To leave us were the wisest way.
Your work here cannot come to good,
Nor your ideas be understood.
The little flights to purer air,
The lifting-up which, now and then,
Is doubtless well for working men,
Shall be my unremitting care.
Many agreeable facts declare
My ceaseless energy as mayor,—
Through me the population’s grown
Double, nay, almost three to one,
Since for the district I have bred
Ever new ways of getting fed.
With stubborn nature still at strife
We’ve steam’d ahead: our forward march
Here hew’d a road, there flung an arch—
To lead from——
BRAND.
Not from Faith to Life.
THE MAYOR.
To lead from fjordside to the hill.
BRAND.
But not from Doctrine unto Will.
THE MAYOR.
First of all, get a passage clear
From men to men, from place to place.
There were no two opinions here
On that, until you show’d your face.
Now you’ve made all confusion, dashing
Aurora-flames with lantern light;
With such cross-luminaries flashing,
Who can distinguish wrong from right,
Tell what will mar, and what will mend?
All diverse things you mix and blend,
And into hostile camps divide
Those who should triumph side by side.
BRAND.
Here, notwithstanding, I abide.
Man chooses not his labour’s sphere.
Who knows and follows out his call,
Has seen God’s writing on the wall,
In words of fire, “Your place is here!”
THE MAYOR.
Stay, then, but keep within your borders;
You’re free to purge the folk of crimes,
Vices, and other rifle disorders;
God knows, it’s needed oftentimes!
But don’t make every working-day
A Sabbath, and your flag display,
As if the Almighty were on board
Of every skiff that skims the fjord.
BRAND.
To use your counsel, I must change
My soul and all her vision’s range;
But we are called, _ourselves_ to be,
Our own cause bear to victory;
And I will bear it, till the land
Is all illumined where I stand!
The people, your bureaucrat-crew
Have lull’d asleep, shall wake anew;
Too long you’ve cramp’d and caged apart
These remnants of the Mountain heart;
Out of your niggard hunger-cure
They pass dejected, dull, demure:
Their best, their bravest blood you tap,
Scoop out their marrow and their sap,
Pound into splinters every soul,
That should have stood a welded whole;—
But you may live to hear the roar
Of revolution thunder: _War!_
THE MAYOR.
War?
BRAND.
War!
THE MAYOR.
Be sure, if you should call
To arms, you’ll be the first to fall.
BRAND.
The day will come when we shall know
That triumph’s height is Overthrow.
THE MAYOR.
Consider, Brand, you have to choose!
Don’t stake your fortune on one card.
BRAND.
I do, however!
THE MAYOR.
If you lose,
Your life’s irreparably marr’d.
All this world’s bounties you possess,
You, a rich Mother’s only heir,
With wife and child to be your care,—
It was a kindly hand, confess,
That dealt _your_ terms of happiness!
BRAND.
And what if I should, all the same,
Reject these terms? and _must_?
THE MAYOR.
Your game
Is over, if you’ve once unfurl’d
In this last cranny of the world
The standard of your world-wide war.
Turn southward, to yon prosperous shore
Where a man dares lift up his head;
There you may perorate of right
And bid them bleed and bid them fight;
_Our_ bloodshed is the sweat we pour
In daily wringing rocks for bread.
BRAND.
Here I remain. My home is here!
And here the battle-flag I’ll rear.
THE MAYOR.
Think what you lose, if overthrown,
And, chiefly, think of what you quit!
BRAND.
Myself I lose, if I submit.
THE MAYOR.
Hopeless is he that fights alone.
BRAND.
The _best_ are with me.
THE MAYOR.
[_Smiling._]
That may be,
But they’re the _most_, who follow _me_.
[_Goes._
BRAND.
[_Looking after him._]
A people’s champion, thorough-bred!
Active, with fair and open hand,
Honest of heart and sound of head,
But yet a scourge upon the land!
No avalanche, no winter-blast,
No flood, nor frost, nor famine-fast
Leaves half the ruin in its rear
That such a man does, year by year.
Life only by a plague is reft;
But he——! How many a thought is cleft,
How many an eager will made numb,
How many a valiant song struck dumb
By such a narrow soul as this!
What smiles on simple faces breaking,
What fires in _lowly_ bosoms waking,
What pangs of joy and anger, seed
That might have ripened into deed,
Die by that bloodless blade of his!
[_Suddenly, in anxiety._]
But O the summons! the summons—No!
It is the Doctor!
_Enter_ DOCTOR.
[_Hurries to meet him._]
Say! say! How——?
THE DOCTOR.
She stands before her Maker now.
BRAND.
Dead!—But repentant?
THE DOCTOR.
Scarcely so;
She hugg’d Earth’s goods with all her heart
Till the Hour struck, and they must part.
BRAND.
[_Looking straight before him in deep emotion._]
Is here an erring soul undone?
THE DOCTOR.
She will be mildly judged, maybe;—
And Law temper’d with equity,
BRAND.
[_In a low tone._]
What said she?
THE DOCTOR.
Low she mutter’d: _He_
Is no hard dealer, like my son.
BRAND.
[_Sinking in anguish upon the bench._]
Guilt-wrung or dying, still that lie
That every soul is ruin’d by!
[_Hides his face in his hands._
THE DOCTOR.
[_Goes towards him, looks at him, and shakes his head._]
You seek, a day that is no more,
In one and all things to restore.
You think, God’s venerable pact
With man is still a living fact;—
Each Age in its own way will walk;
Ours is not scared by nurses’ talk
Of hell-bound soul and burning brand;—
Humanity’s our first command!
BRAND.
[_Looking up._]
Humanity!—That sluggard phrase
Is the world’s watchword nowadays.
