Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (86 page)
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Authors: Henrik Ibsen
LADY RAGNHILD.
Fare forth in peace, my husband; fare thither where no mocking shade shall stand between us, when we meet.
[Hastens into the chapel.
MAR’GRETE.
My father, farewell, farewell, — a thousand times farewell! —
[Follows
Lady Ragnhild.
SIGRID.
[Opens the church door and calls in.]
To your knees, all ye women! Assemble yourselves in prayer; send up a message in song to the Lord, and tell him that now Skule Bårdsson comes penitent home from his rebellious race on earth.
KING SKULE.
Sigrid, my faithful sister, greet King Håkon from me; tell him that even in my last hour I know not whether he be king-born; but this I know of a surety: he it is whom God has chosen.
SIGRID.
I will bear him your greeting.
KING SKULE.
And yet another greeting must you bear. There dwells a penitent woman in the north, in Halogaland; tell her that her son has gone before; he went with me when there was great danger for his soul.
SIGRID.
That will I.
KING SKULE.
Tell her, it was not with the heart he sinned; pure and blameless shall she surely meet him again.
SIGRID.
That will I.
[Points towards the background.]
Hark! they are breaking the lock!
KING SKULE.
[Points towards the chapel.]
Hark! they are singing loud to God of salvation and peace!
SIGRID.
Hark again! All the bells in Nidaros are ringing — !
KING SKULE.
[Smiles mournfully.]
They are ringing a king to his grave.
SIGRID.
Nay, nay, they ring for your true crowning! Farewell, my brother, let the purple robe of blood flow wide over your shoulders; under it may all sin be hidden. Go forth, go into the great church and take the crown of life.
[Hastens into the chapel. Chanting and bell-ringing continue during what follows.
VOICES.
[Outside the gate.]
The lock has burst! Force us not to break the peace of the church!
KING SKULE.
I — come.
THE TOWNSMEN.
And the church-robber must come too!
KING SKULE.
Ay, the church-robber shall come too.
[Goes over to Peter.]
My son, are you ready?
PETER.
Ay, father, I am ready.
KING SKULE.
[Looks upwards.]
O God, I am a poor man, I have but my life to give; but take that, and keep watch over Håkon’s great king’s-thought. — See now, give me your hand.
PETER.
Here is my hand, father.
KING SKULE.
And fear not for that which is now to come.
PETER.
Nay, father, I fear not, when I go with you.
KING SKULE.
A safer way have we two never trodden together.
[He opens the gate; the TOWNSMEN stand without with upraised weapons.]
Here are we; we come of our own free will; — but strike him not in the face.
[They pass out
,
hand in hand; the gate glides to.
A VOICE.
Aim not, spare not; — strike them where ye can.
KING SKULE’S VOICE.
‘Tis base to deal thus with chieftains.
[A short noise of weapons; then a heavy fall is heard; all is still for a moment.
A VOICE.
They are dead, both of them!
[The
KING’S
horn sounds.
ANOTHER VOICE.
There comes King Håkon with all his guard!
THE CROWD.
Hail Håkon Håkonsson; now have you no longer any foemen.
GREGORIUS JONSSON.
[Stops a little before the corpses.]
So I have come too late! — [
Enters the convent yard.
DAGFINN.
It had been ill for Norway had you come sooner.
[Calls out.]
In here, King Håkon!
HÅKON.
[Stopping.]
The body lies in my way!
DAGFINN.
If Håkon Håkonsson would go forward, he must pass over Skule Bårdsson’s body!
HÅKON.
In God’s name then! [Steps
over the corpse and comes in.
DAGFINN.
At last you can set about your king’s-work with free hands. In there are those you love; in Nidaros they are ringing in peace in the land; and yonder he lies who was your direst foe.
HÅKON.
All men misjudged him, reading not his secret.
DAGFINN.
His secret?
HÅKON.
[Seizes him by the arm, and, says softly.]
Skule Bårdsson was God’s step-child on earth; that was the secret.
[The song of the women is heard more loudly from the chapel; all the bells are still ringing in Nidaros.
THE END
Translated by William Archer
In 1864 the war between Denmark and Germany over Slesvig-Holstein and the defeat of the Danish army at Dybbøl frustrated Ibsen, who felt Norway and Sweden should have helped the Danes. It was this conflict that later inspired Ibsen to write
Brand
.
