Writings, 1941

[Through the open window]

In this piece of prose, Bergman describes what he witnesses through his window.

About the text

This undated text – the year 1941 is a mere guess – is not lacking in its typical Bergmanesque self-reflective irony.

The door opens behind me, rattling my nerves, and I turn round. No one is there. I am alone, completely isolated. How ludicrous to attempt to assist the dreadful by writing about my window.