A monologue from the
play by Henrik
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from The Collected Works of Henrik Ibsen, vol. iii: Brand.
Trans. C.H. Herford. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1911.
MONOLOGUES BY HENRIK IBSEN
- BRAND: Yes, I know myself once more!
- Every boat-house by the shore,
- Every home; the landslip-fall,
- And the ancient moulder'd church,
- And the river alders, all
- From my boyhood I recall.
- But methinks it all has grown
- Grayer, smaller than I knew;
- Yon snow-cornice hangs more prone
- Than of old it used to do,
- From that scanty heaven encloses
- Yet another strip of blue,
- Beetles, looms, immures, imposes--
- Steals of light a larger due.
- [Sits down and gazes into the distance.]
- And the fjord too. Crouch'd it then
- In so drear and deep a den?
- 'Tis a squall. A square-rigg'd skiff
- Scuds before it to the land.
- Southward, shadow'd by the cliff,
- I descry a wharf, a shed,
- Then, a farm house, painted red.--
- 'Tis the farm beside the strand!
- 'Tis the widow's farm. The home
- Of my childhood. Thronging come
- Memories born of memories dead.
- I, where yonder breakers roll,
- Grew, a lonely infant-soul.
- Like a nightmare on my heart
- Weighs the burden of my birth,
- Knit to one, who walks apart
- With her spirit set to earth.
- All the high emprise that stirr'd
- In me, now is veil'd and blurr'd.
- Force and valour from me fail,
- Heart and soul grow faint and frail
- As I near my home, I change,
- To my very self grow strange--
- Wake, as baffled Samson woke,
- Shorn and fetter'd, tamed and broke.
- [Looks again down into the valley.]
- What is stirring down below?
- Out of every garth they flow,
- Troops of children, wives and men,
- And in long lines meet and mingle,
- Now among the rocks and shingle
- Vanish, now emerge again;--
- To the ancient Church they go.
- Oh, I know you, through and through!
- Sluggard spirits, souls of lead!
- All the Lord's Prayer, said by you,
- Is not with such anguish sped,
- By such passion borne on high,
- That one tittle thrills the sky
- As a ringing human cry,
- Save the prayer for daily bread!
- That's this people's battle-call,
- That's the blazon of them all!
- From its context pluck'd apart,
- Branded deep in every heart--
- There it lies, the tempest-tost
- Wreckage of the Faith you've lost.
- Forth! out of this stifling pit!
- Vault-like is the air of it!
- Not a Flag may float unfurl'd
- In this dead and windless world!