At first it was composed in the form of an epic poem and the protagonist was not called Brand, but Koll. Ibsen worked on this poem until the summer of 1865, but was not satisfied and so put the manuscript aside. It would not leave his mind, however, and it eventually turned into a drama. The political satire was toned down in favour of motives drawn from the religious sphere and Koll became the clergyman Brand. The play was written in less than three months, with the last act being completed in the middle of October 1865. Ibsen sent the rest of the fair copy to his new publisher, Frederik Hegel in Copenhagen, in the middle of November.
The first edition consisted of 1275 copies. Hegel doubted the sales potential of the book, but his doubts proved to be unfounded. By the end of the year the book had been re-printed three times and its publication fused intellectual interest in Denmark and Norway. Therefore,
Brand
is now considered to be Ibsen’s breakthrough work, establishing his first call to fame as one of the greatest writers in Scandinavia literature.
As was the case with Ibsen’s next play,
Peer Gynt
,
Brand
was not written for the stage, but as a closet drama. Nevertheless, the fourth act of the play was performed as a part of Laura Gundersen’s
Evening Entertainment
at the Student Union Theatre in Christiania on 14 May 1867, just one year after the publication of the book. Laura Gundersen herself played the part of Agnes, while Brand was played by her husband, Sigvard Gundersen. On 26 June, 1867 the same production was included in the repertoire of the Christiania Theatre. Nineteen years would pass, however, before the play was staged in its entirety.
Brand
is a verse tragedy, about the eponymous priest, who wants to take the consequence of his choices and is therefore deeply bound to doing the “right thing”. He believes primarily in the will of man, and lives by the device “all or nothing”. To make compromises is therefore difficult, or by his moral standards questionable at best. His picture of God is clearly derived from the Old Testament. His beliefs render him lonely in the end, as people around him, when put to the test, as a rule can not or will not follow his example. Brand is arguably a young idealist with a main purpose: to save the world, or at least Man’s soul. His visions are great, but his judgement of others may seem harsh and unfair.
Frederik Vilhelm Hegel (1817–1887) was a Danish bookseller and publisher. . Under his leadership Gyldendal published many of the most important Norwegian writers, including Bjørnson, Ibsen, Kielland, Lie and Asbjørnsen.
BRAND.
HIS MOTHER.
EINAR, a painter.
AGNES.
THE MAYOR.
THE DOCTOR.
THE DEAN.
THE SEXTON.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
GERD.
A PEASANT.
HIS YOUNG SON.
ANOTHER PEASANT.
A WOMAN.
ANOTHER WOMAN.
A CLERK.
PRIESTS AND OFFICIALS.
CROWD: MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN.
THE TEMPTER IN THE DESERT.
THE INVISIBLE CHOIR.
A VOICE.
High up in the mountain snowfields. The mist lies thick and close; it is raining, and nearly dark.
BRAND in black, with stick and wallet, is struggling on westward. A PEASANT AND HIS YOUNG SON, who have joined him, are a little way behind.
THE PEASANT.
[Calling after BRAND.]
Hullo, you stranger fellow, stay!
Where are you?
BRAND.
Here!
THE PEASANT.
You’ve got astray!
The fog’s so thick, my sight it passes
To see a staff’s-length ‘fore or back —
THE SON.
Father, here’s clefts!
THE PEASANT.
And here crevasses!
BRAND.
And not a vestige of the track.
THE PEASANT.
[Crying out.]
Hold, man! God’s death — ! The very ground
Is but a shell! Don’t stamp the snow!
BRAND.
[Listening.]
I hear the roaring of a fall.
THE PEASANT.
A beck has gnawed its way below;
Here’s an abyss that none can sound;
‘Twill open and engulf us all!
BRAND.
As I have said, I must go on.
THE PEASANT.
That’s past the power of any one.
I tell you-the ground’s a rotten crust —
Hold, hold, man! Death is where it’s trod!
BRAND.
A great one gave me charge; I m u s t.
THE PEASANT.
What is his name?
BRAND.
His name is God.
THE PEASANT.
And what might you be, pray?
BRAND.
A priest.
THE PEASANT.
Maybe; but one thing’s clear at least;
Though you were dean and bishop too,
Death will haves laid his grip on you
Ere daybreak, if you dare to breast
The glacier’s cavern-cloven crest.
[Approaching warily and insinuatingly.]
Hark, priest; the wisest, learned’st man
Cannot do more than what he can.
