Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (94 page)

THE MAN.
Priest, I know you;
Know, why these poisonous tales are rife;
You stood against him still at strife;
He could not bend your purpose;-lo, you,
That’s what these slanders signified —

BRAND.
[Hesitating.]
Suppose the case-that he spoke true?

THE MAN.
Then to us all you’ve basely lied.

BRAND.
Have I — ?

THE MAN.
How oft you’ve told us, you,
That God has eall’d you to the strife,
That here you’ve made your home for life,
That here you’ll bear the battle through,
That none may shirk the call to serve,
That all must fight and never swerve,
You have the Call! How flames and flashes
In many a heart the fire you’ve fed!

BRAND.
This people’s heart is hard and dead!
Their ear is deaf, their fire is ashes!

THE MAN.
O, you know better;-radiant day
To many a heart has found its way.

BRAND.
In tenfold others all is night.

THE MAN.
You’re sent to be their beacon-light,
But be the numbers as you choose,
Here is no need to closely scan;
For here I stand, one only Man,
And bid you: Leave us, if you can!
I have a soul I would not lose,
Like others; books I cannot use,
You bore me from the depths below, —
Try if you now can let me go!
You cannot,-I so closely grip,
My soul were lost if I should slip
Farewell; I look to learn at last;
My priest by me-and God-stands fast.
[Goes.]

AGNES.
[Timidly.]
Your lips are blanch’d, and white your cheek;
You seem to utter an inward shriek!

BRAND.
Each strong word flung at yonder rock
Thrills back with tenfold echo’s shock.

AGNES.
[Advancing a step.]
I’m ready!

BRAND.
Ready? Whereunto?

AGNES.
[Vehemently.]
For what a mother needs must do!

GERD.
[Runs by outside and stops at the garden-gate; claps her hands and cries in wild joy.]
Have you heard? The priest’s flown off. —
Up from hillocks, out of hones,
Swarm the demons and the Drows,
Black and ugly, big and little —
Ugh, how fierce they cut and cuff — !
Half my eye away they whittle;
Half ray soul they’ve carried off;
With the stump I’ll e’en make shift,
It will serve me well enough!

BRAND.
Girl, your thoughts are all adrift;
See, I stand before you.

GERD.
You?
Ay, but not the parson! Swift
From the peak my falcon flew,
Fiercely down the fells he hied him,
He was bitted and saddled too,
Through the nightfall blast he hiss’d,
And a man was set astride him,
‘Twas the parson, ‘twas the priest!
Now the valley church is bare,
Lock and bar are bolted there;
Ugly-church’s day is past;
Mine shall get its due at last.
There the priest stands, tall and strong;
Snowy surplice swathes his flank,
Woven of winter’s drip and dank,
If you’d see him, come along;
Parish-church is bare and blank;
M y priest has so brave a song,
That the whole earth rings to hear it.

BRAND.
Who has bidden thee, shatter’d spirit,
Lure me with this idol-lay?

GERD.
[Coming into the garden.]
Idols, idols? What are they?
Oho! That is what you mean:
Giant or pigmy, large or lean,
Always gilded, always gay.
Idols! Look you where she stands!
See you ‘neath her mantle stray
Baby-feet and baby-hands?
See you how those robes are gay,
That close-folded something keep
Like a little child asleep?
Back she shudders! Hides her son!
Idols?-Man, I show you one!

AGNES.
Have you tears, Brand? Can you pray?
Terror scorches mine away!

BRAND.
Woe’s me, Agnes-I forbode
In her words the voice of God.

GERD.
Hark; now all the bells are loud,
Clanging down the savage fells!
See, what moving masses crowd
Upwards to those bidding bells!
See the thousand trolls uprisen
From the ocean-caves, their prison;
See the thousand dwarfs up-leaping
From the graves where they were sleeping
With the priest’s seal on them set:
Grave and ocean cannot bind them,
Out they’re swarming, chill and wet; —
Troll-babes that but shammed to die,
Grinning roll the rocks behind them:
“Mother, father!” hark, they cry;
Goodman, Goodwife, make reply;
Then, as fathers among sons,
Move among their buried ones;
Women lay their risen dead
At their bosoms to be fed,
Strutted scarce with prouder front
When they bore them to the font.
Life begins! The parson’s fled!

BRAND.
Get thee from me! Direr still
Grows the vision

GERD.
Hark, he’s mocking!
He that sits by yon way-border,
Where it rears to scale the hill,
All their names as they go flocking
In his book he writes in order; —
Ho! he’s wellnigh all the pack;
For the parish-church is bare,
Lock and bar are bolted there, —
And parson’s off on falcon-back!
[Leaps over the garden fence and is lost in the moraine. Stillness.]

