by Henrik Ibsen
10. For a fuller exploration of echoes of Kierkegaard in both Brand and Peer Gynt, see David Thomas, Henrik Ibsen (London: Macmillan, 1983), pp. 41–3.
11. Helge Rønning, Den umulige friheten. Henrik Ibsen og moderniteten (Oslo: Gyldendal, 2006), pp. 161–3.
12. Letter to Peter Hansen, 28 October 1870. HIS, vol. 12, p. 428.
13. See Åse Hjorth Lervik’s study of the poetry of the play, Ibsens verskunst i Brand (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1969), and John Northam’s elucidation of the varieties of rhythm and rhyme in ‘Dramatic and Non-dramatic Poetry’.
14. This interpretation is suggested by Helge Rønning, Den umulige friheten. Henrik Ibsen og moderniteten, pp. 163–6.
15. Letter to Edmund Gosse, 30 April 1872, HIS, vol. 13, p. 69.
16. See P. Chr. Asbjørnsen, Norske Huldre-Eventyr og Folkesagn (Christiania: P. T. Steensballe, 1870). Digitized text available at: https://archive.org/details/norskehuldreeve01asbjgoog.
17. Letter to Frants Beyer, 27 August 1874. Quoted in HIS, vol. 5, p. 587.
18. Letter to Ludwig Passarge, 19 May 1880. Quoted in The Oxford Ibsen, vol. 3, p. 492.
19. See Tore Rem: ‘ “The Provincial of Provincials”: Ibsen’s Strangeness and the Process of Canonisation’, Ibsen Studies 4, no. 2 (2004), pp. 205–26.
20. Frederick J. Marker and Lise-Lone Marker, Ibsen’s Lively Art: A Performance Study of the Major Plays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 43.
BRAND
* * *
A version for the stage by Geoffrey Hill based on a literal translation by Inga-Stina Ewbank
Characters
BRAND1
PEASANT
PEASANT’S SON
EINAR
AGNES
GERD
STARVING MAN
MAYOR
SCRIVENER
NILS SNEMYR
WOMEN OF THE VILLAGE
MEN OF THE VILLAGE
DISTRESSED WOMAN
BOAT OWNER
PEASANTS’ SPOKESMAN
BRAND’S MOTHER
DOCTOR
MESSENGER
SECOND MESSENGER
MAN WHO BRINGS WARNING
GYPSY WOMAN
SCHOOLMASTER
SEXTON
DEAN
OFFICIAL
CLERIC
CHORUS OF SPIRITS
SPECTRE OF AGNES
A VOICE
Act One
SCENE 1
In the snow, high up in the mountains. The mist lies thick; rain and semi-darkness. BRAND, dressed in black, with a staff and a pack, is slowly making his way westwards. A PEASANT and his half-grown SON, who have joined him, are a little way behind.
PEASANT [calling after BRAND]:
Hey, stranger, not so fast!
Where are you?
BRAND: Here.
PEASANT: We’re lost;
it’s never been so thick.
BRAND: We’ve lost sight of the track.
SON: Hey, look, look, a great split
in the ice.
PEASANT: Stay clear of it
for God’s sake!
BRAND: I can hear
a cataract. That roar,
where is it?
PEASANT: That’s the beck
brasting through ice and rock;
the devil knows how deep.
You will, with one more step.
BRAND: I am a priest; I said
no faltering.
PEASANT: Ay, so you did.
And I say it’s beyond
all mortal strength. The ground –
hollow – d’you feel it quake?
Don’t tempt your luck. Turn back!
BRAND: This is my destined road.
PEASANT: Ay, and who said so?
BRAND: God
said so; the God I serve.
PEASANT: Man-of-God, you’ve got nerve.
But just heed what I say!
Though you’re bishop or dean,
or some such holy man,
you’ll be dead before day.
I can’t see past my nose!
It’s miles2 to the next house,
I know that for a fact.
Don’t be so stiff-necked.
You’ve only got the one
life, and when that’s gone …
BRAND: If we can’t see the way
we’ll not be led astray
by marsh light or false track.
PEASANT: There’s ice tarns, worse than t’beck;
they’ll be the death of us.
BRAND: Not so! We’ll walk across.
PEASANT: Walk on the water?
BRAND: He
walked on Lake Galilee.
PEASANT: A good few years ago
that was. It’s harder now.
Try if you must, go on;
but you’ll sink like a stone!
BRAND: I owe God life and death.
He’s welcome to them both.
PEASANT: You’re worse than lost, you’re mad!
BRAND [stopping; approaching the pair]:
But lately, man-of-earth,
you thought this journey worth
the risk. ‘Come ice, come snow,’
you said; and told me how
your lass, down at the fjord,
lies at death’s door.
