by Henrik Ibsen
BRAND: Words foolish and vain!
Try to make ‘all or nothing’
fit your ‘humane’ clothing.
Was God ‘humane’ to Jesus Christ?
Was He a bloodless altruist?
Your God of liberal discernment
would doubtless manage the atonement
with a brisk noncommittal note
like any cautious diplomat.
He hides his head and sits in mute grief.
DOCTOR [softly]:
Rage, rage, you soul in a storm,
till you have spent your force.
Better if you could weep …
AGNES has come out on to the steps; she is pale and terrified and whispers to the DOCTOR.
AGNES: Doctor, please; please come;
come to the child!
DOCTOR Of course,
my dear, of course! And stop
trembling; you’ll make me afraid!
AGNES [pulling him along with her]:
Hurry, please! Merciful God!
They go into the house. BRAND does not notice them.
BRAND: She died as she had lived,
past hope of being saved.
Therefore God’s writ thrusts home
the justice of the claim:
her son must bear the cost
or be himself accurst.
So be it. I am sworn
from this moment on
never to turn aside
from my great crusade,
this travail towards the will’s harsh
triumph over the flesh.
God is my strength. The word
of His mouth is like a sword
for me to wield. His wrath
kindles my very breath.
I am possessed of His will.
I shall make mountains fall.
The DOCTOR, followed by AGNES, comes hurriedly out on to the steps.
DOCTOR: Get ready at once, and leave.
BRAND: If I felt the whole earth
shudder, I would not move.
DOCTOR: Then your child will die;
you have condemned him to death.
BRAND [bewildered; making to go into the house]:
Alf? What troll-tale is this?
DOCTOR: Stay
a moment. Tell me, when
did you last see the sun?
Must I tell you how fierce
the gusts are; how the fog
is like the breath of the ice?
Your house is an iceberg.
One more winter spent
here, and your tender plant
will perish. Go! Go soon!
Tomorrow if you can.
BRAND: This very evening.
Agnes, we’ll lift him up
gently in his sleep.
No more shall the ravening
ice-winds from the shore
scorch him with their cold fire.
Never again shall he feel
the glacier’s deathly chill.
We must find a new home
far away where it’s warm,
where he can thrive and grow.
Hurry! Hurry now!
His death’s a web that’s spun
closer each minute!
AGNES: I’ve known
a secret dread. In my heart
I foresaw this threat;
I feared for his life.
But not enough.
BRAND [to the DOCTOR]:
If we make our escape
now, there truly is hope
that his health will improve?
I have your word?
DOCTOR: You have.
BRAND: Doctor, you’ve saved my son.
Agnes, be sure to fold
round him the warm eiderdown.
The evening air strikes cold.
AGNES goes into the house. The DOCTOR gazes silently at BRAND, who stands motionless looking in through the door; then he goes up to him, putting his hand on his shoulder.
DOCTOR: For a man without remorse
you’re quick to compromise
when the lamb to be slain
is yours, your own first-born.
One law for the world,
another for your child,
a double standard,
is that it? You thundered
‘all or nothing’ in the ears
of those poor villagers
in their terror and want.
You refused to forgive
your mother unless she went
naked to the grave.
But now it’s your turn
to be the shipwrecked man
clinging to the keel
in the howling gale.
What good are they now,
those tables of the law?
Your sermons on hell-fire,
what a burden they are!
Jettison them!
Now it’s sink or swim;
and it’s ‘God keep him safe,
my own darling boy!’
You’d best be on your way.
Take your child and your wife
and go. And don’t glance back
at your forsaken flock.
And don’t spare a thought
for the hapless plight
of your mother’s soul.
Renounce the call.
Farewell, then, priest!
‘Consummatum est!’11
BRAND clutches his head in bewilderment as if to collect his thoughts.
BRAND: Have I been struck blind?
Or was I blind before?
DOCTOR: Please don’t misunderstand.
I entirely applaud
this change in your mood.
I very much prefer
the new family man
to the old man-of-iron.
Believe me, I’ve spoken out
for your own good. I’ve put
a mirror in your hand.
Look hard at what you find.
Exit.
BRAND [gazing for a while in front of him; then suddenly exclaiming]:
As I am now … as I was then …
where does truth end, error begin …?
Blind man or seer, which man am I?
AGNES comes out of the house with a cloak over her shoulders and the child in her arms. BRAND does not see them. She is about to speak but stops as if struck by terror when she sees the expression on his face. At the same moment a MAN comes hurriedly through the garden gate. The sun sets.
