Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (100 page)

BRAND .
Kennel the eagle;-and let loose
On empyrean flights the goose!

THE DEAN.
We, thank the Lord, arc not as these; —
But if we must use allegory,
We’ll turn to Scripture, if you please.
For every case it has a story,
From Genesis to Revelation
It swarms with stimulating Fable;
I will but hint, in illustration,
At that projected Tower of Babel,
How did the good folks prosper, pray?
And why? The answer’s clear as day;
Their ranks divided, sort by sort,
Each one his private language spoke,
They drew not in the common yoke,
Grew “Personalities,” in short.
That’s half the twofold core that lies
Embedded in this shell of fable; —
That all strength, sever’d, is unstable,
And death-doom’cl who the world defies.
When God desires a man to fall
He makes him an Original;
The Romans had it, ‘faith, that God
Made the man mad; but mad is odd,
And oddness singleness, you know;
Therefore who fights without a friend
Must look to suffer in the end
The fate that overtook the man
Whom David posted in the van.

BRAND.
Yes, very likely: but what though?
In Death I see not Overthrow.
And is your faith quite firm and fast
That had those builders spoken still
One speech, and acted with one will,
They would have piled the pinnacle
Of Babel up to heaven at last?

THE DEAN.
To heaven? No, that is where it lies:
No man gets quite to Paradise.
There, see, we have the second core,
Embedded in this shell of fable; —
That every building is unstable
Which to the starry heaven would soar!

BRAND.
Yet, Jacob’s ladder reach’d that goal.
Thither by longing soars the Soul.

THE DEAN.
In that way! Why, God bless me, yes
Further discussion’s needless there.
Heaven is the wage of faithfulness,
Of course, and moral life, and prayer.
But life and faith hold such dissent,
They only thrive, when kept apart;
Six days for toiling hands are meant,
The seventh, for stirring of the heart;
If all the week we preach’d and pray’d,
The Sabbath had in vain been made.
God’s incense, rightly to be used,
Must not be lavishly diffused;
Worship, like Art, was not created
To he in perfume dissipated.
The Ideal you may safely sound
From pulpit’s holy vantage-ground;
But with your surplice lay it by,
When you emerge beneath the sky.
All things, as I have said, are based
On laws that strictly must be traced,
And my sole end in speaking is
To give this fact due emphasis.

BRAND.
One thing I very clearly see:
No State Soul-case is fit for me.

THE MAYOR.
A perfect fit, I will engage,
My friend,-hut on a loftier stage: —
You must go up —

BRAND.
Is that an end
I reach by plunging in the mire?

THE DEAN.
Whoso him humbleth shall go higher!
Hooks will not catch, unless they bend.

BRAND.
Man can’t be used, unless he perish!

THE DEAN.
Good God! How can you think I cherish
Any such purpose?

BRAND.
Ay, indeed,
That’s the condition! First to bleed!
Your bloodless spirit to put on
Man must be first a skeleton!

THE DEAN.
I would not put the lancet through
A very kitten-far less you;
But yet I thought no harm were done
In leaving just ajar the door
That opens, where I went before.

BRAND.
And do you know what you have sought?
This, that upon the State’s cock-cry
I that Ideal should deny
For which I until now have fought?

THE DEAN.
Deny, friend? Who makes such request?
Duty is all I bid you follow:
I ask you quietly to swallow
That which your people can’t digest.
Keep it intact, if you’re disposed, —
But yet hermetically closed;
At home, in God’s name, soar and swell,
Not as a public spectacle;
Trust me, the will that won’t be bent
Brings its unfailing punishment.

BRAND.
Ay, fear of torment, hope of gain,
Are on thy brow the brand of Cain,
Which cries that thou by worldly art
Hast slain the Abel in thy heart!

THE DEAN.
[To himself.]
Upon my word he calls me “Thou”;
That is too much! —
[A loud.]
I will not now
Prolong our strife, but, to conclude,
Would have it clearly understood,
That if you’d prosper, you must weigh
What land you live in, and ‘what day.
For no man wins the fight with fortune,
But in alliance with his time.
Which of the men who paint and rhyme
Dare fail when social claims importune?
Look at our soldiers! Why, the gleam
Of sabres is become a dream!
And wherefore? Since a law commands:
Postpone thy own need to the Land’s!
Let each his own excrescence pare,
Neither uplift him, nor protrude,
But vanish in the multitude.
“Humane the age is,” says the Mayor:
And if humanely it be met
Will bring you fame and fortune yet.
But all your angles must be rounded,
Your gnarls and bosses scraped and pounded;
You must grow sleek as others do,
All singularities eschew,
If you would labour without let.

B RAND.
Away! away!

THE DEAN.
I quite agree.
Men of your stamp must finally
Be summon’d to a higher seat;
But, in the greater as the less,
Only the regimental dress
Will make your happiness complete.
The corporal, staff in hand, must knock
The sense of Time into his flock;
For, to our mind, the best of all
Commanders is the corporal.
Just as the corporal leads his men
Into the church, battalion-wise,
[Goes.]
So must the priest lead his, again,
By parishes to Paradise.
It’s all so easy!-Faith, you say,
Broad-based upon authority;
Which, being upon learning stay’d,
May be implicitly obey’d:
While rules and ritual leave no doubt
How faith ought to be acted out.
Wherefore, my brother,-pluck up cheer!
Employ the time for meditation;
Reflect -upon your situation,
And don’t give way to futile fear!
I’ll see just now if I can pitch
My music to a higher note;
Though with an unaccustom’d throat,
A sounding-board’s so seldom here.
Farewell, farewell! I mean to preach
Of human nature’s sinful prime,
God’s image nigh obliterated. —
But now I’m thinking it is time
The inner mortal should be baited.

