Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (5 page)

AURELIA. But I, dear husband, trust no such reports.
Let the whole world condemn you if it will;
And let it heap disgrace upon your head; —
I know you hide within your inmost soul
A seed that still can blossom and bear fruit.
Only it cannot burst forth here in Rome;
Poisonous weeds would quickly prove the stronger.
Let us forsake this degradation’s home; —
What binds you here? Why should we dwell here longer?

CATILINE. I should forsake the field, — and go away?
I should my greatest dreams in life surrender?
The drowning man still clutches firm and fast
The broken spars — though hope is frail and slender;
And should the wreck be swallowed in the deep,
And the last hope of rescue fail forever, —
Still clings he to the lone remaining spar,
And sinks with it in one last vain endeavor.

AURELIA. But should a kindly seacoast smile on him,
With groves all green along the rolling billows,
Hope then awakens in his heart again, —
He struggles inward, toward the silvery willows.
There reigns a quiet peace; ‘tis beautiful;
There roll the waves, in silence, without number;
His heated brow sweet evening breezes cool,
As weary-limbed he rests himself in slumber;
Each sorrow-laden cloud they drive away;
A restful calm his weary mind assuages; —
There he finds shelter and prolongs his stay
And soon forgets the sorry by-gone ages.
The distant echo of the world’s unrest
Alone can reach his dwelling unfrequented.
It does not break the calm within his breast; —
It makes his soul more happy and contented;
It calls to mind the by-gone time of strife,
Its shattered hopes and its unbridled pleasures;
He finds twice beautiful this quiet life —
And would not change it for the greatest treasures.

CATILINE. You speak the truth; and in this very hour
From strife and tumult I could go with you.
But can you name me some such quiet spot,
Where we can live in shelter and in peace?

AURELIA.
[Joyful.]
You will go, Catiline? What happiness, —
Oh, richer than my bosom can contain!
Let it be so, then! Come! This very night
We’ll go away —

CATILINE. But whither shall we go?
Name me the spot where I may dare to rest
My head in homely peace!

AURELIA. How can you ask?
Have you forgot our villa in the country,
Wherein I passed my childhood days, where since,
Enraptured during love’s first happy dawn,
We two spent many a blithesome summer day?
Where was the grass indeed so green as there?
Where else the groves so shady and sweet-smelling?
The snow-white villa from its wooded lair
Peeps forth and bids us there to make our dwelling.
There let us flee and dedicate our life
To rural duties and to sweet contentment; —
You will find comfort in a loving wife,
And through her kisses banish all resentment.

[Smiling.]

AURELIA. And when with all the flowers of the land
You come to me, your sovereign, in my bowers,
Then shall I crown you with the laurel band,
And cry, All hail to you, my king of flowers! —
But why do you grow pale? Wildly you press
My hand, — and strangely now your eyes are glowing —

CATILINE. Aurelia, alas, past is your happiness; —
There we can never, never think of going.
There we can never go!

AURELIA. You frighten me!
Yet, surely, — you are jesting, Catiline?

CATILINE. I jest! Would only that it were a jest!
Each word you speak, like the avenging dart
Of Nemesis, pierces my heavy heart,
Which fate will never grant a moment’s rest.

AURELIA. O gods! speak, speak! What do you mean?

CATILINE. See here!
Here is your villa, — here your future joys!

[He draws out a purse filled with gold and throws it on the table.]

AURELIA. Oh, you have sold — ?

CATILINE. Yes, — all I sold today; —
And to what end? In order to corrupt —

AURELIA. O Catiline, no more! Let us not think
On this affair; sorrow is all it brings.

CATILINE. Your quiet-patience wounds me tenfold more
Than would a cry of anguish from your lips!

[An old SOLDIER enters and approaches CATILINE.]

THE SOLDIER. Forgive me, master, that thus unannounced
I enter your abode at this late hour.
Ah, be not wroth —

CATILINE. What is your errand here?

THE SOLDIER. My errand here is but a humble prayer,
Which you will hear. I am a needy man,
One who has sacrificed his strength for Rome.
Now I am feeble, can no longer serve;
Unused my weapons rust away at home.
The hope of my old age was in a son,
Who labored hard and was my one support.
Alas, — in prison now he’s held for debt.
And not a ray of hope — . Oh, help me, master!

[Kneeling.]

THE SOLDIER. If but a penny! I have gone on foot
From house to house; each door is long since closed.
I know not what to do —

CATILINE. The paltry knaves!
A picture this is of the many’s want.
Thus they reward the old brave company.
No longer gratitude is found in Rome!
Time was I might have wished in righteous wrath
To punish them with sword and crimson flames;
But tender words have just been spoken here;
My soul is moved; I do not wish to punish; —
To ease misfortune likewise is a deed. —
Take this, old warrior; — clear with this your debt.