AGNES.
[Approaches, and says in a low voice.]
Late we linger: let us go.

BRAND.
[Looking fixedly at her.]
Shall our way be —
[Points first to the garden-gate, then to the house-door.]
So?-or so?

AGNES.
[Starts back shuddering.]
Brand, your child,-your child!

BRAND.
[Following her.]
Say rather:
Was I priest ere I was father?

AGNES.
[Drawing further back.]
Though in thunder-crash it peal’d,
Unto that my lips are seal’d.

BRAND.
[Following.]
You are Mother: it is due
That the last word come from you.

AGNES.
I am Wife: I shall fulfil
All that you have heart to will.

BRAND.
[Trying to grasp her arm.]
Take the Cup of Choice from me!

AGNES.
[Retreating behind the tree.]
Mother then I should not be!

BRAND.
There a Judgment is let fall!

AGNES.
[Vehemently.]
Have you any choice at all!

BRAND.
Still the Judgment, gathering force!

AGNES.
Trust you wholly in God’s Call?

BRAND.
Yes!
[Grasps her hand firmly.]
And now ‘tis yours to give
Final sentence: Die or live!

AGNES.
Go where God has fix’d your course.
[Pause.]

BRAND.
Late we linger; let us go.

AGNES.
[Voiceless.]
Shall our way be

BRAND.
[Silent.]

AGNES.
[Pointing to the garden-gate.]
So?

BRAND.
[Pointing to the house-door.]
Nay,-so!

AGNES.
[Raising the child aloft in her arms.]
God! The gift Thou canst require
I can lift it to thy sight!
Guide me through life’s martyr-fire!
[Goes in.]

BRAND.
[Gazes a while before him, bursts into tears, clasps his hands over his head, throws himself down on the steps and cries:]
Jesus, Jesus! give me light!

ACT FOURTH
.

Christmas Eve in the Manse. The room is dark. Gardendoor in the background; a window on one side, a door on the other.

AGNES, in mourning, stands at the window and gazes out into the darkness.

AGNES.
Still he comes not! Comes not yet! —
Oh, how hard, with gloom beset, —
Still to wait and still to cry, —
Winning never a reply! —
Fast they fall, the softly sifted
Snowflakes; in a shroud-like woof
They have swathed the old church roof
[Listens.]
Hark! the garden-latch is lifted!
Steps! A man’s step, firm and fast!
[Hurries to the door and opens it.]
Is it thou? Come home! At last!
[BRAND comes in, snowy, in travefling dress, which he removes during what follows.]

AGNES.
[Throwing her arms about him.]
Oh, how long thou vast away!
Go not from me, go not from me;
All alone I cannot sway
The black clouds that overcome me;
What a night, what days have been
These two-and the night between!

BRAND.
I am with thee, child, once more.
[He lights a single candle, which throws a pale radiance over the room.]
Thou art pale.

AGNES.
And worn and sad.
I have watch’d and long’d so sore;
And this little leafy bough —
Little, it was all I had,
Saved from summer until now
To bedeck our Christmas-tree, —
I have hung it there, Brand, see!
H i s the bush was, so we said;
Ah, ‘t w as his-it crown’d him dead!
[Bursts into tears.]
Look, from the snow it peers
Yonder, his-O God —

BRAND.
His grave.

AGNES.
O that word!

BRAND.
Have done with tears.

AGNES.
Yes-be patient-I’ll be brave!
But my soul is bleeding still,
And the wound is raw and new
Sapp’d is all my strength of will.
Oh, but better shall ensue!
Once these days are overworn,
Thou shalt never see me mourn!

BRAND.
Keep’st thou so God’s holy Night?

AGNES.
Ah! Too much thou must not crave!
Think-last year so sweet and bright,
This year carried from my sight;
Carried-carried ——

BRAND.
[Loudly.]
To the grave!

AGNES.
[Shrieks.]
Name it not!

BRAND.
‘With lungs that crack,
Named it must be, if thou shrink —
Named, till echo rolls it back,
Like a billow from the brink.

AGNES.
Ah! The word gives thee, too, pain.
How-so passionless thou boast thee!
On thy brow I see the stain
Of the agony it cost thee!

BRAND.
On my brow the drops that lie
Are but sea-spray from the storm.

AGNES.
And that dewdrop in thine eye,
Has it fallen from the sky?
No, ah! no, it is too warm,
‘Tis thy heart’s dew!