MAN: A word in your ear.
Watch out for the mayor.
You’ve roused an enemy.
BRAND [pressing his hand against his breast]:
An enemy indeed!
MAN: He’s after your blood.
The good seed you’d sown,
thriving it was;
ay, really thriving.
Then up he slinks and says,
‘The pastor’s leaving.
I told you he would;
I said he’d be gone
at the first glint of gold.’
Well, that was that:
mildew and blight!
BRAND: If what he said was true …?
MAN: Nay, pastor, not you!
We all know the reason
he’s spreading poison.
You always speak your mind;
and you won’t break or bend.
That’s what he can’t abide.
BRAND: But suppose he’s not lied …
MAN: Then you’ve betrayed us all;
and yourself as well.
Again and again you’ve said
how you’ve been summoned by God,
how your heart’s home is here,
how you’re fighting this war
right through to the end,
here on your home ground;
how brave men, once they’re called,
can’t quit the fight, nor yield.
It’s been
like a great song
you’ve sung us. Ay, and strong
and steady is the flame
you’ve lit in many hearts.
BRAND: A rabble of deaf-mutes,
and sleepers who won’t wake.
This battle’s not for them.
MAN: Pastor, it is; as you
well know! Things gleam and glow
as never before, like the sun-
rise in Heaven!
BRAND: One in ten
thousand turns to the light.
The rest crouch in the dark.
MAN: You are a torch in the night!
I’m not booklearned, sir.
I live by inward prayer.
It’s you that’s lugged me out
from the depths of the pit.
If you let go, I’m lost.
You can’t! I hold you fast!
Bless you, sir! Praise the Lord!
You’ll not play false to Him;
nor leave us to our doom.
Exit.
AGNES [timidly]:
Your cheeks are deathly white;
your lips are bloodless; it
seems that your very heart
is crying out its hurt.
BRAND: Every resounding word
is my accuser now.
My own prophetic voice
echoes with mocking force
from that blank face of snow.
AGNES [taking a step forward]:
I am prepared.
BRAND: Prepared? Prepared for what?
AGNES [forcefully]:
For all that I must meet.
GERD runs past on the road outside and stops at the garden gate.
GERD [clapping her hands and shouting with a wild joy]:
Hey! Have you heard?
The priest’s flown away.
And now the throngs
of dwarfs and trolls,
all swart and spry,
swarm on the hills.
The spiteful things,
they scratched my eyes,
look! with their claws.
And half my soul
they tweaked and stole;
left me with half
a soul for life.
BRAND: Curb your tongue, girl.
Don’t prance and shrill
so! I’ve not gone,
you simpleton,
I’m here!
GERD: O sir,
I can see you are.
But you’re not him.
You’re not the priest,
you’re not. My hawk,
it swooped and hissed,
an angry gleam
through mist and murk.
With that one swoop
it snatched him up.
Away he rode,
the priest, astride,
as though with saddle,
whip, spur, and bridle!
His church stands cold and bare,
and its poor day is done.
But mine, now! Look at mine!
It soars so close to Heaven!
A true priest worships there.
His cope is woven
from strands of ice and fire.
And when he chants and sings,
the whole earth rings.
BRAND: You witch, why do you try
to lead my soul astray
with your wild riddles
of heathen idols?
GERD comes inside the garden gate.
GERD: Idol? What does that mean?
Ah … I know what it is.
Sometimes it’s like a man,
but a giant in size.
Sometimes it’s very small,
like a little doll.
Always it’s of gold.
Sometimes it’s like a child,
a child fast asleep.
[Points.]
Is that your idol? Hey,
don’t snatch it away;
let me take a peep!
Let me touch, let me feel
under that pretty shawl!
AGNES [to BRAND]:
Have you any tears
left? Have you any prayers?
My sorrow’s all been burned
away, by dread …
BRAND: O Agnes, this poor
mad creature – she has been sent
by some all-seeing power …
GERD: Listen! Listen! That sound
echoing round the fells!
Look! Look! Look how they march
and jostle to my church,
trolls that the priest had drowned,
all risen from the reefs,
all summoned by the bells!
Look there! A thousand dwarfs.
The old priest locked them in,
buried them in the screes,
sealed with his holy sign,
sealed with the Christians’ cross.
Look how they rise and swarm,
troll-children, the undead,
thronging the mountainside.
