (Cam­bridge, 1955), pp. 83-117.

[29]W. S. Anderson: “The Heroides” in J. W. Binns’s Ovid (London and Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1973), pp. 49-83. All references to “Anderson” in the next few pages come from Binns’s pp. 69-70.

[30]Three Films of Ingmar Bergman, translated by Paul Britten Austin (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1970), p. 82.

Så kan alltså en skolfrökens tankar röra sig i ensamheten på kvällen, då telefonen tiger och det är mörkt och ensamt.” Ingmar Bergman, En filmtrilogi (Stockholm: P. A. Norstedt & Söners Förlag, 1963), p. 91??

[31]”Vi hade ju levat tillsammans ganska länge, nästan två år. Det var i alla fall ett litet kapital i vår fattigdom, våra ömhetsbetygelser och våra tafatta försök att komma förbi kärleks­lösheten i vårt förhållande.” (En filmtrilogi, p. 89???)

[32]Jag växte upp i en okristen familj med massor av värme och ömhet och sammanhållning — och glädje. . . . Det var särskilt en sak som jag absolut inte förstod och det var din besynnerliga likgiltighet inför evangelierna och Jesus Kristus. (En film­trilogi, p. ???)

[33]”Käraste Tomas — det blev et långt brev det här. Men jag har nu skrivit det, som jag inte vågar säga ens när du är i min famn: Jag älskar dig och jag lever för dig. Ta mig och använd mig. Innanför all falsk stolthet och spelad självständighet har jag bara en önskan: att få leva för någon. Det blir hemskt svårt.

När jag tänker efter, så begriper jag ente hur det här ska gå till. Kanske är det del, alltihop. Säg att det inte är fel, älskade!” (En filmtrilogi, p. 91??)

[34]Howard Jacobson: Ovid’s Heroides (Princeton University Press, 1974).

[35][locus??]

[36]Stig Björkman, Torsten Manns, and Jonas Sima, editors: Bergman on Bergman, translated by Paul Britten Austin (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1973), pp. 176-77. [need Swedish text too?]

[37]”. . . våra tafatta försök att komma förbi kärlekslösheten i vårt förhållande.” (En filmtrilogi, p. ??)

[38]”Ge mig en mening ned mitt liv och jag ska bli din lydiga tjänarinna!” (En filmtrilogi, p. ??)

[39]”Jag älskar dig och jag lever för dig. Ta mig och använd mig.” (En filmtrilogi, p. ??)

[40]Ovid: Metamorphoses, translate by Horace Gregory (New York: Mentor Books, 1960), p. 151 (italics mine). The Latin text:

“Quo dum Proserpina luco (check sp.)
ludit, et aut violas aut candida lilia carpit,
dumque puellari studio calathosque sinumque
implet, et aequales certat superare legendo,
paene simul visa est dilectaque raptaque Diti:
usque adeo est properatus amor. Dea territa maesto
et matrem et comites, sed matrem saepius, ore
clamat; et ut summa vestem laniarat ab ora,
collecti flores tunicis cecidere remissis.
tantaque simplicitas puerilibus adfuit annis,
haec quoque virgineum movit jactura dolorem.”
(Metamorphoses V, 391-401)
[give facts of pub to standard scholarly edition}

[41][Swedish text plus comments on differences between film and script — this may also be the first reference to Four Screenplays, requiring a full citation.]

[42][Needs book and line reference to Lotus locus in Odyssey.]