BRAND.
Agnes, wife,
Let us bravely face the strife;
Stand together, never flinch,
Struggle onward, inch by inch.
Oh, I felt a man out there!
Surges o’er the reef were dashing;
Horror of the storm-lit air
Still’d the sea-gull; hail was thrashing
Down upon the boiling sea.
In my skiff, that mid-fjord quiver’d,
Mast and tackle creak’d and shiver’d,
Tatter’d sails blew far a-lee,
Scarce a shred of them remaining,
Every nail and stanchion straining!
From the beetling summits sunder’d.
Down the avalanches thunder’d;
Stiff and stark, with corpse-like faces
Sat the rowers in their places.
Then the soul in me wax’d high;
From the helm I ruled them all,
Knowing well that One thereby
Had baptized me to His call!

AGNES.
In the tempest to be strong,
Eager in the stress of fight,
That is easy, that is light;
Think of me, who, all day long,
Still must croon without relief
The low swallow-song of grief;
Think of me, who have no charm
For the tedious pain of life;
Me, who, far from war’s alarm,
Lack the fiery joys of strife:
Think, oh think, of me, who share not
Noble work, but brood and wait;
Me, who to remember dare not,
And who never can forget!

BRAND.
Thou no noble life-work! Thou!
Never was it great as now.
Listen, Agnes; thou shalt know
What to me our loss has brought.
Oftentimes my light is low,
Dim my reason, dull my thought,
And there seems a kind of gladness
In immeasurable sadness.
Agnes-in such hours I see
God, as at no other, near;
Oh, so near, it seems to me
I could speak, and He would hear.
Like a lost child then I long
To be folded to his breast,
And be gather’d. by His strong
Tender Father-arms to rest!

AGNES.
Brand, oh see Him so alway!
To thy supplication near —
God of love and not of fear!

BRAND.
No; I may not bar his way,
Nor run counter to my Call;
I must see Him vast, sublime
As the heavens,-a pigmy Time
Needs a giant God withal!
Oh, but t h o u mayst see Him near,
See Him as a Father dear,
Bow Thy head upon His breast,
There, when thou art weary, rest,
Then return, with face aglow
From His presence, fair and free,
Bear His glory down to me
Worn with battle-thrust and throe!
See, my Agnes; so to share
Is the soul of wedded life:
This, the turmoil and the strife,
Hers the healing and the care;
‘This and this alone, the true
Wedlock, that makes one of two.
Since thou turnedst from the life
Of the world to be my wife,
Boldly east thy lot with me,
This the work appointed thee:
Mine the stir and stress of fight,
Battle in the burning sun,
Watching in the winter night;
But for thee, when all is done,
To my parching lips to hold
Love’s full wine-cup, and to fold
‘Neath the breastplate’s iron stress
The soft robe of tenderness.
Surely that work is not light!

AGNES.
Every work that I have sought
Is too hard for my weak skill;
All the fibres of my will
Gather round a single thought.
Like a vision seems it still:
Let me have of tears my fill.
Help me so myself to see, —
What I am, and ought to he!
Brand,-last night, in stillest hush,
Open’d he my chamber door,
On his cheek a rosy flush,
And his little shirt he wore, —
Toddled so with childish tread
To the couch where I lay lonely,
“Mother!” call’d to me, and spread
Both his arms, and smiled, but only
As if praying: “Make Inc warm.”
Yea, I saw!-Oh, my heart bled

BRAND.
Agnes!

AGNES.
Ah, his little form
Was a-cold, Brand! Needs it must,
Pillow’d in the chilly dust.

BRAND.
That which lies beneath the sod
Is the c o r s e; the child’s with God.

AGNES.
[Shrinking from him.]
Oh, canst thou without remorse
Thus our bleeding anguish tear?
What thou sternly call’st the corse —
Ah, to me, my child is there!
Where is body, there is soul:
These apart I cannot keep,
Each is unto me the whole;
Alf beneath the snow asleep
Is my very Alf in heaven!

BRAND.
Many a raw wound must be riven
Ere thy deep disease give way.

AGNES.
Yet have patience with me, pray,
Let me follow, not he driven.
Give me thy strong hand and guide me
Oh, and gently, gently chide me!
Thou whose voice in thunder-tones
Vibrates in the hour of strife,
For the soul that still with groans
Fights a fight for very life,
Hast thou no soft, piteous lay,
To beguile its pangs away?
Ne’er a message to uplift,
Point me to the dawn-fired rift?
God, as thou wouldst have me view Him,
Is a monarch on His throne.
How dare I, then, turn unto Him
With my lowly mother’s moan?

BRAND.
Wouldst thou rather, haply, turn
To the God thou knew’st before?