How they chatter and scream,
how they whimper and cry,
‘Mother! Mother!’ The womenfolk
gaze on them with joy
and fondle them; and some
give them their breasts to suck.
O look, they’re in a dream!
All those good pious souls
walking with the trolls
as though among their own
dear children!
BRAND: Now be gone,
will you! Out of my sight!
GERD: Look! Do you see him sit,
do you, there where the road
starts to climb to the fell?
He’s writing in his book
the names of his great flock.
Soon he will have them all.
How he’s laughing! He’s glad
the little church stands bare,
shut with bolt and bar;
glad the old priest has flown
far away through the murk
on the great hawk’s back.
Hey! Catch me if you can!
She springs over the garden wall and disappears among the rocks. Silence.
AGNES [approaching, and speaking very quietly]:
And now we too must go.
BRAND [staring at her]:
But where, though,
out or in?
He points first to the garden gate, then to the door of the house.
AGNES [shrinking back in terror]:
Brand! What do you mean?
Your child …
BRAND [following her]:
Answer me!
What am I first –
his father, or their priest?
AGNES [shrinking back even further]:
If a voice through a cloud
spoke in thunder, ‘Reply!’,
what could I find to say?
Not a word, not a word.
BRAND: You have a mother’s right
to choose. This way, or that?
AGNES: Ask what you dare to ask,
I am your wife. My task
is simply to obey.
BRAND [as if about to seize her arm]:
Then I implore you: take
this cup of agony.
Drink of it, for my sake.
AGNES [drawing back]:
But if I did, I would not
have a mother’s heart.
BRAND: So the judgement is given …
AGNES: What choice do you have …?
BRAND: Is given and upheld.
AGNES: Do you truly believe
that you are called?
BRAND [grasping her hand tightly]:
Yes. Is it life, or death?
AGNES: Follow your true path.
BRAND: Then let us go.
AGNES [tonelessly]:
The road,
Brand; where does it lead?
[BRAND is silent. AGNES points
to the garden gate.]
Is this the way?
BRAND [pointing to the door of the house]:
No, this.
AGNES [lifting the child high in her arms]:
That which you have dared
to ask of me, O Lord,
I dare to give to Heaven.
Accept my sacrifice.
Now lead me through your night.
She goes into the house. BRAND stares blindly for a moment; bursts into tears; clasps his hands over his head and throws himself down on the steps.
BRAND [crying out]:
Lord, grant me light!
Act Four
Christmas Eve in the pastor’s house. It is dark in the room. On the back wall, a door leading out; a window on one side of the stage, a door on the other. AGNES stands dressed in mourning at the window and stares out into the darkness.
AGNES: Another night. And still he’s not
returned. I’ve waited, my heart
heavy with cry upon cry.
And heavily, silently,
the snow falls. Thick and soft,
already it has roofed
and robed the old church in white.
Ah, what was that? The gate!
Footsteps, now, at the door!
Hurry, oh hurry!
[Goes to the door and opens it. BRAND enters, covered with snow, in travelling clothes, which he throws off during the following lines.]
My dear,
dear love, how long you’ve been!
O Brand, don’t ever leave me again!
I’m lonely; I can’t endure
this shadow-house when you’re
not with me. I’m so cold.
Comfort me!
BRAND lights a candle; it glimmers faintly in the room.
BRAND: My poor child,
how pale you look, so very pale
in the candlelight. Are you ill?
AGNES: No, no, not ill; but tired
and faint with watching. I feared
so much for you. Look, I’ve twined
the few evergreens I could find
as garlands for our tree.12 They seem
more like wreaths, though, for him …
for our son …
She begins to cry.
BRAND: He’s dead and buried,
Agnes. So let your tears be dried.
AGNES: Be patient with me. The hurt
I had was deep. It will smart
for a while. But pain
withers. I shall be quiet soon.
BRAND: Agnes! Agnes! Is this how
you keep Christmas – with sorrow?
AGNES: I beg you: bear with my grief.
My little son … he was all life …
and now … now …
BRAND: In his grave.
AGNES: Don’t taunt me, for the love
of God!
BRAND: It must be said.
The more you are afraid
the more you must hear
his knell, as waves toll on the shore.
AGNES: You suffer. Will you not admit
you suffer? Even now, the sweat
glistens on your forehead.
BRAND: It’s only spray from the fjord.
AGNES: That moisture on your cheek,
