Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (125 page)

FIELDBO
[quickly.]
Oh, it’s about —
[Whispers a word or two.]

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Aha! So that’s it!

THORA
[softly to FIELDBO.]
Thanks!

STENSGARD.
If no one else will crush the dragon, I will! But we must hold together, boys!

MANY VOICES.
Yes! yes!

STENSGARD.
We are young! The time belongs to us; but we also belong to the time. Our right is our duty! Elbowroom for faculty, for will, for power! Listen to me! We must form a League. The money-bag has ceased to rule among us!

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Bravo!
[To the DOCTOR]
. He said the money-bag; so no doubt you’re right —

STENSGARD.
Yes, boys; we, we are the wealth of the country, if only there’s metal in us. Our will is the ringing gold that shall pass from man to man. War to the knife against whoever shall deny its currency!

THE CROWD.
Hurrah!

STENSGARD.
A scornful “bravo” has been flung in my teeth —

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
No, no!

STENSGARD.
What care I! Thanks and threats alike are powerless over the perfect will. — And now, God be with us! For we are going about His work, with youth and faith to help us. Come, then, into the refreshment-tent — our League shall be baptised this very hour.

THE CROWD.
Hurrah! Carry him! Shoulder high with him!
[He is lifted shoulder high.]

VOICES.
Speak on! More! More!

STENSGARD.
Let us hold together, I say! Providence is on the side of the League of Youth. It lies with us to rule the world — here in the district!
[He is carried into the tent amid wild enthusiasm.]

MADAM RUNDHOLMEN
[wiping her eyes.]
Oh, Lord, how beautifully he does speak! Don’t you feel as if you could kiss him, Mr. Heire?

HEIRE.
Thank you, I’d rather not.

MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Oh, you! I daresay not.

HEIRE.
Perhaps you would like to kiss him, Madam Rundholmen.

MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Ugh, how horrid you are!
[She goes into the tent; HEIRE follows her.]

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Spectre — and dragon — and money- bag! It was horribly rude — but well deserved!

LUNDESTAD
[approaching.]
I’m heartily sorry, Chamberlain —

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Yes, where was your knowledge of character, Lundestad? Well, well; we are none of us infallible. Good-night, and thanks for a pleasant evening.
[Turns to THORA and the DOCTOR.]
But bless me, I’ve been positively rude to that fine young fellow!]

FIELDBO.
How so?

THORA.
His call, you mean — ?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
He called twice. It’s really Lundestad’s fault. He told me he was an adventurer and — and I forget what else. Fortunately I can make up for it.

THORA.
How?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Come, Thora; let us see to it at once —

FIELDBO.
Oh, do you think it’s worth while, Chamberlain — ?

THORA
[softly.]
How?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
When one has done an injustice one should lose no time in undoing it; that’s a plain matter of duty. Good-night, Doctor. After all, I’ve spent an amusing hour; and that’s more than I have to thank you for to-day.

FIELDBO.
Me, Chamberlain?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Yes, yes, yes — you and others.

FIELDBO.
May I ask what I — ?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Don’t be curious, Doctor. I am never curious. Come, come — no offence — good-night!
[THE CHAMBERLAIN and THORA go out to the left; FIELDBO gazes thoughtfully after them.]

ASLAKSEN
[from the tent.]
Hei, waiter! Pen and ink! Things are getting lively, Doctor!

FIELDBO.
What things?

ASLAKSEN.
He’s founding the League. It’s nearly founded.

LUNDESTAD
[who has quietly drawn near.]
Are many putting down their names?

ASLAKSEN.
We’ve enrolled about seven-and-thirty, not counting widows and so forth. Pen and ink; I say! No waiters to be found! — that’s the fault of the local situation.
[Goes off behind the tent.]

LUNDESTAD.
Puh! It has been hot to-day.

FIELDBO.
I’m afraid we have hotter days to come.

LUNDESTAD.
Do you think the Chamberlain was very angry?

FIELDBO.
Oh, not in the least; you could see that, couldn’t you? But what do you say to the new League?

LUNDESTAD.
H’m; I say nothing. What is there to be said?

FIELDBO.
It’s the beginning of a struggle for power here in the district.

LUNDESTAD.
Well, well — ; no harm in a fight. He has great gifts, that Stensgard.

FIELDBO.
He is determined to make his way.

LUNDESTAD.
Youth is always determined to make its way. I was, when I was young; no one can object to that. But mightn’t we look in and see —

HEIRE
[from the tent.]
Well, Mr. Lundestad, are you going to move the previous question, eh? To head the opposition? Hee-hee! You must make haste!

LUNDESTAD.
Oh, I daresay I shall be in time.

HEIRE.
Too late, sir! Unless you want to stand godfather.
[Cheering from the tent.]
There, they’re chanting Amen; the baptism is over.

LUNDESTAD.
I suppose one may be permitted to listen; I shall keep quiet.
[Enters the tent.]

HEIRE.
There goes one of the falling trees! There will be a rare uprooting, I can tell you! The place will soon look like a wood after a tornado. Won’t I chuckle over it!

FIELDBO.
Tell me, Mr. Heire, what interest have you in the matter?

