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Peer Gynt and Brand

Page 13

by Henrik Ibsen

The MAYOR enters in full regalia and greets BRAND effusively.

  MAYOR: So the great day is here!

  May I be first to cheer?

  I’m privileged to greet

  a personage so great,

  so honoured, so well loved,

  I truly feel quite moved.

  What a red-letter day!

  And how do you feel, eh?

  BRAND: As though my heart would burst –

  into ashes, or dust.

  MAYOR: Come, come, dear sir, come, come!

  I’ll not permit such gloom.

  We want your very best

  performance, the true zest,

  thunder and lightning, all

  the trimmings; yes, the full

  range of your repertoire.

  Everyone will be here.

  The acoustics are first-class

  too, so the dean says.

  The dean is most impressed!

  I also know he praised

  the style of the architecture

  and the size of the structure.

  BRAND: Ah, so he’s noticed that.

  MAYOR: Beg pardon? Noticed what?

  BRAND: It seems so very … big.

  MAYOR:          Seems? Is!

  An awe-inspiring size!

  BRAND: The things for which I’ve striven

  are turned to parodies.

  The new paradise?

  A master-builder’s heaven.

  MAYOR: Folk here are well content,

  so what more could you want?

  All right, they’re a bit dim.

  So let’s not worry them

  with talk of ‘truth’ and ‘light’.

  Truth isn’t worth the fright.

  Just give them something big

  and they’re happy: church, dog-

  house, it doesn’t matter;

  the bigger the better.

  BRAND: A finger on the scales

  and damn all principles!

  MAYOR: For all our sakes, do try

  to keep such thoughts at bay.

  You’ve won the silver cup

  for good citizenship.

  I’ll make a stirring speech,

  we’ll sing the ‘Patriots’ Song’.

  And all’s well in the Church.

  Today let truth go hang!

  BRAND: And at your liars’ feast

  who gives the loyal toast?

  MAYOR: There’s no call for abuse.

  Just let me put the case.

  Right now, my lad, you sit

  as fortune’s favourite.

  The final accolade,

  that’s yours too. You’ll be made

  a knight, by royal grace,

  Knight of the Cross (Third Class).

  BRAND: I have my cross right here.

  Deprive me if you dare.

  You’ve never understood

  my words – not a single word!

  You take a metre rule

  to measure the sublime

  measureless universe,

  God’s grandeur over all;

  visions of fire and ice,

  those blazingly supreme

  powers that radiate –

  the focus, man’s own heart!

  I can’t … I can’t go on …

  You speak to them! Explain …

  He goes up to the church.

  MAYOR [to himself]:

  ‘Grandeur’ indeed! I think

  he’s mad. Or is he drunk?

  Exit.

  BRAND [coming down across the open space]:

  Never – not even on

  the dark heights – so alone

  as here and now, amid

  this bleating multitude!

  [Looks in the direction which the MAYOR has taken.]

  He struts back to his lies

  and safe hypocrisies.

  O Agnes, O my dear,

  unable to endure

  the things that I’ve endured,

  I’m lonely and I’m tired.

  Here there’s no gain, no loss.

  Mere total emptiness.

  DEAN [arriving]:

  My dear flock! You poor sheep!

  Poor sheep? Tch! A slip

  of the tongue. Pastor! I’ll

  join you! A rehearsal –

  my sermon, you understand –

  must keep the text in mind.

  Our thanks, sir, for the way

  you’ve fought so manfully,

  overcome doubt, abuse,

  re-edified God’s house.

  BRAND: I dreamed a Church reborn;

  a people cleansed, within.

  DEAN: Oh, they’ll be clean all right.

  You’ll find they wipe their feet.

  A fine church! Resonant!

  It echoes every tone –

  two for the price of one;

  a one-hundred-per-cent

  profit. May I repeat

  on behalf of the state

  and of the diocese

  our gratitude, our praise?

  You’ll hear many a wing’d word

  sung at the festal board

  in the mead hall! The luncheon

  today. They did mention …?

  They did? Good! Colleagues of mine,

  young up-and-coming men,

  most eager to meet you. But

  you’re white as a sheet!

  BRAND: I’ve spent my strength; I’ve failed;

  now I’m to be wassailed

  by such as you.

  DEAN:      Overwrought!

  Hardly surprising … fought

  the good fight, alone.

  But now that battle’s won.

  Be cheered by such a day.

  Rest in your victory,

  revel in your reward.

  Just think of it: a crowd

  of thousands from the far-

  flung regions drawn to hear

  you speak, such is your fame!

  My colleagues, all of them,

  proud to sit at your feet.

  And then – the banquet!

  Talk of the fatted calf!

  The chef’s excelled himself.

  Lord, what a spread! Tables

  groaning with comestibles!

