Down by the fjord with sheer mountains rising on three sides. The old dilapidated church stands on a small knoll nearby. A storm is gathering. The PEASANTS, men, women and children, are gathered in groups, some on the shore, some on the slopes. The MAYOR is sitting in the midst of them on a stone; a SCRIVENER is helping him; grain and other provisions are being distributed. EINAR and AGNES are standing surrounded by a group of people, farther towards the background. A few boats are lying off the shore. BRAND appears on the slope by the church without being noticed by the crowd.
A MAN [bursting through the crowd]:
Let me past! Let me past!
A WOMAN: Hey you, we was first!
MAN [pushing her aside]:
Get out of the way, or …
See to me first, mayor!
MAYOR: Give me time, give me time …
MAN: I must have my share;
I’ve bairns back at home,
starving, all four, five …
MAYOR: [jokingly]:
You don’t sound too sure.
MAN: One was barely alive
when I left.
have I got your name down?
[Leafs through his papers.]
H’m … h’m … you’re in luck.
Twenty-nine … in the sack.
[To the SCRIVENER]
Whoa there, whoa there,
that’s enough, that’s his lot.
Nils Snemyr?
SNEMYR: I’m here.
MAYOR: Your ration’s been cut.
Well, you’ve one less to feed.
SNEMYR: My wife, ay, she’s dead;
passed on yesterday.
MAYOR: It’s an ill wind they say …
she’ll need no more porridge.
[To SNEMYR, who is leaving]
Forget about marriage;
just give it a rest.
SCRIVENER: Hee, hee!
MAYOR: What’s the joke?
SCRIVENER: Just hearing you talk,
Mr Mayor, it’s a treat.
MAYOR: Hold your jaw shut!
I don’t find this funny.
But ‘laugh or you’ll cry’,
it’s the only way.
EINAR [coming out of the crowd with AGNES]:
They’ve had my last crust,
and all my money.
Never mind, I can pawn
my watch, or my stick
and my haversack.
I’ll rake up the fare
for the boat, never fear!
MAYOR: My word, you arrived
not a moment too soon.
These folk are half-starved.
And they’re plump and thriving
compared to the starving!
[Catches sight of BRAND and points upwards.]
Bravo! Welcome, friend!
You’ve heard, too, no doubt,
of our deluge and drought.
We’ll be glad to receive
any gift you can give,
in cash or in kind.
I tell you this parish is
chewing on air.
‘We need miracles, mayor!’
A fat lot of help,
five loaves and three fishes!5
They’d go at one gulp!
BRAND: Feed the five thousand in the name
of Mammon and you’d famish them.
MAYOR: Spare us your homilies.
Fine words fill no bellies.
EINAR: Brand, Brand, use your eyes!
Look, famine and disease
all around us. They’re
dying by the score.
BRAND: Yes, I can recognize
all the dread signs.
I know the lord who reigns
here, and his tyrannies.
[Steps down among the crowd and says emphatically.]
If life were set in its old course,
the old routine of Adam’s curse,
spiritless labour, soulless greed,
I might throw you some hunks of bread.
If all a man does is crawl home
each night, dog-tired, let him become
the thing he seems – an animal.
A stifling weariness of days
entombs us in the blank belief
that God has torn our destinies,
our very names, out of the Book of Life.
And yet He is merciful.
ONE OF THE CROWD: Argh! Kick us when we’re down!
MAYOR: Who does he mean, Mammon?
BRAND: If I could heal you with my blood
I’d willingly see it poured
out of every vein.
But that would be a sin
against God, and His gift
of suffering. His desire
is to show mercy, to lift
you out of your own mire.
Rejoice in what He gives.
A people that so strives,
though all else has gone,
will be restored to its own.
But when that spirit’s dead
it is death indeed.
A WOMAN: A storm, a storm! The fjord’s
lashing out at his words!
ANOTHER WOMAN: Don’t heed what he says!
He utters blasphemies.
BRAND: What wonders can your God perform?
A THIRD WOMAN: A storm, look, a storm!
ONE OF THE CROWD: Stone him! Grr, drive him out!
ANOTHER: Yes. Yes! Grab his coat!
The PEASANTS swarm threateningly round BRAND. The MAYOR intervenes. A WOMAN, wild and dishevelled, comes running down the slope.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Help me, for the love of Christ!
MAYOR: I’ll do what I can, ma’am,
provided that your name
is on our parish list.
