The Sabbath to the toiling six;
Now we can strike our sail, and fix
Our Sunday pennon to the mast,
Glide softly with the gliding flood
And find that all is very good.
Bravo!—great, noble man, whose fame
Will soon be far and wide related.
Bravo!—I’m moved, yet all the same
Most inexpressibly elated!
But you appear——?
BRAND.
I’m suffocated.
THE MAYOR.
Pooh, a mere momentary whim!
Preach you now, till it roars again!—
Fill the folks’ bushel to the brim.
Not one his wonder can contain,
The resonance is so full and plain.
BRAND.
Indeed?
THE MAYOR.
The Dean himself is warm
In admiration and delight.
And then, what elegance of form,
And what a grandeur, what a height
In every part——
BRAND.
You’ve noted this?
THE MAYOR.
What noted?
BRAND.
It seems great to you?
THE MAYOR.
Why, it not only _seems_, but _is_,
No matter what the point of view.
BRAND.
It is great? Really? That is true—?
THE MAYOR.
Great?—yes, God bless me,—and to spare—
For folks so far to North. Elsewhere
They’ve higher standards, I’m aware.
But among us who captive dwell
Amid drear wastes and barren mounds,
On the scant verge of fjord and fell,
Its greatness ’mazes and confounds.
BRAND.
Yes, that is so, and all we do
Is,—change an old lie for a new.
THE MAYOR.
What?
BRAND.
We have lured their hearts away
From the time-honour’d gloom and mould
To soaring spire and open day.
“How venerable!” they cried of old.
“How vast!” in chorus now they roar—
“The like was never seen before!”
THE MAYOR.
My worthy friend, I needs must hold
His breeding scarcely _quantum suff._
For whom it is not great enough.
BRAND.
But clear it shall be unto all
That, as it stands, the Church is small.
To keep that hidden were to lie.
THE MAYOR.
Nay, listen,—let such whimsies fly!
What can it profit to dispraise
What you yourself have toil’d to raise?
You’ve satisfied their utmost dream;
It seems to them more rich and rare
Than aught they e’er saw anywhere:—
Let it continue so to seem!
Why should we vex their silly sight
With proffers of the flaming link,
When they’re indifferent to light?
The question’s only what they _think_.
It does not signify a jot
Though the Church were a pigeon-cot,
If in the faith they’re rooted fast,
That it is infinitely vast.
BRAND.
In every matter the same thought.
THE MAYOR.
To-day, moreover, we hold fête;
The whole assembly is our guest;
It is a point of etiquette
That everything should look its best;
And for your own sake, most of all,
It were judicious to keep clear
Of that sore fact—that it is small.
BRAND.
How so?
THE MAYOR.
Well, listen, you shall hear.
Firstly, the headmen of the town
Are giving you a piece of plate,
Whose graved inscription is frustrate
If the work’s size is whittled down;
And then the Ode, composed express,
And my inaugural address,—
You leave them helpless in the lurch,
Docking the greatness of the Church.
You see then, you must yield your doubt,
And boldly face the matter out.
BRAND.
I see, what oft has stung my eye,
A lying triumph crown the lie.
THE MAYOR.
But, in God’s name, my worthy friend,
Where do these strong expressions tend?
However, waiving points of taste,
Hear now my second reason,—gold,
As that was silver; for, behold,
You, like a chosen son, are graced
With favour in the royal sight;
In short,—you have been named a Knight!
This very day you’ll walk elate,
Cross upon breast, a titled man.
BRAND.
Another, heavier cross’s weight
I bear; take that from me who can.
THE MAYOR.
What’s this? You do not seem to shake
With agitation at such prize?
You mystery of mysteries!
But pray consider, for God’s sake——
BRAND.
[_Stamping._]
This is mere babble of vain speech:—
Nothing I learn and nothing teach;
You have not grasp’d the smallest shred
Of the true sense of what I said.
I meant not greatness men compute,
And measure by the inch and foot,
But that which, viewless, darts and streams,
Pierces the soul with frosts and fires,
That beckons to impassion’d dreams,
And like the starlit heaven inspires—
That—leave me! I am worn, oppress’d;—
Convince, teach, edify the rest.
[_Goes up towards the Church._
THE MAYOR.
[_To himself._]
In such a labyrinth who can stray
And find an issue? Greatness lay
In something that is “viewless,” “streams,”
“Not inchwise measured,” “lifts to dreams,”
And “starlit heaven”? It went so, surely?
Has he been lunching prematurely?
[_Goes._
BRAND.
[_Comes down over the open ground._]
So desolate on the upland drear
I never stood as I stand here;
My impotent questionings evoke
Echoes that cackle and that croak.
