Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (104 page)
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Authors: Henrik Ibsen
BRAND.
I must.
THE PHANTOM.
Quench the glow of sunny skies,
Turn all bright things into dust,
Never pluck life’s fruitage fair,
Never be upborne by song?
Ah, so many memories throng!
BRAND.
Nought avails. Lose not thy prayer.
THE PHANTOM.
Heed’st thou not thy martyr’s meed?
Baffled where thou sought’st to waken,
Stoned by all, by all forsaken?
BRAND.
Not for recompense I bleed;
Not for trophies do I fight.
THE PHANTOM.
For a race that walks entomb’d!
BRAND.
One to many can give light.
THE PHANTOM.
All their generation’s doom’d.
BRAND.
Much availeth one will’s might.
THE PHANTOM.
“One” with fiery sword of yore
Man of Paradise bereft!
At the gate a gulf he cleft; —
Over that thou mayst not soar!
BRAND.
But the path of yearning’s left!
THE PHANTOM.
[Vanishes in a thunder-clap; the mist fills the place where it stood; and a piercing scream is heard, as of one flying .]
Die! Earth cannot use thee more!
BRAND.
[Stands a moment in bewilderment.]
Out into the mist it leapt, —
Plumy wings of falcon beating,
Down along the moorland swept.
For a finger it was treating,
That the hand might be its prize — !
Ha, the Spirit of Compromise!
GERD.
[Comes with a rifle.]
Hast thou seen the falcon?
BRAND.
Yea;
This time I have seen him.
GERD.
Say,
Quick, which way thou saw’st him fly;
We will chase him, thou and I.
BRAND.
Steel and bullet he defies;
Oftentimes you think he flies
Stricken by the mortal lead, —
But draw near to strike him dead
Up he starts again, secure
With the old cajoling lure.
GERD.
See, the hunter’s gun I’ve got,
Steel and silver is the shot;
‘Trow, my wits are less astray
Than they reckon!
BRAND.
Have thy way!
[Going.]
GERD.
Priest, thou walkest lame afoot.
BRAND.
I was hunted.
GERD.
Red thy brow
As the blood of thy heart’s root!
BRAND.
I was beaten.
GERD.
Musical
Was thy voice of old, that now
Rattles like the leaves of Fall.
BRAND.
I was
GERD.
What?
BRAND.
By one and all
Spurn’d.
GERD.
[Looking at him with great eyes.]
Aha,-I know thee now!
For the priest I took thee;-pest
Take the priest and all the rest!
The One, greatest Man art thou —
BRAND.
So I madly dared to trust.
GERD.
Let me look upon thy hands!
BRAND.
On my hands?
GERD.
They’re pierced and torn!
In thy hair the blood-dew stands,
Riven by the fanged thorn
In thy forehead fiercely thrust,
Thou the crucifix didst span!
In my childhood Father told me
‘Twas another, long ago,
Far away, that suffer’d so; —
Now I see he only fool’d me; —
Thou art the Redeeming man!
BRAND.
Get thee hence!
GERD.
Shall I not fall
Low before thy feet and pray?
BRAND.
Hence!
GERD.
Thou gayest the blood away
That bath might to save us all!
BRAND.
Oh, no saving plank I see,
In my own soul’s agony!
GERD.
Take the rifle! Shoot them dead —
BRAND.
[Shaking his head.]
Man must struggle till he falls.
GERD.
Oh, not thou; thou art the head!
By the nails thy hands were gored; —
Thou art chosen; thou art Lord.
BRAND.
I’m the meanest worm that crawls.
GERD.
[Looks up; the clouds are lifting.]
Know’st thou where thou stand’st?
BRAND.
[Gazing before him.]
Below
The first step of the ascent;
It is rar, and I am faint.
GERD.
[More fiercely.]
Say! Where art thou, dost thou know?
BRAND.
Yes, now falls the misty shroud.
GERD.
Yes, it falls: without a cloud
Svartetind impales the blue!
BRAND.
[Looking up.]
Svartetind? The ice-church!
GERD.
Yea!
Here thou earnest churchward, too!
BRAND.
Hence! a thousand miles away! —
How I long to fly afar,
Where the sunlight and the balm
And the holy hush of calm,
And Life’s summer-kingdoms are!
[Bursts into tears.]
Jesus, I have cried and pleaded, —
From thy bosom still outcast;
Thou hast pass’d me by unheeded
As a well-worn word is passed;
Of salvation’s vesture, stain’d
With the wine of tears unfeign’d,
Let me clasp one fold at last!
GERD.
[Pale.]