Let me take a look.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: No, no! For pity’s sake …
hunger’s nothing now …
I’ve seen a horror worse
than you can know!
MAYOR: What d’you mean? Speak up!
DISTRESSED WOMAN: I can’t
tell you. It’s a priest I want.
MAYOR: There isn’t a priest
in these parts.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Then I’m lost,
utterly alone.
BRAND [approaching]:
A priest, you say? There may be one …
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Tell him to hurry. Please …
BRAND: I must know what’s the matter.
I assure you, the priest will come.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Across all that wild water?
BRAND: Yes.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Back there … at home …
my husband … bairns as well …
Say he won’t go to hell!
BRAND: First you must tell me why
you’ve come.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: My breasts were dry,
and the babe went unfed.
Folk wouldn’t heed, nor God.
My man couldn’t bear it.
It broke his spirit,
and he just upped and killed
it, like that, the child …
BRAND: He killed …
ONE OF THE CROWD [with dread]:
His child.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: The moment
it was done, his torment
was dreadful to see,
and he wanted to die.
He turned the knife on him-
self, and screamed Satan’s name.
He’ll not live, but he’s afraid
to go. He lies with the child dead
and frozen in his arms,
Come with me, sir. At least
he’ll not go unconfessed.
MAYOR: What’s your name?
[Points to his papers.]
Is it here?
BRAND [sharply, to the PEASANTS]:
Take me across the fjord.
A MAN: In this? We wouldn’t dare!
BRAND: A soul facing its doom
can’t linger till it’s calm.
ANOTHER MAN: The madman’s tempting God!
MAYOR: Go the long way round.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: There’d still be the river
to cross; and the bridge is down.
Just after I’d crossed over …
it went … I might have drowned.
BRAND [stepping down into a boat and loosening the sail]:
You! Will you risk your boat?
OWNER: No … yes …
BRAND: Good, that’s a start!
Now, who’ll chance his life?
FIRST MAN: I’m staying where it’s safe.
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Oh, my man, sir, my man,
he’ll die all unshriven,
and shut out of Heaven!
BRAND [calling from the boat]:
I need someone to bale
and to trim the sail –
one! No more!
You there, so keen to give
just now! Give all you have!
A MAN [threatening]:
Get back on t’shore.
BRAND [holding on with the boat hook and shouting]:
None of you man enough?
Very well, then, a woman …
[To the DISTRESSED WOMAN]
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Oh, I can’t … it’s so rough …
my poor bairns, orphan’d
they’ll be if I’m taken …
oh … oh …
BRAND [laughing]:
You built on sand,6
poor soul, and your house is shaken
to pieces.
AGNES: [turning, with flaming cheeks, quickly to EINAR, and putting her hand on his arm]:
You heard? Everything?
EINAR: Yes! Admirable! So strong
in his calling!
AGNES: Follow that call!
God bless you, farewell!
[Calls out to BRAND.]
Here’s one worthy man:
take him!
BRAND: Quickly then!
Here take the rope!
EINAR [pale]:
Which one do you mean,
Agnes? Not me, surely?
AGNES: I was blind. I see clearly
now. Go, I offer you up.
EINAR: Believe me, I would
have gone; I would! I’d have sailed
joyfully into that storm,
once upon a time.
AGNES [trembling]:
But now …?
EINAR: Life is so very sweet,
Agnes; I daren’t do it.
AGNES [shrinking away from him]:
Einar, what do you mean?
EINAR: I mean … I’m afraid.
AGNES: Then you have made
rage between us for ever.
[To BRAND]
I’ll come with you. Wait!
BRAND: Now or too late!
DISTRESSED WOMAN [terrified as AGNES leaps on board]:
Mercy, sweet Saviour!
EINAR: Stay, Agnes, for my sake!
BRAND [to the DISTRESSED WOMAN]:
Woman, where do you live?
DISTRESSED WOMAN: Over there. There, d’you see?
Behind the black rock.
The boat moves off from the shore.
EINAR [shouting after them]:
Don’t throw your life away,
my dearest! Save yourself, save
yourself. Think of your family!
AGNES: I’m as safe as can be,
Einar. Don’t be afraid.
We journey with God.
The boat sails off. The PEASANTS throng the slopes and gaze after it in tense excitement.
A MAN: There they are, clear of the Point
already!
ANOTHER MAN: No they ain’t.
FIRST MAN: They are, they are, you fool.
It’s astern and to leeward
I tell you!
