Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (88 page)

AGNES.
[Stands a moment lost in thought; then starts, looks about her uneasily, and asks.]
Is the sun set already?

EINAR.
Nay,
A shadowing cloud; and now ‘tis past.

AGNES.
The wind is cold!

EINAR.
Only a blast
That hurried by. Here lies our way.

AGNES.
Yon mountain southward, sure, till now,
Wore not that black and beetling brow.

EINAR.
Thou saw’st it not for game and glee
Ere with his cry lie startled thee.
Let him pursue his toilsome track,
And we will to our gambols back!

AGNES.
No, now I’m weary.

EINAR.
And indeed
I’m weary too, to tell the truth, —
And here our footing asks more heed
Than on you upland broad and smooth.
But once we’re on the level plain
We’ll dance defiantly once more,
Ay, in a tenfold wilder vein
And tenfold swifter than before.
See, Agnes, yon blue line that sparkles,
Fresh from the young sun’s morning kiss,
And now it dimples and now darkles,
Silver one moment, amber this;
It is the ocean glad and free
That in the distance thou dost see.
And seest thou the smoky track
In endless line to leeward spread?
And seest thou the point of black
Just rounding now the furthest head?
It is the steamer-thine and mine —
And now it speeds into the fjord,
Then out into the foaming brine
To-night with thee and me on board! —
The mists have veil’d the mountain brow —
Saw’st thou how vividly, but now,
Heaven’s image in the water woke!

AGNES.
[Looking absently about her.]
Oh, yes. But tell me-sawest thou

EINAR.
What?

AGNES.
[In a hushed voiee, without looking at him.]
How he tower’d as he spoke?
[She goes down over the pass, EINAR follows.]

[A path along the crags, with a wild valley beyond to the right. Above, and beyond the mountain, are glimpses of greater heights, with peaks and snow.]

BRAND.
[Comes up along the path, descends, stops half-way upon a jutting crag, and gazes into the valley.]
Yes, I know myself once more!
Every boat-house by the shore,
Every home; the landslip-fall,
And the inlet’s fringe of birch,
And the ancient, mouldcr’d church,
And the river alders, all
From my boyhood I recall.
But methinks it all has grown
Grayer, smaller than I knew;
Yon snow-cornice hangs more prone
Than of old it used to do,
From that scanty heaven encloses
Yet another strip of blue,
Beetles, looms, immures, imposes —
Steals of light a larger due.
[Sits down and gazes into the distance.]

And the fjord too. Crouch’d it then
In so drear and deep a den?
‘Tis a squall. A square-rigg’d skiff
Scuds before it to the land.
Southward, shadow’d by the cliff,
I descry a wharf, a shed,
Then, a farm-house, painted red. —
‘Tis the farm beside the strand!
‘Tis the widow’s farm. The home
Of my childhood. Thronging come
Memories born of memories dead.
I, where yonder breakers roll,
Grew, a lonely infant-soul.
Like a nightmare on my heart
Weighs the burden of my birth,
Knit to one, who walks apart
With her spirit set to earth.
All the high emprise that stirr’d
In me, now is veil’d and blurr’d.
Force and valour from me fail,
Heart and soul grow faint and frail;
As I near my home, I change,
To my very self grow strange —
Wake, as baffled Samson woke,
Shorn and fetter’d, tamed and broke.
[Looks again down into the valley.]

What is stirring clown below?
Out of every garth they flow,
Troops of children, wives and men,
And in long lines meet and mingle,
Now among the rocks and shingle
Vanish, now emerge again; —
To the ancient Church they go.
[Rises.]
Oh, I know you, through and through!
Sluggard spirits, souls of lead!
All the Lord’s Prayer, said by you,
Is not with such anguish sped,
By such passion borne on high,
That one tittle thrills the sky
As a ringing human cry,
Save the prayer for daily bread!
That’s this people’s battle-call,
That’s the blazon of them all!
From its context pluck’d apart,
Branded deep in every heart —
There it lies, the tempest-tost
Wreckage of the Faith you’ve lost
Forth! out of this stifling pit!
Vault-like is the air of it! Not a
Flag may float unfurl’d
In this dead and windless world!
[He is going; a stone is thrown from above and rolls down the slope close by him.]

BRAND.
[Calling upward.]
Ha! who throws stones there?

GERD.
[A girl of fifteen, running along the crest with stones in her apron.]
Ho! Good aim!
He screams!
[She throws again.]

BRAND.
Hullo, child, stop that game!

GERD.
Without a hurt he’s sitting now,
And swinging on a wind-swept bough!
[She throws again and screams.]
Now fierce as ever he’s making for me.
Help! Hoo! With claws he’ll rend and gore me.