Turn back; don’t be so stiff and stout!
A man has but a single life; —
What has he left if t h a t goes out?
The nearest farm is two leagues off,
And for the fog, it’s thick enough
To hack at with a hunting-knife.
BRAND.
If the fog’s thick, no glimmering ray
Of marsh-light lures our feet astray.
THE PEASANT.
All round lie ice-tarns in a ring,
And an ice-tarn’s an ugly thing.
BRAND.
We’ll walk across.
THE PEASANT.
On waves you’ll walk?
Your deeds will hardly match your talk.
BRAND.
Yet one has proved,-whose faith is sound
May walk dry-footed on the sea.
THE PEASANT.
Yes, men of olden time, maybe.
But nowadays he’d just be drowned.
BRAND.
[Going.]
Farewell!
THE PEASANT.
You throw your life away!
BRAND.
If God should haply need its loss, —
Then welcome chasm, and flood, and foss.
THE PEASANT.
[To himself.]
Nay, but his wits are gone astray!
THE SON.
[Half-crying.]
Come away, Father! see how black
With coming tempest is the wrack!
BRAND.
[Stopping and approaching again.]
Hear, peasant; you at first profess’d,
Your daughter by the fjordside lying,
Had sent you word that she was dying,
But could not with a gladsome breast,
Until she saw you, go to lest?
THE PEASANT.
That’s certain, as I hope for bliss!
BRAND.
And as her last day mentioned — t h i s?
THE PEASANT.
Yes.
BRAND.
Not a later?
THE PEASANT.
No.
BRAND.
Then come!
THE PEASANT.
The thing’s impossible -turn home
BRAND.
[Looking fixedly at him.]
Listen! Would you give twenty pound
If she might have a blest release?
THE PEASANT.
Yes, parson!
BRAND.
Forty?
TILE PEASANT.
House and ground
I’d very gladly sign away
If so she might expire in peace!
BRAND.
But would you also give your l i f e?
THE PEASANT.
What? life? My good friend — !
BRAND.
Well?
THE PEASANT.
[Scratching his head.]
Nay, nay,
I draw the line somewhere or other — !
In Jesus’ name, remember, pray,
At home I’ve children and a wife.
BRAND.
He whom you mention had a mother.
THE PEASANT.
Ay, that was in the times of yore; —
Then marvels were of every day;
Such things don’t happen any more.
BRAND.
Go home. You travel in death’s track.
You know not God, God knows not you.
THE PEASANT.
Hoo, you are stern!
THE SON.
[Pulling him away.]
Come back! come back!
THE PEASANT.
Ay, ay; but he must follow too!
BRAND.
Must I?
THE PEASANT.
Ay, if I let you bide
Up here in this accursed weather,
And rumour told, what we can’t hide,
That you and we set out together,
I’m haul’d some morning to the dock, —
And if you’re drown’d in flood and fen,
I’m sentenced to the bolt and lock —
BRAND.
You suffer in God’s service, then
THE PEASANT.
Nor his nor yours is my affair;
My own is hard enough to bear.
Come then!
BRAND.
Farewell!
[A hollow roar is heard in the distance.]
THE SON.
[Shrieking.]
An avalanche roar!
BRAND.
[To the PEASANT who has seized his collar.]
Off!
THE PEASANT.
Nay!
BRAND.
This instant!
THE SON.
Stay no more!
THE PEASANT.
[Struggling with BRAND.]
Nay, devil take me — !
BRAND.
[Shakes him of and throws him down in the snow.]
That, depend
On it, he will do in the end!
[Goes.]
THE PEASANT.
[Sitting and rubbing his arm.]
Ow, ow; his arm’s an iron rod;
And that’s what he calls serving God!
[Calling as he gets up.]
Ho, priest!
THE SON.
He’s gone athwart the hill.
THE PEASANT.
Ay, but I see him glimmer still.
[Calling again.]
Hear me,-if you remember, say,
Where was it that we lost the way?
BRAND.
[In the mist.]
You need no cross to point you right; —
The broad and beaten track you tread.
THE PEASANT.
God grant it were but as he said,
And I’d sit snug at home to-night.
[He and his Son retire eastwards.]
BRAND.
[Reappears higher up, and listens in the direction in which the PEASANT went.]
Homeward they grovel! Thou dull thrall,
If but thy feeble flesh were all,
If any spark of living will
Sprang in thee, I had help’d thee still.