A THIRD MAN: See that squall!
Ugh … they’ll not weather that.
MAYOR: Whoo-oo! There goes his hat!
A WOMAN: Look, his hair, all raven-black,
Look how it’s blown back.
FIRST MAN: The sea’s hissing and boiling
up, like a fountain.
EINAR: What was that? That scream?
I heard it through the storm.
ANOTHER WOMAN: From high on the mountain.
A THIRD WOMAN [pointing upwards]:
Would you believe …? See, Gerd,
Gerd, laughing and howling,
Driving the boat on!
FIRST WOMAN: Blowing a ram’s horn,
And calling up the fiends
to ride on the winds.
SECOND WOMAN: She’s hooting through her hands
now. Drearsome it sounds.
FIRST MAN: Hoot away, you vile troll,
choke on your own spell,
you’ll not do them harm.
True faith, that’s their shield!
SECOND MAN: With that man at the helm,
I’d go as his crew
through a sea twice as wild.
FIRST MAN [to EINAR]:
Who is he, d’you know?
EINAR: Some kind of – priest.
THIRD MAN: Well, one thing’s plain.
Priest or not, he’s a man.
FIRST MAN: There’s our pastor, I say –
our new pastor.
ONE OF THE CROWD: Ay!
They disperse over the hill slopes.
MAYOR: God help us, why such fuss?
The woman’s not from here;
and he’s not one of us.
Why should he interfere,
rushing off, risking his neck,
and for nothing, so to speak?
Well, I go by the book
in my own bailiwick!
Exit.
Outside the cottage on the headland. It is late in the day. The fjord lies smooth and still. AGNES is sitting by the shore. Presently BRAND comes out of the cottage.
BRAND: So now it’s finished. Death’s quiet hand
has smoothed away his grin of dread
and wiped the terror from his mind.
It seems so peaceful to be dead.
He knew as much of his own crime
as his tongue fumbled at to name,
as his stained hands could bear to touch,
as his poor brain could grope to reach.
He knew the half of what he’d done,
mumbling, ‘I killed the little one.’
What of the ones he didn’t kill
but murdered just the same? Two boys,
staring from the dark ingle-nook,
constrained to look, and look, and look,
with more than terror in their eyes,
not understanding what they saw.
Who can redeem their souls from hell?
What purifying flame shall burn
to ash their memories’ carrion?
Condemned to burgeon in the glare
of that one awful, endless sight
like leaves in darkness, sickly-white,
growing more sickly as they grow,
they in their turn shall generate
offspring of their own despair,
scions of wretchedness and hate,
and all the streams of life shall run
from the one ever-spreading stain.
Where did it all begin, and why,
eternal culpability?
What answer blares from the abyss?
‘Remember who the father was.’
When the Day of Judgement comes
every soul shall stand accused,
shall be condemned as it condemns,
shall curse, knowing itself accursed.
There’ll be no mercy for the plea
‘Forgive us our heredity’!
Absurd riddle, making all
capacities incapable!
Not one soul in a thousand sees
the mountain of offences rise
from the base origins of life,
the two bare, basic words to live.
A few PEASANTS come from behind the cottage and approach BRAND.
SPOKESMAN: So then, we meet again.
BRAND: Why are you here? The man
is dead now; he’s no need
of anything you could give.
SPOKESMAN: Not for himself, maybe.
He’s with the Lord above.
But what about the three
poor souls he left behind,
and left without a crumb?
We’re here because of them …
brought them some scraps of food …
what bits we could find.
BRAND: Until you hazard all,
the gift’s of no avail.
SPOKESMAN: I’ll tell you how it is.
If that stranger who lies
in there, all stiff and stark,
had been mid-fjord,
clinging to a rock
or an upturned boat,
I’d have gone to his aid
I’d not see him drown.
BRAND: Yet you’ve little concern
for the death of the soul.
SPOKESMAN: It’s scholar’s talk, is that.
We’re simple folk. We toil
morn to night with our hands,
all the hours that God sends.
BRAND: Then turn your backs on the dawn light.
Gaze at nothing but the ground,
stoop your shoulders to the yoke,
bend your backs until they break.
SPOKESMAN: I expected you’d say,
‘Look up, look up, my friend,
look up and be free!’
BRAND: Then be free, if you can.
SPOKESMAN: Ay, sir. But teach us how.
You must lead us.
BRAND: Why?
