Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (4 page)

FURIA. Ah, what a fate! And what was my transgression
That chained me to this temple-prison dire, —
That robbed my life of every youthful pleasure, —
In life’s warm spring each innocent delight?

FURIA. Yet tears I shall not shed in undue measure;
Hatred and vengeance shall my heart excite.

CATILINE.
[Comes forward.]
Not even for me, my Furia, do you cherish
Another feeling, — one more mild than this?

FURIA. Ye gods! you, reckless man, — you here again?
Do you not fear to come — ?

CATILINE. I know no fear.
‘Twas always my delight to mock at danger.

FURIA. Oh, splendid! Such is also my delight; —
This peaceful temple here I hate the more,
Because I live in everlasting calm,
And danger never lurks within its walls.

FURIA. Oh, this monotonous, inactive life,
A life faint as the flicker of the lamp — !
How cramped a field it is for all my sum
Of fervid longings and far-reaching plans!
Oh, to be crushed between these narrow walls; —
Life here grows stagnant; every hope is quenched;
The day creeps slowly on in drowsiness, —
And not one single thought is turned to deeds.

CATILINE. O Furia, strange, in truth, is your complaint!
It seems an echo out of my own soul, —
As if with flaming script you sought to paint
My every longing towards a worthy goal.
Rancour and hate in my soul likewise flourish;
My heart — as yours — hate tempers into steel;
I too was robbed of hopes I used to nourish;
An aim in life I now no longer feel.

CATILINE. In silence still I mask my grief, my want;
And none can guess what smoulders in my breast.
They scoff and sneer at me, — these paltry things;
They can not grasp how high my bosom beats
For right and freedom, all the noble thoughts
That ever stirred within a Roman mind.

FURIA. I knew it! Ah, your soul, and yours alone,
Is born for me, — thus clearly speaks a voice
That never fails and never plays me false.
Then come! Oh, come — and let us heed the call.

CATILINE. What do you mean, my sweet enthusiast?

FURIA. Come, — let us leave this place, flee far away,
And seek a new and better fatherland.
Here is the spirit’s lofty pride repressed;
Here baseness smothers each auspicious spark
Ere it can break into a burning flame.
Come, let us fly; — lo, to the free-born mind
The world’s wide compass is a fatherland!

CATILINE. Oh, irresistibly you lure me on —

FURIA. Come, let us use the present moment then!
High o’er the hills, beyond the sea’s expanse, —
Far, far from Rome we first will stay our journey.
Thousands of friends will follow you outright;
In foreign lands we shall a home design;
There shall we rule; ‘twill there be brought to light
That no hearts ever beat as yours and mine.

CATILINE. Oh, wonderful! — But flee? Why must we flee?
Here too our love for freedom can be nourished;
Here also is a field for thought and action,
As vast as any that your soul desires.

FURIA. Here, do you say? Here, in this paltry Rome,
Where naught exists but thraldom and oppression?
Ah, Lucius, are you likewise one of those
Who can Rome’s past recall without confession
Of shame? Who ruled here then? Who rule to-day?
Then an heroic race — and now a rabble,
The slaves of other slaves —

CATILINE. Mock me you may; —
Yet know, — to save Rome’s freedom from this babble,
To see yet once again her vanished splendor,
Gladly I should, like Curtius, throw myself
Into the abyss —

FURIA. I trust you, you alone;
Your eyes glow bright; I know you speak the truth.
Yet go; the priestesses will soon appear;
Their wont it is to meet here at this hour.

CATILINE. I go; but only to return again.
A magic power binds me to your side; —
So proud a woman have I never seen.

FURIA.
[With a wild smile.]
Then pledge me this; and swear that you will keep Whatever you may promise. Will you, Lucius?

CATILINE. I will do aught my Furia may require;
Command me, — tell me what am I to promise.