  Look, I welcome this chance

  to speak in confidence …

  BRAND: That’s right, dean, turn the rack!

  DEAN: Now, now, pastor, tck, tck! …

  in confidence, as I’ve said,

  and amity, let me add,

  concerning some slight

  details to be set right

  in your unique approach

  to matters of the Church.

  Put first things first: maintain

  custom and precedent.

  It saves embarrassment,

  or worse, in the long run.

  BRAND: I don’t think I quite heard …

  DEAN: The Church fulfils a need.

  It’s a repository

  for the nation’s soul,

  for praise and glory

  and patriot zeal.

  It’s a bulwark, a base

  for true morality,

  every good quality.

  I’d have said ‘treasure-house’

  but these are straitened times.

  Today, ‘good Christian’ chimes

  best with ‘good citizen’,

  if you see what I mean.

  As the state keeps its eyes

  fixed on an earthly prize,

  so the state Church prefers

  conformity as the theme

  for its own officers.

  BRAND: Your words touch the sublime.

  DEAN: Let reason lead the way.

  Reason can satisfy

  two masters at one time

  without rebuke or shame.

  But don’t ask every oaf

  you meet, ‘Is your soul safe?’

  The modern state, young man,

  thrives on republican

>   sentiments: equal rights

  and so on; though it hates

  real freedom like the plague.

  Égalité?19 Mere blague!

  But you, with your quaint views,

  discover avenues,

  nooks, crannies, that reveal

  we’re not equal at all.

  The state deals in numbers.

  You speak of ‘true members

  one with another’.

  You’ve caused us some bother.

  BRAND: The eagle is brought down;

  the goose soars to the sun.

  DEAN: Thanks be to God, we’re men,

  not fowls of the air.

  Still, if you must begin

  to quote, quote holy writ.

  You’ll not improve on that.

  Genesis to Revelation,

  a wealth of quotation

  most instructive to hear.

  The Tower of Babel,20

  now there’s a parable

  to conjure with. It seems

  written for our own times:

  everybody talking at once,

  nobody making sense.

  It’s obvious you can’t

  thrive without government.

  We all need rules. The odd

  man out, defying God,

  perishes by God’s law.

  Solitude on the brain

  can drive a man insane!

  BRAND: That vision Jacob saw21

  rising from earth to heaven:

  it is for that I have striven!

  DEAN: Personal piety!

  That’s different! When we die,

  of course we go to Him.

  (In confidence, ahem!)

  You talk of Jacob’s ladder –

  a most uplifting text.

  Faith’s one thing, life’s another.

  Try not to get them mixed.

  Six days a week we toil,

  ‘our duties to fulfil’;

  the seventh day, we rest;

  piety soothes the breast.

  Religion’s like high art,

  much better kept apart

  for those who can commune.

  Be sparing with the Word.

  Don’t scatter it like seed,

  or pearls in front of swine.

  I know how you must feel,

  in love with the ideal,

  seeking for some crusade;

  but let me be your guide.

  Things are done differently

  in the harsh light of day.

  There must be discipline.

  Some things are just not done.

  We must know where we stand.

  I’ve spoken like a friend.

  BRAND: You’ll find I don’t fit in

  to your contrivance, dean.

  DEAN: Tut, tut! tut, tut! You must!

  You’ll find that we insist:

  ‘Good servant, come up higher …’

  BRAND: By plunging in the mire!

  DEAN: ‘The meek shall be exalted’22 –

  now how can that be faulted?

  BRAND: Dean, I’m ill-qualified

  to serve. Bring out your dead.

  DEAN: God help us all, you can’t

  believe that I would ever …

  BRAND: Conscript a cadaver?

  You would! The man you want,

  that focus of your hopes,

  is a convenient corpse

  down at the mortuary,

  a bag of bones bled dry.

  DEAN: Bled dry? God bless my soul,

  young man, I’m not a ghoul!

  I speak with fair intent.

  For your own betterment,

  for your future career,

  you must knock on the right door.

  BRAND: Dean, when the cock crowed thrice

  it sounded like your voice.

  Do you suppose that I’ll

  deny …?

  DEAN:   Who said ‘denial’?

  Eschew every risk –

  that’s not much to ask.

  BRAND: ‘The fear of strife, the greed for gain,

  Upon thy brow the mark of Cain,

  Emblazoned there when thou did smite

  Innocent Abel in thy heart.’23

  DEAN [aside]:

  Far too familiar!

  Why can’t he call me ‘sir’?

  [Aloud]

  I fear that we must cut

  short our little debate.

  To sum up what’s been said:

  you can’t hope to succeed

  unless you come to terms

  with the mood of the times.

  It’s just as the mayor says –

  this nation’s changed its ways,

  and soft and soothing words

  prevail, and blunted swords.