SPOKESMAN: Many times we’ve been shown
the road we should take
to find our destiny.
With you it’s more than show.
It is, and that’s a fact!
The truth is, one brave act
is better than fine talk.
You’re just the man we need
in this neighbourhood.
BRAND [uneasy]:
What do you need me for?
SPOKESMAN: To be our pastor, sir.
BRAND: Your pastor? I, remain
here? Impossible, man!
SPOKESMAN: It wasn’t always
like this! In the old days,
when the harvests were good
and the cattle well fed,
and nobody was clemmed
with cold and despair,
we had our own priest
and a church full of prayer.
But that’s in the past.
These days the sheep starve
twice over, you might say.
BRAND: Don’t ask me to stay.
Ask anything but that!
God has called me to serve
a hungry multitude
in the world outside.
What could I do here, shut
in by mountain and fjord?
How would I be heard?
SPOKESMAN: Speak out bold and clear
and all the mountains hear
and add their voice to yours,
and then the world hears.
BRAND [preparing to leave]:
It’s time I set sail.
SPOKESMAN [barring his way]:
No, wait! This call, this call
to serve, that you go on
about: it means a lot to you, then?
BRAND: I have no other life.
SPOKESMAN: Then stay. Remember: ‘If
you hazard less than all,
the gift’s of no avail’!
BRAND: No man can give away
his inmost spirit,
that’s his for ever,
or hold back, or divert,
the relentless river
of his destiny.
SPOKESMAN: Why, sir, if you drown
destiny in a tarn,
it’s not lost, you know!
it’ll reach the sea
as rain, or dew.
BRAND [staring at him]:
How do you know that?
SPOKESMAN: You taught us it,
when the sea raged,
and the wind surged,
and you went out
and defied death,
put all your faith
in a small boat,
risked life and all
for that poor soul
in there, you shook
our souls awake,
by God you did!
I’d swear we heard
a voice that rang
out clear and strong,
bells on the wind.
You understand …
[Lowers his voice.]
tomorrow’s too late,
tomorrow we’ll forget,
tomorrow we’ll haul down
the brave flag that’s flown
over our heads today.
We’ll not glance at the sky.
BRAND [sternly]:
If you flinch from the call,
and if you won’t fight
to be as you ought,
then be honest; remain
earth-bound, grovelling men,
dumb creatures of toil.
SPOKESMAN [looking at him for a few moments]:
You’ve quenched the flame you lit.
and pity us who saw
a great light that’s gone now.
He leaves and the others follow silently.
BRAND [gazing after them]:
One by one, see, one by one,
homeward in a straggling line,
head bowed and shoulders stooped,
half-expecting to be whipped,
as Adam must have looked, when told
to turn his back on Paradise
and go and wander through the world.
Like Adam with his stricken face
staring at nothing, each of them
bears this knowledge for his shame:
blind creatures formed from my desire
to make man new and whole and pure.
Formed and deformed – whose the default?
My masterstroke? This thing of guilt?
I seek what’s worth the being-won,
some end well worthy its renown!
[He is about to leave, but stops as he sees AGNES on the shore.]
Has she sat there all this while?
What is it she can hear?
Is it singing in the air?
In the storm, as we drove
on through the wild sea-wave,
she sat, so rapt and still,
wholly without fear,
with the spindrift glistening
upon her brow and hair,
gazing and listening,
yes, listening with her eyes
to secret harmonies!
[Approaches her.]
Tell me, what do you stare
at, so intently there?
down to the great sea?
AGNES [without turning round]:
Not the fjord; not this earth
even; for both
are veiled from my sight.
Something more great
I glimpse, a world
beautiful to behold,
outlined against the sun.
How all things shine!
Rivers and seas, white peaks,
a glittering wilderness,
with great palm-trees
that sway in the wind,
shadows on bright sand.
It is a world that wakes
yet waits for life. A voice
cries through the emptiness:
‘Creator and creature
of your own nature,
Adam, come forth
to life or death!’
BRAND [rapturously]:
Tell me … tell me … do you see more?
AGNES [putting her hand on her breast]:
I feel within me, here
in my heart and my soul,
the things that I foretell;
all births, all destinies.
Everything that is
awaits its hour,
and the time is near.
Already, from above,
He gazes down
with infinite love;
and already the crown
of infinite sorrow
And a voice cries
through the dawn-wilderness:
‘Creator and creature
of your own nature,
Adam, come forth
to life or death!’
BRAND: The new Adam, yes!