[He hands him the purse with the gold.]

THE SOLDIER.
[Rising.]
O gracious lord, — dare I believe your words?

CATILINE. Yes; but be quick, old man; go free your son.

[The SOLDIER goes hurriedly out.]

CATILINE. A better use, — not so, Aurelia dear? —
Than bribery and purchasing of votes?
Noble it is to crush the tyrant’s might;
Yet quiet solace too has its reward.

AURELIA.
[Throws herself in his arms.]
Oh, rich and noble is your spirit still.
Yes, — now I know my Catiline again.

[An underground tomb with a freshly walled-in passage high on the rear wall. A lamp burns faintly.]

[FURIA, in long black robes, is standing in the tomb as if listening.]

FURIA. A hollow sound. ‘Tis thunder rolls above.
I hear its rumble even in the tomb.
Yet is the tomb itself so still — so still!
Am I forever damned to drowsy rest?
Never again am I to wander forth
By winding paths, as ever was my wish?

FURIA.
[After a pause.]
A strange, strange life it was; — as strange a fate.
Meteor-like all came — and disappeared.
He met me. A mysterious magic force,
An inner harmony, together drew us.
I was his Nemesis; — and he my victim; —
Yet punishment soon followed the avenger.

FURIA.
[Another pause.]
Now daylight rules the earth. — Am I perchance
To slip — unknowing — from the realm of light?
‘Tis well, if so it be, — if this delay
Within the tomb be nothing but a flight
Upon the wings of lightning into Hades, —
If I be nearing even now the Styx!
There roll the leaden billows on the shore;
There silently old Charon plies his boat.
Soon am I there! Then shall I seat myself
Beside the ferry, — question every spirit,
Each fleeting shadow from the land of life,
As light of foot he nears the river of death, —
Shall ask each one in turn how Catiline
Fares now among the mortals of the earth, —
Shall ask each one how he has kept his oath.
I shall illumine with blue sulphur light
Each spectral countenance and hollow eye, —
To ascertain if it be Catiline.
And when he comes, then shall I follow him; —
Together we shall make the journey hence,
Together enter Pluto’s silent hall.
I too a shadow shall his shade pursue; —
Where Catiline is, must Furia also be!

FURIA.
[After a pause, more faintly.]
The air is growing close and clammy here, —
And every breath in turn more difficult. —
Thus am I drawing near the gloomy swamps,
Where creep the rivers of the underworld.

FURIA.
[She listens; a dull noise is heard.]
A muffled sound? ‘Tis like the stroke of oars.
It is the ferryman of shades who comes
To take me hence. No, here — here will I wait!

[The stones in the freshly walled-in passage are broken asunder.
CURIUS comes into view on the outside; he beckons to her.]

FURIA. Ah, greetings, Charon! Are you ready now
To lead me hence, a guest among the spirits?
Here will I wait!

CURIUS.
[Whispering.]
I come to set you free!

SECOND AC
T

[A room in CATILINE’s house with a colonnade in the rear; a lamp lights up the room.]

[CATILINE paces the floor back and forth; LENTULUS and
CETHEGUS are with him.]

CATILINE. No, no! I say, you do not understand
Yourselves what you demand of me. Should I
Turn traitor and incite a civil war, —
Besmear my hand with Roman blood? No, no!
I’ll never do it! Let the entire state
Condemn me if —

LENTULUS. You will not, Catiline?

CATILINE. No.

LENTULUS. Tell me, — have you nothing to avenge?
No insult? No one here you fain would strike?

CATILINE. Let him who will avenge; I shall not stir.
Yet silent scorn is likewise a revenge; —
And that alone shall be enough.

CETHEGUS. Aha, —
Our visit was, I see, inopportune.
Yet doubtless will the morrow bring you back
To other thoughts.

CATILINE. But why the morrow?

CETHEGUS. There are mysterious rumors in the air.
A vestal recently was led to death —

CATILINE.
[Surprised.]
A vestal, — say you? Ah, what do you mean?

LENTULUS. Why, yes, a vestal. Many people murmur —

CATILINE. What do they murmur?

CETHEGUS. That in this dark affair
You are not altogether innocent.

CATILINE. This they believe of me?

LENTULUS. Such is the rumor;
Of course, — to us, to all your good old friends,
Such talk is trifling and of no account; —
The world, however, judges more severely.

CATILINE.
[Deep in thought.]
And is she dead?