BRAND.
[Stands for a moment as if petrified in thought.]
All I have offer’d for my call,
God’s as I vainly held it,-all;
And now one trumpet-blast reveal’d
Before what idols I had kneel’d.
Not yet! not yet! I’m not their slave!
Yon churchyard has had blood to sup,
Light, life I’ve laid in yonder grave; —
My soul shall not be yielded up!
O horrible to stand alone, —
Amid a glimmering world of dead;
Horrible to receive a stone,
Howe’er I hunger after bread. —
How true, how deadly true, his strain, —
But yet how vacant and how vain.
Dim broods God’s dove of piercing eyes;
Alas, to me she never flies. —
O, had I but o n e faithful breast —
To give me strength, to give me rest.
[EINAR, pale, emaciated, dressed in black, comes along the road and stops on perceiving BRAND.]

BRAND.
[Cries out.]
You, Einar?

EINAR.
By that name I’m known.

BRAND.
I was just thirsting for a breast
That was not made of wood or stone!
Come, to my heart of hearts be press’d!

EINAR.
My haven’s found, I am at rest.

BRAND.
You bear a grudge for the event
Of our last meeting ——

EINAR.
In no wise;
I blame you not. You were but sent
To be the passive instrument
Wherewith God oped my erring eyes.

BRAND.
[Starts back.]
What tongue is this?

EINAR.
The tongue of peace —
The tongue they learn, who, timely torn
From Sleep of Sin, awake new-born.

BRAND.
Marvellous! I had heard of this, —
That you in quite another way
Were walking

EINAR.
I was led astray
By pride, in my own strength secure.
The idols the world holds divine,
The talent I was told was mine,
My singer’s voice, were all malign
Seductions unto Satan’s lure.
But God (I praise Him) for me wrought,
Left not His erring sheep unsought,
He hclp’d me in my hour of need.

BRAND.
Help’d you-in what way?

EINAR.
Yes, indeed: —
I fell.

BRAND.
Fell? How?

EINAR.
To dissipation.
With gambling tastes He me imbued —

BRAND.
And that was God’s solicitude?

EINAR.
‘Twas the first step to my salvation.
On that my health He undermined,
The talent from my fingers fled,
My love of revelry declined,
Then, to the hospital consign’d,
Long I lay sick, and round my bed
Flames seem’d to glare, and on each wall
Myriads of giant flies to crawl; —
Came out, and soon acquaintance made
With certain sisters, three in all,
Soldiers in God’s cause arm’d and paid.
And they, together with a priest,
Me from the yoke of Earth released;
Pluck’d me from Sin that held me fast,
And made me the Lord’s child at last.

BRAND.
Indeed?

EINAR.
Divergent paths we follow;
One seeks the height, and one the hollow.

BRAND.
But after?

EINAR.
True; I turn’d me thence,
To preach for Total Abstinence;
But since that Work for the unwary
Is strewn with perilous temptation,
I chose another occupation,
And travel now as Missionary —

BRAND.
Where?

EINAR.
To the Caudate-nigger State
But now, I think, we’ll separate;
My time is precious

BRAND.
Won’t you stay?
You see here’s festival to-day.

EINAR.
Thanks, no; the swarthy Heathens wait. —
Farewell.
[Going.]

BRAND.
And does no memory stir,
Bidding you ask — ?

EINAR.
Of what?

BRAND.
Of her
Who would have grieved at the abyss,
That parts another day from this.

EINAR.
I guess your meaning; you refer
To that young female, whose allure
Held me in pleasure’s net secure,
Till Faith’s ablution made me pure.
-Yes, and how is it then with her?

BRAND.
Next year I won her for my wife.

EINAR.
That unimportant, I prefer
To leave these trivial facts unknown.
What’s weighty I desire alone.

BRAND.
God richly bless’d our common life
With joy and sorrow: The child pined

EINAR.
.
That’s unimportant —

BRAND.
So it is;
He was but given to be resign’d;
Our eyes one day shall look on his.
But afterwards she also died;
Their graves bloom yonder side by side.

EINAR.
That’s unimportant —

BRAND.
That likewise?

EINAR.
Such things are trifles in my eyes,
How did she die, I want to know?

BRAND.
With Hope that yet a Dawn shall glow,
With all her heart’s rich treasure whole.
With Will that never lost control,
With thanks for all that life had lent
And life had taken away, she went.

EINAR.
Trumpery figments every one.
Say what the faith she died in was.

BRAND.
Unshaken.

EINAR.
In what?

BRAND.
In God.

EINAR.
Alas!
Only in Him? She is undone.

BRAND.
What say you?

EINAR.
Damn’d, to my regret.

BRAND.
[Quietly.]
Go, scoundrel!

EINAR.
Y o u shall feel as well
The clutches of the Lord of hell; —
For both, eternal torments wait.

BRAND.
You, wretch, dare sentence to the Fire!
Yourself late wallow’d in the mire

EINAR.
On me no spot is to be seen;
The tub of Faith hath wash’d me clean;
Each splash has vanish’d, scraped and scored
On Holiness’s washing-board;
In Vigilance’s mangle I
Have wrung my Adam’s-vesture dry;
And shine like snowy surplice fair,
Soap-lather’d with the suds of Prayer!

BRAND.
Hold!

EINAR.
Hold, yourself! Here’s sulphur fume,
I see the glints of Satan’s horn!
I am Salvation’s good wheat-corn,
And you the shovell’d chaff of Doom.
[Goes.]

BRAND.
[Looks a while after him; all at once his eyes flash and he breaks out.]
That , that is the man I need!
Now all bonds are burst that bound me
Now my flag shall wave around me
Though none follow where I lead!