We in him, he in us.
Truth at the heart’s core,
our rightful sphere,
our destiny, the abode
of our selfhood-in-God.
There the old vulture
of self-will shall be no more.
I’ll let this world
go, self-enthralled,
let it go its way …
But if the enemy
strikes at my work,
then I strike back!
I pledge myself to that
truth of the inmost word,
everyman’s right
rightly understood,
to be what in truth I am.
[Thinks in silence a while.]
But how should that be?
The curse of heredity,
hereditary guilt,
the aboriginal fault,
stakes its own claim.
[Stops and looks into the distance.]
Who is this who comes
so slowly; who climbs
with such anguish; who bends,
so, her head; who stands
gasping for breath; who drags
as if it were a hoard
of precious, secret greed;
who looks like a crow or
hawk nailed to a barn door?
Why is it I feel,
suddenly, a chill
of childish fear,
insidious like hoar frost
here in my breast
as she comes near?
Dear God …
BRAND’s MOTHER comes up the slope, stops half visible against the hill, shades her eyes with her hand and looks around.
BRAND’S MOTHER: They said I’d find
him hereabouts. Brand,
son Brand, you there,
then? Ugh, this glare
burns out your eyes.
That you, son?
BRAND: Yes.
MOTHER: Let’s see. Can’t hardly tell
priest from carl
I’m that mazed. Ay, it’s you.
BRAND: Mother, at your house
I never saw sunrise
from summer’s end till the return
of the first cuckoo.
MOTHER [laughing quietly]:
Ay, you grow a thick skin
there: like an icicle-man
over the waterfall.
Do what you like,
skin gets that thick,
’twill guard your soul.
BRAND: Mother, I can’t stay
any longer.
like when you were a lad,
always up and about,
I’ll grant you that.
And you made off
soon enough!
BRAND: You made sure that I did.
MOTHER: Always had it in mind
to see you book-learn’d,
fit for a parson.
It stood to reason;
still does.
[Looks more closely at him.]
H’m, but you’ve grown
some sinew and brawn
on you, no mistake.
You mind you take care,
son. Don’t risk your neck!
BRAND: Is that all you can say?
MOTHER: Say more if you know more,
all nice and scholarly.
That madness on the fjord,
d’you think I’ve not heard?
It’s all they talk about
back there, you and that boat.
What happens if you drown,
eh? I’m robbed by my own
son, that’s what. Ay a thief,
that’s what you’d be! My life
you’re fooling with. I gave
you it, didn’t I? I’ve
got first claim on what’s mine.
You’re not just flesh and blood.
You’re roof-beam, corner-post,
the nails, the wood,
every plank, every joist
I’ve spliced into a house
for nobody but us.
Stick fast, then; don’t give
half-an-inch while you live,
not half-an-inch, d’you hear?
I’ve named you my heir,
I have that. Never fret,
you’ll inherit the lot.
BRAND: So that’s what makes you crawl
bent double. All that coin,
it’s weighing you down.
MOTHER [shrinking away from him]:
Eh, what? What? Keep away!
Help! Daylight robbery!
[Calmer]
Stay there. I’ve half a mind
to tan your hide, you brat!
I’ve said, you’ll get it all.
Every day, bit by bit,
I crawl nearer the grave.
And then it’s yours. Believe
me, everything I’ve earned.
You’ll never need to beg.
But carry it on me?
I’m not mad! It’s at home,
all snug in wad and bag.
Keep off, you varmint,
do as you’re bidden,
wait till I’m gone!
As God’s my judge I shan’t
bury it in the midden
or under the hearth-stone
or under the floor;
shan’t cram it in crevices
or such-like places.
It’s yours, that I swear!
BRAND: On condition, no doubt.
You’d better spell it out!
MOTHER: Get wed; get your own brood,
I set you now; I ask
no other reward.
Keep my treasure safe,
eh? Guard it with your life.
Don’t give nor divide.
Save everything; hide
everything you save,
like in the troll-king’s cave.
BRAND [after a short pause]:
Ever since I was a boy
I’ve had to defy
you. I was never your child.
MOTHER: Agh, then be obstinate,
be sure you don’t thaw!
It’s little enough I care
For your love, or your hate.
I’m used to the cold,
can live without fire,
just so long as I know
that you’ll breed and hoard.
Give me your word.
BRAND [moving a step closer]:
But what if I’ve a mind
to scatter it on the wind,
all that treasure of yours?