BRAND.
In the Lord’s name — !

GERD.
Whist! who are you?
Hold still, hold still; he’s flying.

BRAND.
Who?

GERD.
Didn’t you see the falcon fly?

BRAND.
Here? No.

GERD.
The laidly fowl with crest
Thwart on its sloping brow depress’d,
And red-and-yellow-circled eye.

BRAND.
Which is your way?

GERD.
To church I go.

BRAND.
Then we can go along together.

GERD.
[Pointing upward.]
We? But the way I’m bound is thither.

BRAND.
[Pointing downward.]
But yonder is the church, you know!

GERD.
[Pointing downward with a scornful smile.]
That yonder?

BRAND.
Truly; come with me.

GERD.
No; yon is ugly.

BRAND.
Ugly? Why?

GERD.
Because it’s small.

BRAND.
Where did you see
A greater?

GERD.
I could tell you, I.
Farewell.
[She turns away upwards.]

BRAND.
Lies t h e r e that church of yours?
Why, that way leads but to the moors.

GERD.
Come with me, you; I’ve got to show
A church that’s built of ice and snow!

BRAND.
Of ice and snow! I see the truth!
There, amid peak and precipice
As I remember from my youth,
There yawns a cavernous abyss;
“Ice-church” they call’d the place of old;
And of it many a talc was told;
A frozen tarn has paved the floor;
Aloft, in massy-piled blocks,
The gather’d snow-drifts slope and soar
Arch-like over the yawning rocks.

GERD.
It seems a mountain cleft,-ah, yes,
It is a church, though, none the less.

BRAND.
Never go there; a sudden gust
Has often crack’d that hollow crust;
A rifle shot, a scream, a whoop —

GERD.
[Without listening to him.]
Just come and see a reindeer troop
Gulf’d in the fall, and never found
Till spring and the great thaw came round.

BRAND.
Yonder is danger; go not near it!

GERD.
[Pointing down.]
Yonder is foulness; thou must fear it!

BRAND.
God’s peace with you!

GERD.
Nay, this way pass!
Yonder the cataract’s singing Mass;
There on the crags the whistling weather
Preaches you hot and cold together.
Thither the hawk will ne’er steal in;
Down, down he sweeps from Svartetind, —
Yonder he sits, the ugly block,
Like my church-steeple’s weathercock.

BRAND.
Wild is thy way, and wild thy soul, —
A cittern with a shatter’d bowl.
Of dulness dulness is the brood, —
But evil’s lightly wou to good.

GERD.
With whirring wings I hear him come!
I’ll e’en make shift to get me home!
In yonder church I’m safe,-farewell;
He’s on me,-hoo, how fierce and fell!
[She screams.]
I’ll throw a stone. No nearer, now!
If thou bast talons, I’ve a bough!
[She runs off up the mountain.]

BRAND.
[After a pause.]
This was a church-goer, like the rest.
Mountain- or Dale-church, which is best?
Which wildest reel, which blindest grope,
Which furthest roam from home and hope: —
Light-heart who, crown’d with leafage gay,
Loves by the dizziest verge to play, —
Faint-hear t, who marches slack and slow,
Because old Wont will have it so; —
Wild-hear t, who, borne on lawless wings,
Sees fairness in the foulest things?
War front and rear, war high and low,
With this fell triple-banded foe!
I see my Call! It gleams ahead
Like sunshine through a loop-hole shed!
I know my task; these demons slain,
The sick Earth shall grow sound again; —
Once let them to the grave be given,
The fever-fumes of Earth shall fly!
Up, Soul, array thee! Sword from thigh!
To battle for the heirs of heaven!
[He descends to the hamlet.]

ACT SECOND
.

By the fjord-side, steep precipices all around. The ancient and tumble-down church stands on a little knoll hard by. A storm is coming on.

The country-folk,-men, women, and children,-are gathered in knots, some on the shore, some on the slopes. The MAYOR sits in the midst, on a stone; a CLERK is helping him; corn and provisions are being distributed. EINAR and AGNES stand surrounded by a crowd, a little apart. Some boats lie on the beach. BRAND comes forward, unnoticed, to the church-knoll.

A MAN.
[Breaking through the crowd.]
Out of the way!

A WOMAN.
I’m first!

THE MAN.
[Thrusting her aside.]
Get back!
[Pushing towards the MAYOR.]
Ho! look you, fill me up my sack!

THE MAYOR.
All in good time.

THE MAN.
I cannot stay; —
I’ve four-five-babes of bread bereft!

THE MAYOR.
[Facetiously.]
You don’t know just how many, eh?

THE MAN.
One was e’en dying when I left.