[_Looks towards the MAYOR._]
For him, I would my heel might bruise
His head! Each time I make emprise
To loose him from the bond of lies,
With shameless wantonness he spews
His rotten soul before my eyes!—
O Agnes, why wast thou so frail?
Would that this hollow game were done,
Where none give in, and none prevail;—
Yes, hopeless he that fights alone!
THE DEAN.
[_Coming up._]
O, my beloved! O, my sheep—!
Nay, I beg pardon,—would have said
My reverend brother!—cannot keep
My predication from my head;
I got it yesterday by rote,
The taste still lingers in my throat.
Enough of that.—To you I offer
My thanks, whose energy began,
Whose firmness carried through, the plan,
Despite the babbler and the scoffer;
Fell’d that which was about to fall,
And worthily restored it all!
BRAND.
Far from that yet.
THE DEAN.
How say you, friend?
Is Consecration not the end?
BRAND.
A House new-builded asks, as well,
A cleansed Soul, therein to dwell.
THE DEAN.
All that will come without our stir.
So gay, so elegant a roof
Will be an adequate reproof
To every unwash’d worshipper.
And that delightful sounding-board,
That doubles every pious word,
Will render without fail our flocks
Fivescore per cent. more orthodox,
Results so notable as these
The first-rate Nationalities
Themselves, ’tis said, can hardly better.—
For this your Country is your debtor,
Yours only; let me then express
These heartfelt, brotherly thanks of mine,
To be re-echoed, as I guess,
In winged words across the wine,
By many a fiery young divine,
When at the festal board we crown
This the great day of your renown.—
But, my dear Brand, you look so faint—?
BRAND.
My heart and hope have long been spent.
THE DEAN.
No wonder;—with so grave a care,
And all unaided and unfriended.
But now the worst of it is ended,
And all gives promise of a splendid
Day for our function. Don’t despair!
All will go well. Reflect! A throng
Has gather’d, many thousand strong,
From far-off parishes,—and who
Can vie in eloquence with you?
See where your reverend brethren stand,
To welcome you with heart and hand;
While all these lowly bosoms beat
With ardour for you, first to last!
And then, the work, so ably plann’d,
The decoration, so complete,—
The general theme—How great! How vast!
—And the unparallel’d repast!
Into the kitchen I was looking
Just now, and saw the calf a-cooking.
Nay, Brand, a pretty beast, I vow!
You must have had some trouble, now,
In these hard times, before you found
So fine a bit of flesh to cater,
With meat at half a crown a pound!
But that can be deferr’d till later.
I’m on another errand bound.
BRAND.
Speak freely; slash, stab, rive and rend!
THE DEAN.
I have a milder way, my friend.
But briefly; for our duties press.
One little matter, I confess,
I’d have you from to-day set right;
A task that cannot but be light.
Nay, I imagine you can guess
Half what I’m hinting at, at least?
I mean, your duties as a priest.
Hitherto you have been a loose
Observer still, of Wont and Use;
But Use and Wont, if not the best
Of things, are yet the needfulest.
Well, well, I will not be severe;
You’re young, and but a novice here,
Town-bred, and scarcely understand
What country usages demand.
But now, now it is urgent, friend,
The lack of judgment to amend.
You hitherto have too much heeded
What this man and what that man needed;
That error (in your private ear)
Is grievous. Weigh them in the block;
Use the same comb for all the flock;
You won’t repent it, never fear.
BRAND.
Be more explicit.
THE DEAN.
The thing’s clear.
You for the Parish’s behoof
Have built a Church. That is the woof
That robes the spirit of Law and Peace;
For to the State, religion is
The power that lifts and purifies,
The stronghold where its safety lies,
The universal moral measure.
You see, the State is scant of treasure,
And wants full value for its pence.
“Good Christians” means “good citizens.”
Do you suppose it pays its pelf
To be for God and Man a tool,
And bring annoyance on itself?
No, faith, the State is not a fool;
And all our course would run amiss,
Did not the State, by strictest rule,
Look only to the life that is.
But the State’s object, my good friend,
Through its officials must be gain’d,
In this case through its priests——
BRAND.
Each word
Is wisdom! Speak!
THE DEAN.
I’m near the end.
This Church, you see, you have conferr’d
Upon the State, for its sole profit;
And, therefore, all the uses of it
Must to the State’s advantage tend.
This is the meaning, note it well,
Of our forthcoming celebration,
This shall be meant by chiming bell,
And this by Gift-deed’s recitation.
A promise thus the Gift implies,
Whose force I’d have you scrutinise——
BRAND.
By God, I never meant it so!
THE DEAN.
Yes; but it’s now too late, you know——
BRAND.
Too late? Too late! That will be seen!
THE DEAN.
Be sensible! I can’t keep grave!
What is the tragedy therein?