MOTHER [reeling back in horror]:
No, curse you! All those years
raking it together
while I grew old and my flesh
withered to ash.
BRAND: Ash on the wind, Mother.
MOTHER: You’d scatter my soul
on the wind!
BRAND: Shall
I scatter it, all the same?
Supposing I come
and stand by your bed
the first night that you’re dead
and lying cold and quiet
with the psalm-book pressed
against your stone-cold heart;
suppose that I’m there,
not ‘mourning the deceased’,
but rummaging for treasure,
ferreting around
for what bits I can find …
MOTHER [approaching, tense]:
Where d’you get such ideas?
BRAND: You truly wish to know?
MOTHER: Yes.
BRAND: Then I’ll tell you a story.
It’s here in my memory,
burned deep, the scar
of an early fear.
It was one autumn;
it was one evening; a room
candle-lit, shadowy.
There my father lay.
I’d sneaked in; I stayed,
bewildered, afraid,
like a little owl,
crouched there, very still,
wondering why he slept
on and on, why he gripped
his old psalm-book,
why his hands were claw-like
and yet so paper-thin.
And then … and then …
Mother, I can still hear
those footsteps at the door;
and again the door hinge
creaks open and that strange-
faced woman creeps in.
I mustn’t be seen!
Into the shadows, hide!
Now she begins to feel
between the bed and the wall,
pushing aside his head.
Something’s there. Yes, tied;
flat oilcloth bound with twine.
It won’t come undone.
She tears at it with her nails, bites
and gnaws through the tough knots,
stares, throws it down, gropes again.
A pocket-book and some coin.
She mutters between her teeth,
‘How much was it all worth,
then? How much? How much?’
Like stripping the corpse, the search
proceeds. Her shadow swoops; it looks
like a swooping hawk’s.
She tears open a purse
as a hawk rips a mouse.
When there’s no place left
she’s a woman bereft,
whispering in disbelief,
‘Was that all, was that all?’;
flees like a hunted thief.
So ends my tale.
MOTHER: It was what I was owed.
God knows I’d paid.
BRAND: You paid twice over then.
It cost you your son.
MOTHER: You pay for what you get,
with brain and heart
if need be. I did,
a lot more than most.
Something was sacrificed,
something; I can’t recall
what it was I had,
but it was good. I believe
people called it love.
But it was hard at first
to turn from my own choice,
to heed my father’s voice:
‘Forget that pauper-lad,
take the old man instead,
he’ll feather your nest!’
So I did as he said;
and, for all that, I was cheated.
Oh but I’ve sweated
and I’ve made my pile.
With pain and with graft
I’ve made well-nigh double
what that old fool left.
But it’s been bitter-hard.
BRAND: Hard indeed, Mother. Harder still
for your poor pawned soul.
MOTHER: I’ve taken care of that.
You’ll get the estate,
I’ll get the last rites.
I call that fair profits
for honest dealing.
My worldly goods
in exchange for priest’s words
of comfort and healing.
I made you a priest.
I claim my interest.
BRAND: In the world’s looking-glass
you don’t see what is,
you see some other sight.
And there are many more
in these parts who stare
into that same mirror
of vanity and error.
Sparing their child a thought
now and then, they think,
‘That child has me to thank
casting upon the child
the shoddy, second-hand
sentiments of their kind.
And they put all their faith
in a kind of living death.
Not knowing how to live,
they stupidly believe
eternity’s the sum
of endless earthly time.
MOTHER: Can’t you leave folk alone?
I’ll swear you’ve never known
the half I’ve suffered!
Take what you’re offered.
BRAND: That won’t cancel the debt.
MOTHER: What are you on about?
There’s no debt.
BRAND: So you say.
But supposing there were,
would not justice require
that each claim should be met
in full, and by me?
MOTHER: Is that what the law says?
BRAND: Your pen-and-parchment laws!
Mother, the Holy Spirit
utters its own decrees,
summons us to atone
for what others have done.
How blindly you have sinned!
Open your eyes;
begin to understand.
[His MOTHER appears confused.]
Don’t be afraid.
Your great debt shall be paid.
God’s image, that you’ve marred,
shall shine again, purified;
resurrected by my will;
Go to your grave in peace.
I shall pay the price.
MOTHER: Let’s see now; does that mean
every last little sin?
BRAND: The debt. Only the debt.
I can rid you of that.
I am able to erase
the effect, but not the cause.