THE MAYOR.
Hold. You are enter’d, are you not?
[Examines his papers.]
No. Yes, you are though. Well for you.
[To the CLERK.]
Give Number Twenty-nine his lot.
Come, come, good folks, be patient, do!
Nils Snemyr?

A MAN.
Ay, ay!

THE MAYOR.
We must pare
A quarter off your former share.
You’re fewer now, you know.

THE MAN.
Yes, yes, —
My Ragnhild died yestreen.

THE MAYOR.
[Making a note.]
One less.
Saving is saving, howsoe’er.
[To the MAN, who is retiring.]
But look you, now, you needn’t run
And marry another on the spot!

CLERK.
[Sniggering.]
Hee, hee!

THE MAYOR.
[Sharply.]
You laugh?

CLERK.
Your Worship’s fun
Is irresistible.

THE MAYOR.
Have done!
This work’s no jesting; but the best
Method with mourners is a jest.

EINAR.
[Coming out of the throng with AGNES.]
Now my last pocket’s clean and bare,
Spent every stiver, every note; —
A very beggar I go afloat,
And pawn my watch to pay my fare!

THE MAYOR.
Yes, in good time you came along.
What I’ve collected is a song, —
By no means answers to the call
When needy hand and mouth ill-fed
Must halve the sharing of shared bread
With those who’ve ne’er a bit at all.
[He perceives BRAND, and points up to him.]
One more! You’re welcome. If report
Of our drought-flood-and-famine curse
Has reach’d you, promptly loose your purse
(If yet unloosen’d). Every sort
Of contribution meets the case.
Our store’s nigh spent. Five fishes scant
In the wide wilderness of Want
Don’t make a square meal nowadays.

BRAND.
Myriads, idolatrously given,
Would lift the soul no nearer heaven.

THE MAYOR.
It was not words I bade you share:
They’re barren when the belly’s bare.

EINAR.
I can’t believe that you recall
What long and fierce calamities
They’ve suffered:-famine, drought, disease.
Men die, Brand —

BRAND.
I perceive it all.
Each livid-circled eye makes clear
Who it is holds assizes here.

THE MAYOR.
Yet there you stand, a very flint!

BRAND.
If life here ran its sluggish round
Of common toil and common stint,
Pity with me your pangs had found.
Who homeward crawls with earth-set eyes,
In him the sleeping beast will rise.
When days in drowsy calm go by,
Like funerals, at walking pace,
You well may fear that the Most High
Has struck you from His Book of Grace.
But unto you He was more good,
He scatter’d terror in your blood,
He scourged you with the rods that slay,
The gifts He gave, He took away —

VOICES.
[Fiercely interrupting him.]
He mocks us in our bitter need!

TILE MAYOR.
He rails at us who tend and feed!

BRAND.
[Shaking his head.]
Oh, if the blood of all my heart
Could heal you from the hunger-smart,
In welling streams it should be shed,
Till every vein was a dry bed.
But here it were a sin to give!
God seeks to pluck you from your bane; —
Nations, though poor and sparse, that l i v e ,
Suck might and marrow from their pain.
The purblind sight takes falcon-wings,
Sees clear into the heart of things,
The faltering will stands stout at bay,
And sees the triumph through the fray.
But men whom misery has not mann’d
Are worthless of the saving hand!

A WOMAN.
Yonder a storm breaks on the fjord,
As if awaken’d by his word!

ANOTHER WOMAN.
He tempts God! Mark what I foretell!

BRAND.
Your God ne’er wrought a miracle!

WOMEN.
See, see! the storm!

VOICES AMONG THE THRONG.
Stab, — stone him! chase
The flinty fellow from the place!
[The Peasants close menacingly round BRAND. The MAYOR intervenes. A WOMAN, wild and dishevelled, comes hurriedly down the slopes.]

THE WOMAN.
[Crying out towards the throng.]
Oh, where is help, for Jesus’ grace!

THE MAYOR.
What do you need? Explain your case.

THE WOMAN.
Nothing I need; no alms I seek,
But oh, the horror, horror

THE MAYOR.
Speak!

THE WOMAN.
I have no voice,-O comfort, aid!
Where is the priest?

THE MAYOR.
Here there is none —

THE WOMAN.
I am undone! I am undone!
Stern vast thou, God, when I was made!

BRAND.
[Approaching.]
Maybe, however, there is o n e.

THE WOMAN.
[Seizing his arm.]
Then let him come, and swiftly!

BRAND.
Tell
Your need, and he will surely come.

THE WOMAN.
Across the fjord-my husband —

BRAND.
Well?

THE WOMAN.
Three starving babes, and ne’er a crumb, —
Say no,-he is not sent to hell!

