The Best Intentions by Ingmar Bergman

has a renowned capacity for getting her own way. Her hair is iron gray, her forehead low and broad, her nose large with a reddish tinge, her mouth sarcastically curved, appropriate for lightning attacks and ironic invective.
    Once a year they go to the capital, mixing in circles, going to concerts and theaters, ordering expensive and stylish items from theleading fashion houses in town. Occasionally, they go for a cure at a resort in southern Germany or Austria.
    That’s the situation with the aunts of Elfvik.
    The sisters’ bedrooms, though horribly cluttered, are furnished according to each woman’s personal taste. Ebba inhabits bright florals, Beda purple and art nouveau, while Blenda lives in blue, pale blue, dark blue, dull blue. At this particular moment, agitation reigns. They are dressing for dinner, advising, helping one another, squabbling. Their rooms are interconnected with doors that are often locked, but at the moment they are all wide open.
    Blenda: Can you see them?
    Beda: What are they doing?
    Ebba: Bless my soul! They’re down at the bathing hut.
    Blenda: What! Are they going swimming in that cold water?
    Ebba: Bless my soul! They are indeed!
    Blenda: How foolish. Alma, that fat cow. How foolish.
    Beda: Move over, so I can see.
    Blenda: They’re going into the bathing hut.
    Ebba: They’re going to go into the water.
    Beda: At this time of year! The water can’t be more than ten degrees.
    Blenda: Can I wear my pale blue?
    Beda: Isn’t that too elegant? Alma might feel socially degraded. She’s probably only got something black.
    Blenda: Then I’ll take the pale gray.
    Beda: My dear, that’s even more elegant.
    Ebba ( trumpets ): Bless my soul! The Ljusan’s rising.
    Blenda: What did you say?
    Ebba: Alma, that mountain of flesh, has gone into the water.
    Beda: Don’t stand there staring. Put your corsets on, and I’ll help you lace them.
    Ebba: What did you say? Dear Henrik’s naked now!
    Beda: No! I must see that.
    Blenda: Don’t push. God, he’s good-looking, that boy!
    Ebba: Goodness, how thin he is.
    Beda: But lovely shoulders. And handsomely built.
    Blenda: I wonder why they’ve come, I really do.
    Beda: That’s not difficult to guess.
    Ebba: He’s swimming very strongly.
    Blenda: Shall I really take the pale gray?
    Beda: Yes, I think it’s all right. It’ll look really good with your red nose.
    Ebba: Now they’re going back to the bathing hut. Heavens above, what would we have done if they’d drowned?
    Blenda: Paid for the funeral, I suppose.
    Beda: Ebba, come on now, so that I can get you dressed.
    Ebba: No, no. I must see them as they come out.
    Beda: Are they coming out now?
    Ebba: What? They’re coming in, and they’re holding hands!
    Blenda: I’ve a good idea why they’ve come.
    Beda: So what, you old miser.
    Blenda: They’ll not get a cent out of us, I’m telling you. Not a cent. They’ve had their loan, and they don’t have to pay it back until Henrik’s ordained.
    Ebba: How good-looking he is, dear Henrik! But going naked like that, both of them. How extraordinary.
    Beda ( to Ebba ): I’ve got your pink out. ( Shudders .) The pink!
    Ebba: No, I don’t want that. I want the floral one. The one with roses and lace.
    Beda: Oh, goodness. That makes you look even more hideous.
    Ebba: Now that was really nasty of you. I heard.
    Blenda: She’s dolling herself up as if she were going to perform at the Royal Theater.
    Beda: What’s wrong with that, may I ask?
    Blenda: There’s nothing really wrong with the dress.
    Beda: I want to look really nice for the boy. He may need to see a little style and beauty, perhaps.
    Blenda ( laughing maliciously ): Ha ha!
    Ebba: Who’s taken my perfume? ( Squeals .) My perfume!
    Beda: An old biddy like you shouldn’t use perfume. It’s obscene!
    Ebba: Now you’re being nasty again. Where’s my ear