FURIA. Then listen. Though I dwell a captive here,
I know there lives a man somewhere in Rome
Whom I have sworn deep enmity to death —
And hatred even beyond the gloomy grave.

CATILINE. And then — ?

FURIA. Then swear, my enemy shall be
Your enemy till death. Will you, my Lucius?

CATILINE. I swear it here by all the mighty gods!
I swear it by my father’s honored name
And by my mother’s memory — ! But, Furia, —
What troubles you? Your eyes are wildly flaming, —
And white as marble, deathlike, are your cheeks.

FURIA. I do not know myself. A fiery stream
Flows through my veins. Swear to the end your oath!

CATILINE. Oh, mighty powers, pour out upon this head
Your boundless fury, let your lightning wrath
Annihilate me, if I break my oath;
Aye, like a demon I shall follow him!

FURIA. Enough! I trust you. Ah, my heart is eased.
In your hand now indeed rests my revenge.

CATILINE. It shall be carried out. But tell me this, —
Who is your foe? And what was his transgression?

FURIA. Close by the Tiber, far from the city’s tumult,
My cradle stood; it was a quiet home!
A sister much beloved lived with me there,
A chosen vestal from her childhood days. —
Then came a coward to our distant valley; —
He saw the fair, young priestess of the future —

CATILINE.
[Surprised.]
A priestess? Tell me — ! Speak — !

FURIA. He ravished her.
She sought a grave beneath the Tiber’s stream.

CATILINE.
[Uneasy.]
You know him?

FURIA. I have never seen the man.
When first I heard the tidings, all was past.
His name is all I know.

CATILINE. Then speak it out!

FURIA. Now is it famed. His name is Catiline.

CATILINE.
[Taken aback.]
What do you say? Oh, horrors! Furia, speak — !

FURIA. Calm yourself! What perturbs you? You grow pale.
My Lucius, — is this man perhaps your friend?

CATILINE. My friend? Ah, Furia, no; — no longer now.
For I have cursed, — and sworn eternal hate
Against myself.

FURIA. You — you are Catiline?

CATILINE. Yes, I am he.

FURIA. My Sylvia you disgraced?
Nemesis then indeed has heard my prayer; —
Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!
Woe on you, man of violence! Woe!

CATILINE. How blank
The stare is in your eye. Like Sylvia’s shade
You seem to me in this dim candle light.

[He rushes out; the lamp with the sacred fire goes out.]

FURIA.
[After a pause.]
Yes, now I understand it. From my eyes
The veil is fallen, — in the dark I see.
Hatred it was that settled in my breast,
When first I spied him in the market-place.
A strange emotion; like a crimson flame!
Ah, he shall know what such a hate as mine,
Constantly brewing, never satisfied,
Can fashion out in ruin and revenge!

A VESTAL.
[Enters.]
Go, Furia, go; your watch is at an end;
Therefore I came — . Yet, sacred goddess, here —
Woe unto you! The vestal fire is dead!

FURIA.
[Bewildered.]
Dead, did you say? So bright it never burned; —
‘Twill never, never die!

THE VESTAL. Great heavens, — what is this?

FURIA. The fires of hate are not thus lightly quenched!
Behold, love bursts forth of a sudden, — dies
Within the hour; but hate —

THE VESTAL. By all the gods, —
This is sheer madness!

[Calls out.]

THE VESTAL. Come! Oh, help! Come, help!

[VESTALS and temple SERVANTS rush in.]

SOME. What is amiss?

OTHERS. The vestal fire is dead!

FURIA. But hate burns on; revenge still blazes high!

THE VESTALS. Away with her to trial and punishment!

[They carry her out between them.]