With breaking back, and feet way-worn,
Lightly and swift I had thee borne; —
But help is idle for the man
Who nothing wills but what he can.
[Goes further on.]
Ah life! ah life! Why art thou then
So passing sweet to mortal men?
In every weakling’s estimation
His own life does as grossly weigh
As if the load of man’s salvation
Upon his puny shoulders lay.
For every burden lie’s prepared,
God help us,-so his life be spared!
[Smiles as in recollection.]
Two thoughts in boyhood broke upon me,
And spasms of laughter in me woke,
And from our ancient school-dame won me
Many a just and bitter stroke.
An Owl I fancied, scared by night;
A Fish that had the water-fright;
I sought to banish them;-in vain,
They clung like leeches to my brain.
Whence rose that laughter in my mind?
Ah, from the gulf, dimly divined,
Between the living world we see
And the world as it ought to be,
Between enduring what we must,
And murmuring, it is unjust!
Ah, whole or sickly, great or small,
Such owls, such fishes, are we all.
Born to be tenants of the deep,
Born to be exiles from the sun,
This, even this, does us appal;
We dash against the beetling steep,
Our starry-vaulted home we shun,
And crying to heaven, bootless pray
For air and the glad flames of day!
[Pauses a moment, starts, and listens.]
What do I hear? A sound of singing.
Ay, blended song and laughter ringing.
With now a cheer and now a hollo,
Another-and another-follow!
Lo, the sun rises; the mist lifts.
Already through the breaking rifts
The illimitable heights I see;
And now that joyous company
Stands out against the morning light
Upon the summit of the height.
Their shadows taper to the west,
Farewells are utter’d, hands are pressed.
And now they part. The others move
Eastward away, two westward wend,
And, waving hats and kerchiefs, send
Their farewell messages of love.
[The sun gradually breaks through and disperses the mist. BRAND stands and looks down on the two as they approach.]
How the light glitters round these two!
It is as if the mist took flight,
And flowering heather clothed the height,
And heaven laugh’d round them where they go.
Brother and sister, hand in hand,
They spring along the hill together,
She scarcely stirs the dewy heather,
And he is lissome as a wand.
Now she darts back, he rushes after,
Now slips aside, eludes his aim, —
Out of their gambols grows a game — !
And hark, a song out of their laughter!
[EINAR and AGNES, in light summer dress, both of them warm and glowing, come playing across the level. The mist is gone; a bright summer morning lies on the mountains.]
EINAR.
Agnes, my beautiful butterfly,
Playfully shalt thou be caught!
I am weaving a net, and its meshes fine
Are all of my music wrought!
AGNES.
[Dancing backwards and always eluding him.]
And am I a butterfly, dainty and slight,
Let me sip of the heather-bell blue,
And art thou a boy, let me be thy sport,
But oh! not thy captive too!
EINAR.
Agnes, my beautiful butterfly,
I have woven my meshes so thin,
And never availeth thy fluttering flight,
Soon art thou my captive within.
AGNES.
And am I a butterfly young and bright,
Full joyously I can play,
But if in thy net I a captive lie
Oh, touch not my wings, I pray!
EINAR.
Nay, I will lift thee with tender hand,
And lock thee up in my breast,
And there thou shalt play thy whole life long
At the game thy heart loves best.
[They have unwittingly approached a sheer precipice, and are now close to the edge.]
BRAND.
[Calls down to them.]
Hold! hold! You stand by an abyss!
EINAR.
Who calls us?
AGNES.
[Pointing up.]
See!
BRAND.
Heed where you go!
Your feet are on the hollow snow
That overhangs a precipice.
EINAR.
[Clasping her, and laughing up to BRAND.]
Needless for her and me your fears!
AGNES.
We have a whole life long to play!
EINAR.
In sunshine lies our destined way,
And ends but with a hundred years.
BRAND.
And then you perish? So!
AGNES.
[Waving her veil.]
No; then
We fly to heaven and play again!
EINAR.
A hundred years to revel given,
Each night the bridal lamps aflame, —
A century of glorious game —
BRAND.
And then — ?
EINAR.
Then home again to heaven, —
BRAND.
Aha! so that is whence you came?
EINAR.
Of course; how should we not come thence?
AGNES.
That is, our very latest flight
Is from the valley, eastward hence.
BRAND.
I think I saw you on the height.