AGNES.
Never, never, nevermore!
And yet oftentimes I yearn
Towards the daybreak, towards the light.
Towards the sunshine warm and golden.
Oh, the ancient saw is right:
“Lightly lifted, hardly holden.”
All too vast this realm of thine,
Too gigantic to be mine.
Thou, thy word, thy work, thy goal,
Will austere, and steadfast soul,
Overhead the beetling height,
And the barrier fjord below,
Grief and memory, toil and night,
All vast,-were the Church but so!

BRAND.
[Starting.]
What! the Church? Again that thought?
Is it bred an instinct blind
In the air?

AGNES.
[Shaking her head sadly.]
Oh ask me not
To find reasons for my thought.
Instinct steals upon the sense
Like a perfume,-to and fro,
Blowing whither? Blowing whence?
I perceive it, that is all;
And, unknowing, yet I know
That for me it is too small.

BRAND.
Truth may be from dreams divined.
In a hundred hearts I find
Self-begotten this one word;
Even in hers, whose frantic call
From the mountain-side I heard:
“It is ugly, for ‘tis small!”
So she said; and like the rest
Left her meaning half-express’d.
Then of women came a score,
“Yes, it is too small,” they cried;
They would have it spread and soar,
Like a palace in its pride.
Agnes-ah! I see it clear;
Thou the woman art whom God
Gave me for His angel-guide.
Safe alike from doubt and fear
Through the darkness thou bast trod,
Keeping still the even way,
Where I blindly went astray.
Thee no glamour captivated —
Once thy finger show’d the fated
Region where my life-work waited,
Check’d me, as I sought sublime,
To the vault of heaven to climb,
Turn’d my soaring glance within,
And that kingdom bade me win.
Now, a second time, thy word
Penetrates my soul like day,
Guides me where I vainly err’d,
Glorifies my weary way.
Small the Church is? Be it so:
Then a greater Church shall grow.
Never, never did I wot
All God gave me, giving thee;
Now that cry of thine’s for me:
Leave me not! Oh leave me not!

AGNES.
All my sorrow I will quell,
I will dry the tears that well,
Seal in still sepulchral sleep
Memory’s lone castle-keep;
Lay oblivion like a sea
Open between it and me,
I will blot the joyous gleams
From my little world of dreams,
Live, thy wife, alone for thee!

BRAND.
Steep the path is, high the goal.

AGNES.
Lead, nor sternly spur, my soul!

BRAND.
[Going.]
In a greater name I call.

AGNES.
One of whom thou saidst that still
He accepts the steadfast will,
Though the flesh be weak withal!

BRAND.
Whither, Agnes?

AGNES.
[Smiles.]
Ah, to-day
Home must have its feast array!
Thou my lavishness didst chide,
Mindest thou, last Christmastide?
All the chamber flash’d with lights,
From the Christmas-tree there hung
Toys and wreaths and quaint delights;
There was laughter, there was song.
Brand, for us this year also
Shall the Christmas-candles glow,
Here shall all be deek’d and light
For the great, still Feast to-night!
Here, if haply God should peep,
He of meek and lowly mind
Shall His stricken children find,
Babes, that humbly understand,
To have felt their Father’s hand
Gives them not a right to weep. —
Seest thou now of tears a sign?

BRAND.
[Presses her to him a moment.]
Child, make light: that work is thine.

AGNES.
[Smiles sadly.]
Thou thy greater Church shalt rear:
Oh-but end ere Spring is here!
[Goes.]

BRAND.
Willing in her torments still,
Willing at the martyr’s stake;
Flesh may flag and spirit break,
But unbroken in her Will.
Lord, to her poor strength add Thine; —
Be the cruel task not mine
At Thy bidding to unchain
Angry vultures of the Law,
Swift to swoop with ravening maw,
And her heart’s warm blood to drain!
I have strength to stand the strain.
Twofold agony let me bear, —
But be merciful to her!
[A knock at the outer door. THE MAYOR enters.]

THE MAYOR.
A beaten man, I seek your door.

BRAND.
A beaten man?

THE MAYOR.
As such I stand
Before you. When I open’d war,
And sought to drive you from the land,
The cnd I augur’d, I confess,
For you, was not just-well-success.

BRAND.
Indeed — ?

THE MAYOR.
But though my cause I boast
The better, I’ll contend no more.

BRAND.
And why?

THE MAYOR.
Because you have the most.

BRAND.
Have I?

THE MAYOR.
Oh, that you can’t ignore:
Folks flock to you by sea and shore;
And in the whole of my confine
A spirit has of late been rife,
Which, God’s my witness, is not mine;
Whence to conclude is only due,
That it originates with you.
Here is my hand: we’ll end the strife!