CETHEGUS. Undoubtedly she is.
An hour’s confinement in the convict tomb
Is quite enough —

LENTULUS. That is not our affair.
It was not therefore that we spoke of her.
But hear me, Catiline! Bethink yourself.
You sought the consulate; and all your welfare
Hung on that single fragile thread of hope.
Now is it sundered; everything is lost.

CATILINE.
[Still deep in thought.]
“Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!”

CETHEGUS. Shake off these useless thoughts; they profit naught;
Act like a man; still can this fight be won;
A bold resolve now — ; you have friends enough;
Speak but the word, and we shall follow you. —
You are not tempted? Answer!

CATILINE. No, I say!
And why are you so eager to conspire?
Be honest! Are you driven by thirst for freedom?
Is it in order to renew Rome’s splendor
That you would ruin all?

LENTULUS. Indeed, ‘tis not;
Yet surely is the hope of personal greatness
Sufficient motive for our enterprise!

CETHEGUS. And means enough to taste the joys of life
Are not, in truth, to be so lightly scorned.
That is my motive; — I am not ambitious.

CATILINE. I knew it. Only mean and paltry motives,
The hope of private vantage, urge you on.
No, no, my friends; I aimed at nobler things!
True, I have sought with bribes and promises
To seize ere now the consulate, and yet
My plan was greater and comprised much more
Than means like these would point to. Civic freedom,
The welfare of the state, — these were my aims.
Men have misjudged, appearances belied me;
My fate has willed it so. It must so be!

CETHEGUS. True; but the thought of all your many friends
Whom you can save from ruin and disgrace — ?
You know, we shall ere long be driven to take
The beggars’ staff because of our wild living.

CATILINE. Then stop in season; that is my resolve.

LENTULUS. What, Catiline, — now you intend to change
Your mode of life? Ha, ha! you surely jest?

CATILINE. I am in earnest, — by the mighty gods!

CETHEGUS. Then there is nothing we can do with him.
Come, Lentulus, the others we’ll inform
What answer he has given. We shall find
The merry company with Bibulus.

CATILINE. With Bibulus? How many a merry night
We have caroused at Bibulus’ table!
Now is the tempest of my wild life ended;
Ere dawns the day I shall have left the city.

LENTULUS. What is all this?

CETHEGUS. You mean to go away?

CATILINE. This very night my wife and I together
Shall bid farewell to Rome forevermore.
In quiet Gaul we two shall found a home; —
The land I cultivate shall nourish us.

CETHEGUS. You will forsake the city, Catiline?

CATILINE. I will; I must! Disgrace here weighs me down.
Courage I have to bear my poverty,
But in each Roman face to read disdain
And frank contempt — ! No, no; that is too much!
In Gaul I’ll live in quiet solitude;
There shall I soon forget my former self,
Dull all my longings for the greater things,
And as the vaguest dream recall the past.

LENTULUS. Then fare you well; may fortune follow you!

CETHEGUS. Remember us with kindness, Catiline,
As we shall you remember! To our brothers
We will relate this new and strange resolve.

CATILINE. Then give them all a brother’s hearty greeting!

[LENTULUS and CETHEGUS leave.]

[AURELIA has entered from the side, hut-stops frightened at the sight of those who are leaving; when they are gone she approaches CATILINE.]

AURELIA.
[Gently reprimanding.]
Again these stormy comrades in your house?
O Catiline — !

CATILINE. This was their final visit.
I bade them all farewell. Now every bond
Forevermore is broken that bound me fast
And fettered me to Rome.

AURELIA. I’ve gathered up
Our bit of property. Not much perhaps; —
Yet, Catiline, enough for our contentment.

CATILINE.
[Engrossed in thought.]
More than enough for me who squandered all.

AURELIA. Oh, brood no more on things we can not change; —
Forget what —

CATILINE. Happy he who could forget, —
Who could the memory tear from out his soul,
The many hopes, the goal of all desires.
Ah, time is needed ere I reach that state;
But I shall struggle —

AURELIA. I shall help you strive;
You shall be comforted for all your loss.
Yet we must leave as soon as possible.
Here life calls to you with a tempter’s voice.
Is it not so, — we go this very night?

CATILINE. Yes, yes, — we leave this very night, Aurelia!

AURELIA. The little money left I’ve gathered up;
And for the journey it will be enough.

CATILINE. Good! I shall sell my sword and buy a spade.
What value henceforth is a sword to me?

AURELIA. You clear the land, and I shall till the soil.
Around our home will grow in floral splendor
A hedge of roses, sweet forget-me-nots,
The silent tokens of a chastened soul,
When as some youthful comrade you can greet
Each memory recurrent of the past.