You are not ask’d to promise sin?
Souls do not grow more hard to save
Because the Country profits too;
With due discretion and despatch
Two masters’ bidding you may do;
You were not made a priest, to snatch
Peter or Harry’s single soul
Out of the torments of the lake;
But that the Parish as a whole
Might of the shower of grace partake;
And, the whole Parish saved, it’s clear,
You save every Parishioner.
The State is (what you hardly dream)
Exactly half republican:
Liberty held in strictest ban,
Equality in high esteem.
Yet is Equality never won
But by destroying More and Less,—
And it is that you have not done!
Nay, you have striven to express
And emphasise unlikenesses
That slumber’d hitherto unknown.
Men, mere Church-members till of late,
To Personalities are grown.
That does no service to the State;
And thus it is, each Parish rate,
Each offering to the common good,
Is from unwilling niggards bled;
The Church no longer is the hood
That fits alike on every head.
BRAND.
O, vistas infinite unfold!
THE DEAN.
Don’t be cast down; no gain in that
Though I must own I shudder at
The dire confusion I behold.
But while there’s life there’s hope, and you
Are by this gift baptized anew
To obligations yet more great
Of serving, by your Church, the State.
Men need a rule in all they do;
Or reckless forces, breaking loose,
Like colts undaunted by the curb,
Spurn gates and fences, and disturb
The thousand landmarks of old Use.
Each order’d mode of life proclaims
One Law, that goes by many names.
The Artist calls it School, and I’m
Mistaken if I have not heard
Our soldiers call it keeping time.
Ah yes, friend, that’s the very word!
That’s what the State desires at last!
Double-quick time gets on too fast,
And goose-step lags too far behind;
All men to step alike, and beat
The selfsame music with their feet,
That is the method to its mind!
BRAND.
Kennel the eagle;—and let loose
On empyrean flights the goose!
THE DEAN.
We, thank the Lord, are 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’d 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, of 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 be 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,—but 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!—
[_Aloud._]
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.
BRAND.
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,
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.
[_Goes._
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 _one_ 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 help’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’s 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.
_You_ 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!
THE MAYOR.
[_Comes hastily in._]
Pray, dear Pastor, hasten, do!
The procession-people stand
Waiting only the command—
BRAND.
Let them come then!
THE MAYOR.
Wanting you!
Pray reflect, and hasten in!
All impatient to begin,
See, the whole mass throng and strain;
Like a torrent after storm
On the Manse they surge and swarm,
Shouting for the Priest. Again,
Hark you, for “the Priest” they shout,
Pray make haste! I much misdoubt,
They may scarcely prove humane!
BRAND.
Never will I hide my face
In the crowd that you command;
Let them seek me: here I stand.
THE MAYOR.
Are you sane?
BRAND.
The path you pace
Is too narrow for my tread.
THE MAYOR.
And ’twill still grow less and less
As the people push ahead.
Zounds! They spurn at rod and check!
Parsons, Dean, and Corporation
Jostled to the brimming beck—!
Quickly, friend, make application
Of the scourge of your persuasion!
Ha, too late, they smash the line;
The procession is a wreck!
_The multitude stream in, and break in wild disorder through
the procession to the church._
VOICES.
Priest!
OTHERS.
[_Pointing up to the Church steps, where BRAND
stands._]
See yonder!
OTHERS AGAIN.
Give the sign!
THE DEAN.
[_Jostled in the throng._]
Mayor, Mayor, control them, pray!
THE MAYOR.
All my words are thrown away!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_To_ BRAND.]
Speak to them, and cast a gleam
On their spirits’ troubled stream!
What you summon’d us to see,
Was it Feast or foolery?
BRAND.
O, there stirs a current, then,
In these stagnant waters.—Men,
At the crossway stand ye: choose!
_Wholly_ ye must will to lose
The old vesture of your lust,
Utterly anew be clad,
Ere our Temple from the dust
Rises, as it shall and must!
OFFICIALS.
He is raving!
CLERGY.
He is mad!
BRAND.
Yes, I was so, when I thought
Ye in some sense also wrought
For the God who hateth Lies!
When I dream’d that I could lure
To your hearts His Spirit pure
By a feat of compromise.
Small the Church was; logic thence
Palter’d to the inference:
Twice the size—that cannot fail;
Fivefold,—that must needs prevail!
O, I saw not that the call
Was for _Nothing_ or else _All_.
Down that easy way I reel’d,
But to-day the Lord has spoken,
In this very hour has peal’d
Overhead the awful blast
Of His Judgment-trump at last,—
And I listen’d, in the wind
Of my anguish, baffled, broken,—
Even as David, having sinn’d—;
Now all hesitation dies.
Men! The Devil is _compromise_!