CURIUS.
[Comes forward.]
To prison now they take her. Thence to death. —
No, no, by all the gods, this shall not be!
Must she, most glorious of womankind,
Thus perish in disgrace, entombed alive? —
Oh, never have I felt so strangely moved.
Is this then love? Yes, love it is indeed. —
Then shall I set her free! — But Catiline?
With hate and vengeance will she follow him.
Has he maligners not enough already?
Dare I still others to their number add?
He was to me as were an elder brother;
And gratitude now bids me that I shield him. —
But what of love? Ah, what does it command?
And should he quake, the fearless Catiline,
Before the intrigues of a woman? No; —
Then to the rescue work this very hour!
Wait, Furia; — I shall drag you from your grave
To life again, — though at the risk of death!

[He goes away quickly.]

[A room in CATILINE’s house.]

CATILINE.
[Enters impetuous and uneasy.]
“Nemesis then indeed has heard my prayer,
Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!”
Such were the words from the enchantress’ lips.
Remarkable! Perchance it was a sign, —
A warning of what time will bring to me.

CATILINE. Now therefore I have pledged myself on oath
The blood avenger of my own misdeed.
Ah, Furia, — still I seem to see your eye,
Wildly aflame like that of death’s own goddess!
Your words still echo hollow in my ears; —
The oath I shall remember all my life.

[During the following AURELIA enters and approaches him unnoticed.]

CATILINE. Yet, it is folly now to go on brooding
Upon this nonsense; it is nothing else.
Far better things there are to think upon;
A greater work awaits my energies.
The restless age is urgent with its plea;
Toward this I must direct my thought in season;
Of hope and doubt I am a stormy sea —

AURELIA.
[Seizes his hand.]
And may not your Aurelia know the reason?
May she not know what moves within your breast,
What stirs therein and rages with such madness?
May she not cheer and soothe your soul to rest,
And banish from your brow its cloud of sadness?

CATILINE.
[Tenderly.]
O, my Aurelia, — O, how kind and tender — .
Yet why should I embitter all your life?
Why should I share with you my many sorrows?
For my sake you have borne enough of anguish.
Henceforth upon my own head I shall bear
What ill-designing fate allotted me, —
The curse that lies in such a soul as mine,
Full of great spiritual energies,
Of fervent longings for a life of deeds,
Yet dwarfed in all its work by sordid cares. —
Must you, too, sharing in my wretched life,
Bitter with blasted hopes, then with me perish?

AURELIA. To comfort is the role of every wife,
Though dreams of greatness she may never cherish.
When the man, struggling for his lofty dream,
Reaps nothing but adversity and sorrow, —
Her words to him then sweet and tender seem,
And give him strength sufficient for the morrow;
And then he sees that even the quiet life
Has pleasures which the most tumultuous lacks.

CATILINE. Yes, you are right; I know it all too well.
And yet I cannot tear myself away.
A ceaseless yearning surges in my breast, —
Which only life’s great tumult now can quiet.

AURELIA. Though your Aurelia be not all to you, —
Though she can never still your restless soul, —
Your heart yet open to a gentle word,
A word of comfort from your loving wife.
Though she may never slake your fiery thirst,
Nor follow in their flight your noble thoughts, —
Know this, that she can share your every sorrow,
Has strength and fortitude to ease your burden.

CATILINE. Then listen, dear Aurelia; you shall hear
What has of late depressed so deep my spirits.
You know, I long have sought the consulate —
Without avail. You know the whole affair —
How to increase the votes for my election,
I have expended —

AURELIA. Catiline, no more;
You torture me —

CATILINE. Do you too blame my course?
What better means therefor had I to choose? —
In vain I lavished all that I possessed;
My one reward was mockery and shame.
Now in the senate has my adversary,
The crafty Cicero, trampled me to earth.
His speech was a portrayal of my life,
So glaring that I, even I, must gasp.
In every look I read dismay and fear;
With loathing people speak of Catiline;
To races yet unborn my name will be
A symbol of a low and dreadful union
Of sensuality and wretchedness,
Of scorn and ridicule for what is noble. —
And there will be no deed to purge this name
And crush to earth the lies that have been told!
Each will believe whatever rumor tells —