CATILINE. That time, Aurelia? Ah, beloved, I fear —
That hour lies in a distant future’s keeping.

CATILINE.
[In a milder tone.]
But go, dear wife, and, while you may, repose.
Soon after midnight we shall start our journey.
The city then is lapped in deepest slumber,
And none shall guess our hidden destination.
The first glow in the morning sky shall find us
Far — far away; there in the laurel grove
We’ll rest ourselves upon the velvet grass.

AURELIA. A new life opens up before us both —
Richer in happiness than this that’s ended.
Now will I go. An hour’s quiet rest
Will give me strength — . Good-night, my Catiline!

[She embraces him and goes out.]

CATILINE.
[Gazes after her.]
Now is she gone! And I — what a relief!
Now can I cast away this wearisome
Hypocrisy, this show of cheerfulness,
Which least of all is found within my heart.
She is my better spirit. She would grieve
Were she to sense my doubt. I must dissemble.
Yet shall I consecrate this silent hour
To contemplation of my wasted life. —
This lamp, — ah, it disturbs my very thoughts; —
Dark it must be here, — dark as is my soul!

[He puts out the light; the moon shines through the pillars in the rear.]

CATILINE.
Too light, — yes, still too light! And yet, no matter; —
The pallid moonlight here does well befit
The twilight and the gloom that shroud my soul, —
Have ever shrouded all my earthly ways.

CATILINE. Hm, Catiline, then is this day your last;
Tomorrow morning you will be no longer
The Catiline you hitherto have been.
Distant in barren Gaul my life shall run
Its course, unknown as is a forest stream. —
Now am I wakened from those many visions
Of power, of greatness, of a life of deeds; —
They vanished like the dew; in my dark soul
They struggled long and died, — unseen of men.

CATILINE. Ah, it is not this dull and drowsy life,
Far from all mundane tumult, that affrights me.
If only for a moment I could shine,
And blaze in splendor like a shooting star, —
If only by a glorious deed I could
Immortalize the name of Catiline
With everlasting glory and renown, —
Then gladly should I, in the hour of triumph,
Forsake all things, — flee to a foreign strand; —
I’d plunge the dagger in my exiled heart,
Die free and happy; for I should have lived!

CATILINE. But oh, — to die without first having lived.
Can that be possible? Shall I so die?

[With uplifted hands.]

CATILINE. A hint, oh angry powers, — that it is
My fate to disappear from life forgotten,
Without a trace!

FURIA.
[Outside behind the pillars.]
It is not, Catiline!

CATILINE.
[Taken aback.]
Who speaks? What warning voice is this I hear?
A spirit voice from out the underworld!

FURIA.
[Comes forward in the moonlight.]
I am your shadow.

CATILINE.
[Terrified.]
What, — the vestal’s ghost!

FURIA. Deep must your soul have sunk if you recoil
From me!

CATILINE. Speak! Have you risen from the grave
With hatred and with vengeance to pursue me?

FURIA. Pursue you, — did you say? I am your shadow.
I must be with you wheresoe’er you go.

[She comes nearer.]

CATILINE. She lives! O gods, — then it is she, — no other,
No disembodied ghost.

FURIA. Or ghost or not, —
It matters little; I must follow you.

CATILINE. With mortal hate!

FURIA. Hate ceases in the grave,
As love and all the passions do that flourish
Within an earthly soul. One thing alone
In life and death remains unchangeable.

CATILINE. And what? Say forth!

FURIA. Your fate, my Catiline!

CATILINE. Only the gods of wisdom know my fate, —
No human being.

FURIA. Yet I know your fate.
I am your shadow; — strange, mysterious ties
Bind us together.

CATILINE. Bonds of hatred.

FURIA. No!
Rose ever spirit from the dankest grave
For hate and vengeance? Listen, Catiline!
The rivers of the underworld have quenched
Each earthly flame that raged within my breast.
As you behold me here, I am no longer
The stormy Furia, — wild and passionate, —
Whom once you loved —

CATILINE. You do not hate me then?

FURIA. Ah, now no more. When in the tomb I stood, —
And faltered on the path that separates
This life from death, at any moment ready
To greet the underworld, — lo, seized me then
An eerie shuddering; I know not what — ;
I felt in me a mystic transformation; —
Away flowed hate, revenge, my very soul;
Each memory vanished and each earthly longing; —
Only the name of “Catiline” remains
Written in fiery letters on my heart.

CATILINE. Ah, wonderful! No matter who you are, —
A human form, a shadow from the dead, —
There lies withal a dreadful fascination
In your dark eyes, in every word you speak.