With this each bungler hides the fact
That he dare not and will not act;
With this each weakling masks the lie,
That he’ll risk all for victory;
With this each dastard dares to cloak
Vows faintly rued and lightly broke;
Your puny spirits will turn Man
Himself Humanitarian!
Was God “humane” when Jesus died?
Had _your_ God then his counsel given,
Christ at the cross for grace had cried—
And the Redemption signified
A diplomatic note from Heaven.
[_Hides his head, and sits in mute grief._
THE DOCTOR.
[_Softly._]
Rage, rage thy fill, thou soul storm-stress’d;—
Best were it for thee to find tears.
AGNES.
[_Comes out on to the steps: pale and terrified she whispers
to the DOCTOR._]
In! Follow me!
THE DOCTOR.
You raise my fears!
What is it, child?
AGNES.
Into my breast
Creeps cold a serpent of affright——!
THE DOCTOR.
What is it?
AGNES.
[_Pulling him away._]
Come!—Great God of Might.
[_They go into the house; BRAND does not notice._
BRAND.
[_To himself._]
Impenitent alive,—and dead!
This is the finger of the Lord!
Now through my means shall be restored
The treasure she has forfeited;
Else tenfold woe upon my head!
[_Rises._]
Henceforth as by my sonship bound,
Unflinching, on my native ground
I’ll battle, a soldier of the Cross,
For Spirit’s gain by Body’s loss.
Me with His purging fire the Lord
Hath arm’d, and with His riving Word:
Mine is that Will and that strong Trust
That crumbles mountains into dust!
THE DOCTOR.
[_Followed by AGNES comes hastily out, and cries._]
Order your house and haste away!
BRAND.
Were there an earthquake I would stay!
THE DOCTOR.
Then you have doom’d your child to death.
BRAND.
[_Wildly._]
The child! Alf! Alf! What phantom wraith
Of fear is this! My child!
[_Is about to rush into the house._
THE DOCTOR.
[_Holding him back._]
Stay, stay.—
Here summer sunshine pierces not,
Here polar ice-blasts rive and rend,—
Here dank and stifling mists descend.
Another winter in this spot
Will shrivel the tender life away.
Go hence, you’ll save him! No delay!
To-morrow’s best.
BRAND.
To-night,—to-day!
Now, ere another hour is out!
O yet he shall grow strong and stout;—
No blast from mountain or from shore
Shall chill his baby-bosom more.
Come, Agnes, lift him gently in sleep!
Away along the winding deep!
O Agnes, Agnes, death has spun
His web about our little son!
AGNES.
Foreboding trembled in my heart,—
And yet I only knew a part.
BRAND.
[_To the DOCTOR._]
But flight will save him? That is sure?
THE DOCTOR.
The life a father day and night
Watches, all perils can endure.
Be all to him! and healthy, bright,
You soon shall see him, be secure!
BRAND.
Thanks, thanks!
[_To AGNES._]
In down enclose him well;
Chill sweeps the night-wind from the fell.
[_AGNES goes in._
_The DOCTOR silently watches BRAND, who gazes fixedly
through the door; then goes to him, and lays his hand
on his shoulder._
THE DOCTOR.
So tender to his own distress.
And to the world so merciless!
For them avails not _more_ nor _less_!
Only Law’s absolute _Nought_ or _All_,
But now—no sooner sees he fall
The dooming lot,—his valour’s flown;
—The sacrificial lamb’s his own!
BRAND.
What mean you?
THE DOCTOR.
In the dying ear
You thunder’d the decree of fear:
To perish, unless All she gave,
And went down naked to her grave!
And that cry rang again, again,
When need was direst among men!
_You_’re now the shipwreckt sailor, cleaving
To swamp’d boat through the storms of doom,
And from its upturned bottom heaving
To see your tracts on Wrath to Come,
To sea, to sea, the bulky tome
That struck your Brothers’ bosoms home;
Now you ask only wind and wave
To waft your infant from death’s reach.
Fly, only fly, by bay and beach,
Fly from your very mother’s grave,—
from the souls you’re sent to save;—
“The Parson does not mean to preach!”
BRAND.
[_Wildly clutching his head as if to gather his thoughts._]
Am I _now_ blind? Or _was_ I?
THE DOCTOR.
Nay,
A father has no other way;
Don’t fancy that your act I blame;
I hold you greater, clipt and tame,
Than in your giant strength secure.—
Farewell! I’ve held you up a glass;
Use it and sigh: “Alas, alas,
Is this a Titan’s portraiture?”
[_Goes._
BRAND.
_Gazing a while before him: then bursts out._]
Before—or now,—when did I stray?
_AGNES comes out with a cloak over her shoulders and the
child in her arms; BRAND does not see her; she is
about to speak, but stands petrified with terror at
the look in his face. At the same moment A MAN comes
in hastily through the garden-gate. The sun is
setting._
THE MAN.
Hark, priest, you have a foe!
BRAND.
[_Clenching his hand against his breast._]
Yes, _here_!
THE MAN.
Watch well the Mayor. The seed you sow
Sprang ever bravely into ear,
Till blighting slanders laid it low.
With meaning hints he has implied
That by-and-by this house would lack
A tenant, and you’d turn your back,
The day your wealthy mother died.
BRAND.
And if it were so——
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 call’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 howes,
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 my 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;
_My_ priest has so brave a song,
That the whole earth rings to hear it.
BRAND.
Who has bidden thee, shattered 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. Garden-door
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 travelling dress, which he
removes during what follows._
AGNES
[_Throwing her arms about him._]
Oh, how long thou wast 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!
_His_ the bush was, so we said;
Ah, _’twas_ 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 _thou_ 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:
His, 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 cast 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 be!
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 me 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 _corse_; 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 be 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.