BRAND.
Your story first.

THE WOMAN.
My breast was dry;
Man sent no help, and God was dumb;
My babe was dying in agony;
Cut to the heart,-his child he slew! —

BRAND.
He slew

THE THRONG.
[Shuddering.]
His child!

THE WOMAN.
At once he knew
The horror of his deed of blood!
His grief ran brimming like a flood;
He struck himself the death-wound too.
Come, save him, save him from perdition,
Spite of wild water and wild sky!
He cannot live, and dare not die!
There lies he, clasping the dead frame,
And shrieking on the Devil’s name!

BRAND.
[Quietly.]
Yes, here is need.

EINAR.
[Pale.]
Great God on high!

THE MAYOR.
He doesn’t live in my Division.

BRAND.
[Curtly, to the Peasants.]
Unmoor a boat and row me there!

A MAN.
When such a storm is up? Who dare?

THE MAYOR.
A path goes round the fjord ——

THE WOMAN.
Nay, nay,
There’s now no practicable way;
The footbridge as I came across
Was broken by the foaming foss.

BRAND.
Unmoor the boat.

A MAN.
It can’t be done;
O’er rock and reef the breakers run.

ANOTHER.
Down sweeps a blast! See, at a stroke
The whole fjord vanishes in smoke!

A THIRD.
With waves so wild and wind so rough.
The Dean would put the service off.

BRAND.
A sinful soul that nears its end
Waits not until the weather mend!
[Goes down to a bout and looses the sail.]
You’ll risk the boat?

THE OWNER.
I will; but stay!

BRAND.
Now, who will risk his l i f e, I say?

A MAN.
I’ll not go with him.

ANOTHER.
No, nor I.

SEVERAL.
It were just putting out to die!

BRAND.
Your God helps none across the fjord;
Remember, though, that mine’s on board!

THE WOMAN.
[Wringing her hands.]
He’ll die unsaved!

BRAND.
[Calling from the boat.]
O n e will avail
To bail the leakage, shift the sail;
Come, one of you that lately gave;
Give now to death and to the grave!

SEVERAL.
[Shrinking back.]
Never ask such-like of us!

ONE.
[Menacingly.]
Land!
‘Tis overbold to tempt God’s hand!

SEVERAL VOICES.
See, the storm thickens!

OTHERS.
The ropes break!

BRAND.
[Holding himself fast with the boat-hook, and calling to the strange WOMAN.]
Good; come then you; but speedily!

THE WOMAN.
[Shrinking back.]
I! Where no others — !

BRAND.
Let them be!

THE WOMAN.
I cannot!

BRAND.
Cannot?

THE WOMAN
My babes’ sake — !

BRAND.
[Scornfully laughing.]
You build upon a quaking sand!

AGNES.
[Turns with glowing cheeks to EINAR, lays her hand on his arm, and says:]
Did you hear all?

EINAR.
A valiant heart.

AGNES.
Thank God, Einar, you see your part!
[Calls to BRAND.]
See,-here Is one man, brave and true,
To go the saving way with you!

BRAND.
Come on then!

EINAR.
[Pale.]
I!

AGNES.
I give you! Go!
Mine eyes are lifted, that were low!

EINAR.
Ere I found you, with willing feet
I would have follow’d where he led —

AGNES.
[Trembling.]
But now — !

EINAR.
My life is new and sweet; —
I cannot go!

AGNES.
[Starting back.]
What have you said!

EINAR.
I dare not go!

AGNES.
[With a cry.]
Now roars a sea
Of sweeping flood and surging foam
World-wide, world-deep, ‘twilit you and me
[To BRAND.]
I will go with you!

BRAND.
Good; then come!

EINAR.
[Clutching desperately after her.]
Agnes!

THE WHOLE THRONG.
[Hurrying towards her.]
Come back! Come back!

WOMEN.
[In terror as she springs into the boat.]
Help, Lord!

BRAND.
Where does the house lie?

WOMEN.
[Pointing.]
By the fjord,
Behind yon black and jutting brink!
[The boats put out.]

EINAR.
[Calling after them.]
Your home, your mother, Agnes! Think!
O save yourself!

AGNES.
We are three on board!
[The boat sails. The people crowd together on the slopes, and watch in eager suspense.]

A MAN.
He clears the headland!

ANOTHER.
Nay!

THE FIRST.
Yes, see, —
Astern he has it, and in lee!

ANOTHER.
A squall! It’s caught them!

THE MAYOR.
Look at that, —
The wind has swept away his hat!

A WOMAN.
Black as a rook’s wing, his wet hair
Streams backward on the angry air.

FIRST MAN.
All seethes and surges!