  Why, even our poets

  take care now to carol

  their praise of the moral,

  the civil, pursuits.

  ‘More mediocrity’,

  that’s now the nation’s cry.

  ‘It’s better to be led,

  citizens, than to lead!’

  BRAND: God, to be gone from here!

  DEAN: One finds one’s proper sphere,

  all in good time. Be calm,

  acquire a uniform

  in keeping with the age. A

  drill-sergeant or drum-major

  drumming up church parades,

  the Eucharistic squads,

  a pastor marching his

  recruits to Paradise.

  A man can do things blind-

  fold, my young friend,

  if he’s a believer.

  Well, well, think it over.

  There’s a lot to be done.

  I really must rehearse

  my forthcoming address.

  I need to strike the ton.

  By the way, Brand,

  by the way, I intend

  to take as my main theme

  ‘Spirit versus Flesh’ – you know –

  Dualism, the tragic flaw,

  it’s all here. Have I time

  for a quick – ah – repast?

  Exit. BRAND stands for a moment, stricken by his own thoughts.

  BRAND: Like Mammon’s trumpet-blast

  taunting my sacrifice,

  making the clouds disperse,

  showing me the depraved

  spirits that I served,

  how hideously that creature ‘spake’

  the truth, though never for truth’s sake.

  This bitter place has drained my blood

  and buried all my earthly good

  and ruined all my great design

  and nothing that was mine is mine

  except the soul that I withhold

  from the smooth demons of the world.

  The holy dove has not descended.

  If I could find once more on earth

  faithfulness answering my faith,

  and know that solitude had ended …

  [EINAR, pale, emaciated, dressed in black, comes along the road and stops as he sees BRAND.]

  Einar!

  EINAR: That is my name.

  BRAND: Einar, it’s like a dream!

  I prayed I might find one

  person not made of stone.

  Let me embrace you!

  EINAR:        Please

  refrain. I’ve reached my haven.

  BRAND: You reject my embrace?

  So you’ve still not forgiven?

  EINAR: What was there to forgive?

  Reprobate that you are,

  I know you for a mere

  instrument of God’s love

  to me, His child of grace.

  BRAND: Harsh words.

  EINAR:       Pure words of peace

  that we, the blessèd, learn

  when our souls are reborn.

  BRAND: Strange – for wild rumour said

  that you’d gone to the bad—

  EINAR: But true! I went astray
>
  lured by the world’s display,

  believing its false gauds,

  with pride in my own words,

  my songs as they were called.

  How little they availed!

  But, God be praised, He broke

  my strength to draw me back.

  He thrust me down: I sank

  into His mire; I drank

  brandy and took to cards.

  BRAND: You call such tricks the Lord’s?

  EINAR: He tested my poor worth

  with sickness unto death;

  and I was stripped of all

  I had. In hospital,

  in my delirium,

  I saw swarm upon swarm

  of monstrous bloated flies.

  Then, after my release,

  I met – and not by chance,

  by divine providence –

  three sisters, three pure souls

  who freed me from the toils

  of sin, and from the world.

  And I became a child

  of grace. God’s ways with us

  are strange; and various

  are the paths we must tread

  to our doom or reward.

  BRAND: Various indeed! And then?

  EINAR: I sought my brother-man,

  brought him to God. At first,

  as an evangelist,

  I plucked many a soul

  from fiery alcohol

  till I began to dread

  the old pull that it had.

  So I’m joining a mission

  for Bible propagation

  among the heathen.

  BRAND:       Where?

  EINAR: Far enough from here –

  among the Negroes, so I’m told –

  Caudates24 I think they’re called.

  BRAND: Look, Einar, won’t you stay,

  at least for today,

  just for the festival?

  EINAR: No. I bid you farewell.

  BRAND: Has nothing, then, remained;

  no glad or grieving thought,

  no tenderness of heart,

  no warmth of any kind?

  EINAR: Ah, the young female who

  enticed me, to my woe,

  before faith made me pure!

  Well, what became of her?

  BRAND: Agnes became my wife.

  You hadn’t heard? Our life

  knew grief as well as joy.

  EINAR: That doesn’t signify.

  BRAND: We were blessed with a son,

  our only child. He soon

  died, though, our little boy.

  EINAR: That doesn’t signify.

  BRAND: And then Agnes died.

  Close by my church I laid

  them both to rest. Now say,

  ‘That doesn’t signify’!

  EINAR: Such things mean nothing. Tell

  me: what of her state of soul?

  BRAND: She fell asleep with utter faith

  in new life dawning after death;

  by love and gratitude possessed

  and strength of will, until the last

  breath of her being. Thus she died:

  trusting the great things that abide.

  EINAR: Vaingloriousness and sham

  piety to cover shame!

  What assurances did

  she have?

  BRAND:   Firm faith in God;

  rock-firm!

 

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