PEASANT: Afeard,
’less she bids me farewell,
Old Nick will grab her soul.
BRAND: You must get there today;
you said so.
PEASANT: I did, ay!
BRAND: What would you sacrifice
that she might die in peace?
PEASANT: To keep her soul from harm
I’d barter house and home;
I’d give all that I have.
BRAND: ‘All’, you say. Would you give
your life?
PEASANT [scratching his ear]:
Life? Now wait,
now that’s asking a lot,
Christ it is! There’s my wife,
[Points to SON.]
and him.
BRAND: Christ gave His life.
Christ’s mother gave her son.
PEASANT: Maybe. Those days are gone,
and so are miracles.
It’s different nowawhiles.
BRAND: Go! You know not the Lord,
nor He you!
PEASANT: Agh, you’re hard!
SON [tugging at him]:
Come home, let’s be gone!
PEASANT: We will that! And you, man-
of-God!
BRAND: If I refuse?
PEASANT: Stranger, think on! Suppose
we go and leave you here;
suppose you disappear
in a snow drift or get drowned,
suppose word gets around.
I’d soon be up in court
accused of God knows what.
BRAND: A martyr in His cause.
PEASANT: And that’s not worth a curse –
I’m done with God and you!
SON [screaming, as a hollow rumbling is heard in the distance]:
An ice-fall!
BRAND [to the PEASANT, who has seized his collar]:
You! Let go!
PEASANT [wrestling with BRAND]:
Not I!
BRAND: Let go, you fool!
BRAND tears himself free and throws the PEASANT down in the snow.
PEASANT: Go to the devil!
BRAND: You’ll
go to him. That’s your fate,
you can be sure of that!
He walks off.
PEASANT [sitting rubbing his arm]:
That’s doing the Lord’s work,
is it? He nearly broke
my arm.
[Shouts after BRAND as he gets up.]
Hey, man-of-faith,
help us to find the path!
BRAND: No need. You’ve found your road:
the way that is called broad.
PEASANT: I pray he’s right this time –
God bring us safely home.
He and his SON walk off in an easterly direction.
BRAND [appears higher up, looking in the direction that the PEASANT took]:
Crawl off, then, you poor slave!
Drudge where you fear to strive.
When our weak flesh alone
fails us, we struggle on
and on with bleeding feet.
Sheer willpower bears the weight.
Strange how the lifeless cling
to life with ‘Life’s the thing!’
Small men, who set great store
by life, dread all the more
its vision and its pain.
How can you save such men,
who talk of ‘sacrifice’
yet barter truth for peace?
[Smiles as if remembering something.]
When I was a boy
daydreaming at school,
I thought, ‘Suppose an owl
were frightened of the dark.’
I laughed behind my book.
Many and many a day
the teacher had me out.
‘And there’s a fish,’ I thought,
‘somewhere, that hates the sea.’
As the taws cracked, I grinned;
those two thoughts gripped my mind.
I gazed across a gulf
dividing those who dare
from those who fear to be.
Too many souls are still
like that fish, or that owl:
with their true life to make
in the depths of the dark,
if they could but endure;
who flee from their dark star,
each from his own true self;
perish in this world’s air.
[Stops for a moment, notices something and listens.]
Yet, for a moment, there is song
in the air; and laughter among
the singing; and the sound of cheers.
The sun rises and the mist is thin
already; and the plains begin
to glitter. I see travellers
clearly outlined along the crest
of the near ridge; signs of farewell,
handclasps and kisses, a lifted veil,
two youngsters parting from the rest.
They race towards me hand in hand
across the moorland, like brother
and sister, through vivid heather.
Light as a feather she skims the ground;
and he is lithe, like a young birch.
They play a childish game of catch
and all of life becomes a game.
Their laughter’s like a morning hymn.
EINAR and AGNES, clad in light travelling clothes, both of them warm and glowing, come across the plateau, as if in the midst of a game. The mist is gone; it is a clear summer morning in the mountains.
EINAR: Butterfly, butterfly,
Where are you flying?
AGNES: Far far away
From your cruel sighing.
EINAR: Butterfly, butterfly,
Rest from your dance.
You’re all of a flutter.
AGNES: Why
All this pretence?
EINAR: Butterfly, butterfly,
Lie in my hand.
AGNES: If I do I shall die.
Let me go on the wind.
Without noticing, they have come to a precipice; they are now on the edge of it.
BRAND [crying out to them from above]:
Stop! Stop, you foolish pair!
EINAR: Who’s that?
AGNES [pointing upwards]:
Look! Up there!
BRAND: That cliff – it’s undermined! –
beneath you – can’t you understand? –
You are both dancing on thin air!