What is this? Then weepest, thou,
Hot tears, till thy cheek is steaming, —
And the glacier’s death-shroud streaming
Silently from crag and crest, —
And my memory’s frozen tides
Melt to weeping in my breast, —
And the snowy surplice glides
Down the Ice-priest’s giant sides —
[Trembling.]
Man, why wept’st thou not till now?
BRAND.
[Radiant, clear, and with an air of renewed youth.]
Through the Law an ice-track lcd, —
Then broke summer overhead!
Till to-day I strove alone
To be God’s pure tablet-stone; —
From to-day my life shall stream
Lambent, glowing, as a dream.
The ice-fetters break away,
I can weep,-and kneel,-and pray!
[Sinks upon his knees.]
GERD.
[Looks askance upwards, and then, softly and timidly.]
There he sits, the ugly sprite!
‘Tis his shadow sweeps the land,
Where he flogs the mountain height
With his flapping vans in flight.
Now Redemption is at hand —
If the silver will but bite!
[Puts the rifle to her cheek and shoots. A hollow roar, as of distant thunder, is heard far up the precipice.]
BRAND.
[Starting up.]
Ha, what dost thou?
GERD.
Down he slides!
I have hit him;-down he swings, —
Shrieking, till the echo rings;
Plumes in thousand from his sides
Flutter down the beetling brae; —
See how large he looms, how white — !
Ha, he’s rolling down this way!
BRAND.
[Sinking down.]
Blood of children must be spilt
To atone the parent’s guilt!
GERD.
Tenfold vaster at his fall
Grew the tent of Heaven above!
See him tumble; see him sprawl — !
Ah, I will not shudder more;
He is white, see, as a dove — !
[Shrieks in terror.]
Hu, the horrible thunder-roar!
[Throws herself down in the snow.]
BRAND.
[Crouches under the descending avalanche, and, looking up, speaks.]
God, I plunge into death’s night, —
Shall they wholly miss thy Light
Who unto man’s utmost might
Will’d — ?
[The avalanche buries him; the whole valley is swallowed up.]
A VOICE.
[Calls through the crashing thunder.]
He is the God of Love.
THE END.
Translated by William and Charles Archer
Loosely based on the Norwegian fairy tale of Per Gynt, concerning a hunter from Kvam and has various adventures, this is the most widely performed Norwegian play in Ibsen’s homeland. His last play in poetic form,
Peer Gynt
was written in deliberate disregard of the limitations that the conventional stagecraft of the 19th century imposed on drama. Its forty scenes move uninhibitedly in time and space, blending folkloric fantasy and unsentimental realism. According to Klaus Van Den Berg, the “cinematic script blends poetry with social satire and realistic scenes with surreal ones”.
On 5 January 1867 Ibsen wrote to Frederik Hegel, his publisher, of his plan for the play, which would be “a long dramatic poem, having as its principal a part-legendary, part-fictional character from Norwegian folklore during recent times. It will bear no resemblance to Brand, and will contain no direct polemics or anything of that kind.” He began to write Peer Gynt on 14 January, employing a far greater variety of metres in its rhymed verse than he had used in his previous verse plays. The first two acts were completed in Rome and the third in Casamicciola on the north of the island of Ischia. In the composition of the play, Ibsen was generally inspired by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen’s collection
of Norwegian Fairy Tales
, published in 1845. Several of the characters are modelled after Ibsen’s own family, notably his parents Knud Ibsen and Marichen Altenburg.
The play forms a satire of Norwegian egotism and narrowness, sparking widespread hostility from Hans Christian Andersen and other Scandinavian writers at the time of publication.
The first edition of 1,250 copies was published on 14 November,
Peer Gynt
was first performed in Christiania on 24 February 1876, with original music composed by Edvard Grieg, which in itself has since become a highly celebrated work of art.
The play introduces Peer Gynt, the son of the once highly regarded Jon Gynt, who spent all his money on feasting and living lavishly, and had to go from his farm as a wandering salesman, leaving his wife and son behind in debt. Åse, the mother, wished to raise her son to restore the lost fortune of his father, but Peer is soon to be considered useless. He is a poet and a braggart, not unlike the youngest son from Norwegian fairy tales, the “Ash Lad”, with whom he shares some characteristics. As the play opens, Peer provides an account of a reindeer hunt that went awry, a famous theatrical scene generally known as “the Buckride.” His mother scorns him for his vivid imagination, and taunts him because he spoiled his chances with Ingrid, the daughter of the richest farmer. Peer leaves for Ingrid’s wedding, scheduled for the following day, because he may still get a chance with the bride. His mother follows quickly to stop him from shaming himself completely.
Henrik Klausen as Peer, 1876
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