HEIRE.
Interest? I am entirely disinterested, Doctor! If I chuckle, it is on behalf of my fellow citizens. There will be life, spirit, go, in things. For my own part — good Lord, it’s all the same to me; I say, as the Grand Turk said of the Emperor of Austria and the King of France — I don’t care whether the pig eats the dog or the dog the pig.
[Goes toward the back on the right.]

THE CROWD
[in the tent.]
Long live Stensgard! Hurrah! Hurrah for the League of Youth! Wine! Punch! Hei, hei! Beer! Hurrah!

BASTIAN
[comes from the tent.]
God bless you and every one.
[With tears in his voice.]
Oh, Doctor, I feel so strong this evening; I must do something.

FIELDBO.
Don’t mind me. What would you like to do?

BASTIAN.
I think I’ll go down to the dancing-room and fight one or two fellows.
[Goes out behind the tent.]

STENSGARD
[comes from the tent without his hat, and greatly excited.]
My dear Fieldbo, is that you?

FIELDBO.
At your service, Tribune of the People! For I suppose you’ve been elected — ?

STENSGARD.
Of course; but —

FIELDBO.
And what is to come of it all? What nice little post are you to have? The management of the Bank? Or perhaps —

STENSGARD.
Oh, don’t talk to me like that! I know you don’t mean it. You are not so empty and wooden as you like to appear.

FIELDBO.
Empty and wooden, eh?

STENSGARD.
Fieldbo! Be my friend as you used to be! We have not understood each other of late. You have wounded and repelled me with your ridicule and irony. Believe me, it was wrong of you.
[Embraces him.]
Oh, my great God! how happy I am!

FIELDBO.
You too? So am I, so am I!

STENSGARD.
Yes, I should be the meanest hound on earth if all heaven’s bounty didn’t make me good and true. How have I deserved it, Fieldbo? What have I, sinner that I am, done to be so richly blessed?

FIELDBO.
There is my hand! This evening I am your friend indeed!

STENSGARD.
Thanks! Be faithful and true, as I shall be! — Oh, isn’t it an unspeakable joy to carry all that multitude away and along with you? How can you help becoming good from mere thankfulness? And how it makes you love all your fellow creatures! I feel as if I could clasp them all in one embrace, and weep, and beg their forgiveness because God has been so partial as to give me more than them.

FIELDBO
[quietly.]
Yes, treasures without price may fall to one man’s lot. This evening I would not crush an insect, not a green leaf upon my path.

STENSGARD.
You?

FIELDBO.
Never mind. That’s apart from the question. I only mean that I understand you.

STENSGARD.
What a lovely night! Listen to the music and merriment floating out over the meadows. And how still it is in the valley! I tell you the man whose life is not reconsecrated in such an hour, does not deserve to live on God’s earth!

FIELDBO.
Yes; but tell me now: what do you mean to build up out of it-to-morrow, and through the working-days to come?

STENSGARD.
To build up? We have to tear down first. — Fieldbo, I had once a dream — or did I see it? No; it was a dream, but such a vivid one! I thought the Day of judgment was come upon the world. I could see the whole curve of the hemisphere. There was no sun, only a livid storm- light. A tempest arose; it came rushing from the west and swept everything before it: first withered leaves, then men; but they kept on their feet all the time, and their garments clung fast to them, so that they seemed to be hurried along sitting. At first they looked like townspeople running after their hats in a wind; but when they came nearer they were emperors and kings; and it was their crowns and orbs they were chasing and catching at, and seemed always on the point of grasping, but never grasped. Oh, there were hundreds and hundreds of them, and none of them understood in the least what was happening; but many bewailed themselves, and asked: “Whence can it come, this terrible storm?” Then there came the answer: “One Voice spoke, and the storm is the echo of that one Voice.”

FIELDBO.
When did you dream that?

STENSGARD.
Oh, I don’t remember when; several years ago.

FIELDBO.
There were probably disturbances somewhere in Europe, and you had been reading the newspapers after a heavy supper.

STENSGARD.
The same shiver, the same thrill, that then ran down my back, I felt again to-night. Yes, I will give my whole soul utterance. I will be the Voice —

FIELDBO.
Come, my dear Stensgard, pause and reflect. You will be the Voice, you say. Good! But where will you be the Voice? Here in the parish? Or at most here in the county! And who will echo you and raise the storm? Why, people like Monsen and Aslaksen, and that fat-headed genius, Mr. Bastian. And instead of the flying emperors and kings, we shall see old Lundestad rushing about after his lost seat in Parliament. Then what will it all amount to? Just what you at first saw in your dream — townsfolk in a wind.

STENSGARD.
In the beginning, yes. But who knows how far the storm may sweep?

FIELDBO.
Fiddlesticks with you and your storm! And the first thing you go and do, hoodwinked and blinded and gulled as you are, is to turn your weapons precisely against all that is worthy and capable among us —

STENSGARD.
That is not true.

FIELDBO.
It is true! Monsen and the Stonelee gang got hold of you the moment you came here; and if you don’t shake him off it will be your ruin. Chamberlain Bratsberg is a man of honour; that you may rely on. Do you know why the great Monsen hates him? Why, because —

STENSGARD.
Not a word more! I won’t hear a word against my friends!

FIELDBO.
Look into yourself, Stensgard! Is Mr. Mons Monsen really your friend?

STENSGARD.
Mr. Monsen has most kindly opened his doors to me —

FIELDBO.
To people of the better sort he opens his doors in vain.