EINAR [putting his arm around AGNES and laughing as he looks towards BRAND]:
Agnes and I don’t have a care.
AGNES: Old age is time enough for fears.
EINAR: Our youth shall last a hundred years.
BRAND: I see. A summer of sweet mirth,
young butterflies. Then back to earth.
AGNES [swinging her veil]:
No, not to earth. My love and I
are wandering children of the sky.
EINAR: A hundred years, in this bright world,
of never really growing old.
Time on our side, all time a game …
BRAND: And then?
EINAR: Restored to heaven and home!
BRAND: You seem so very sure.
EINAR: Oh yes,
heaven’s our permanent address!
AGNES: Einar, Einar! He knows we came
over the ridge. Stop teasing him!
EINAR: We’ve said our fond farewell to friends,
kissed and embraced and shaken hands
and made all sorts of promises.
Don’t stand there like a troll of ice!
Come down, and let me thaw you out
with wonders that will melt your heart.
Be moved, man, by the power of joy;
don’t cast a gloom across our day.
My tale begins. As you perceive,
I am an artist. I can give
wings to my thoughts, and charm all life
to radiance: a flower, a wife.
I take creation in my stride,
as I chose Agnes for my bride
that day I strode up from the south …
AGNES: The spirit of eternal youth!
His confidence was like a king’s
and he could sing a thousand songs.
EINAR: A thousand? Yes! Some inner voice
kept whispering, ‘Your masterpiece
awaits you. Seek her where she dwells
beside the streams, on the high fells!’
And so I sought, up through the woods
of conifers and where the clouds
fly swiftly under Heaven’s vault,
that creature without flaw or fault.
Suddenly, suddenly, she was there:
beauty enough for my desire!
AGNES: Poor simple Agnes neatly caught,
a butterfly in passion’s net.
EINAR: Oh, nothing ventured, nothing won!
Formalities must wait their turn.
But their turn came; and the guests came;
and there was feasting at the farm,
where blessings sought and blessings given
made the old rafters ring to heaven.
Three days and nights of feast and song!
And, when we left, that loving throng
followed and cheered us on our way
and were true celebrants of joy.
We drank the wine of fellowship
together from a silver cup.
AGNES: All through the summer night …
EINAR: The mist
parted before us, where we passed.
BRAND: And now you go …?
EINAR: On to the town,
our wedding and our honeymoon.
We’ll sail away, two swans in flight,
far to the south!
BRAND: And after that?
EINAR: A legend! An unbroken dream
made safe from sorrow, as from time.
There, on the height, without a priest
in sight to bless us, we were blest.
BRAND: Oh, indeed. Who blessed you then?
EINAR: Our friends, with love; as you’ll have seen,
this very morning on the ridge.
In parting, we received their pledge
that every dark word, every dark
/> thought, that could raise a storm or lurk
in the bright foliage of a bower,
is banished from love’s book-of-prayer.
Even such words as bear a shade
of darker meaning, they forbade.
They named us the true heirs of joy.
BRAND: So be it then.
He prepares to leave.
EINAR [taken aback and looking more closely at BRAND]:
I say …
I remember that face!
Surely I recognize …
BRAND [coldly]:
A man you never met …
EINAR: Impossible to forget …
BRAND: I was your childhood friend
but we are men now.
EINAR: Brand,
it’s you! So I was right!
BRAND: As soon as I caught sight
of you, I knew you.
EINAR: Still
the same old Brand! At school,
even, you seemed remote,
secure in your own thought.
BRAND: And with good cause. Your calm
South-land was never home
to me. And I felt cold,
shut in that easy world.
EINAR: Is this where you belong?
BRAND: Not now. When I was young
I did. Now I obey
the call, and cannot stay.
EINAR: So you’re a man-of-God.
BRAND [smiling]:
I have been so described.
I bear the Word, now here
now there. The mountain hare
is more settled than I.
But this is the true way.
EINAR: Where will it end, this true
journey?
BRAND: What’s that to you?
EINAR: Brand!
BRAND [changing his tone]:
Well, never mind …
I’ll soon be outward bound
like you … on the same boat.
EINAR: Agnes, do you hear that?
Brand’s journey is the same
as ours!
BRAND: Fondle your dream,
Einar. The place I seek,
if you came near, could turn
your wedding to a wake,
your dancers into stone.
I seek the death of God,
that dying God of yours
dying these thousand years.
I’ll see him in his shroud.
AGNES: Einar, we should go.
EINAR: Wait,
Agnes, wait a while.
[To BRAND]
What
madness! You must be ill!
BRAND: Sanity’s what you call
sickness, I suppose.
A generation whose
pastimes are its care
has sunk almost past cure.
You flirt and play the fool
and leave the bitter toil