I cannot annul
that sin which engendered all;
I cannot assuage or share
that guilt by which you are.
That bears a penalty
which you alone must pay.
MOTHER [uneasy]:
You’re making my head spin,
just like too much sun.
Bad thoughts sprout in my head
like henbane or bindweed.
I’ve had enough. I’m going
back where I belong.
Under the glacier,
there I’ll feel easier.
BRAND: Then go, Mother, go back;
hobble into the dark.
I’ll stay here, close at hand.
If you long for me, send
for me; I shall come.
MOTHER: You’ll come. Ay, to condemn!
BRAND: As your son, as your priest,
I’ll shield you from the blast
of judgement and dread,
melt the ice from your blood.
I’ll sing you to sleep
with hymns of sure hope.
MOTHER: You’d swear that on the Good
Book, and all?
word that you repent,
I shall come, as I said.
Like you, Mother, I make
one condition: give back
all that you have gained. Go
naked to the grave.
MOTHER: Oh no,
son, no! Tell me to starve
and thirst. Tell me I must,
I will. Don’t make me give
away what I love the most.
BRAND: Everything you’re worth,
or abide His wrath!
MOTHER: Everything? I can’t, son, I
can’t! Not every penny!
BRAND: I see you’ll not atone
till, like Job, all alone,
covered in earth and ash,
you cry, ‘Let the day perish
wherein this carcass came
forth out of the womb!’
MOTHER [wringing her hands]:
I can’t bear it; I’m
going, while I still can; home
to cradle my sweet gold
as if it was my child
and weep for it, like
a mother will
for her bairn that’s sick.
Why does God leave a soul
stuck like this in the flesh
where your heart’s dearest wish
makes your soul die?
Stay by me, pastor,
in my last hour
and help me out.
But until then
to the things I’ve got.
Exit.
BRAND [gazing after her]:
Yes, your pastor will stay.
And you will send for him.
And he shall come to warm
your withered hand in his,
and let you die in peace.
[Goes down the slope towards AGNES.]
My life was like this sun at dawn.
But now the sun is going down.
At daybreak I could hear the song
of battle; and my heart was strong.
AGNES [turning round and looking up at him with shining eyes]:
The dawn was pale compared to this
full radiance. It was fantasies
and games and pretty lies and art
and everything that truth is not.
The dawn was a false paradise.
Truth must rejoice at such a loss.
BRAND: But how I dreamed! Such dreams I had,
like flocks of wild swans overhead
that swooped and bore me up, their wings
the murmur of the multitudes.
What vistas of imaginings
I saw outspread; and what clear roads
and distances to lead me on,
God’s warrior of world renown!
What hymns and incense and what gold
banners brilliantly unfurled,
my triumph splendid and austere!
In spirit I was taken up
to a high place, was tempted there
with visions of exalted hope
that faded even as they shone
and turned to darkness and to stone.
Now, shadowed by these walls
of rock, where the light fades
hours before night falls,
and the fjord waters hem
me in, once more I stand
in the place I must call home.
There will be no more rides
on cloud-pawing Pegasus.
Unsaddled is that wing’d horse.
And no trumpets sound.
But let us not … let us not
falter, nor stoop to regret
triumphs that might have been.
I have received the sign.
I see, now, the true goal
to strive for: humble toil
ennobled by belief,
the sacrificial life.
AGNES: But what of that false god
who was to be destroyed,
you said? Will he not fall,
then? Ever?
BRAND: Fall he shall!
But not in the wild gaze
of crowds, not to their vast applause.
I was wrong, I was wrong.
In vain we stir the soil
round the roots of the soul
unless that soul is strong.
It is not raucous fame
that redeems the time.
It is the will alone
that can purge and refine,
that alone has the power
to make or mar
what we do, whether the work
be famed or not.
[He turns towards the village, where the evening shadows are beginning to gather.]
You who walk
in the narrow and steep
places of this land,
I shall teach you to praise,
with heart and mind and hand
in true communion
one with another; to rouse
from mortal sleep the young lion
of the immortal will.
Let us do all things well,
let the pickaxe, the spade,
shine like the battle blade.
Then shall the hand of God
inscribe His holy word
upon the human heart
as though on Sinai slate.
Let nobleness appear,
let those who faint and fear
find strength. Righteousness shall destroy
falsehood utterly.
He begins to leave. EINAR meets him.
EINAR: You there! Yes, you, sir! Give me back
that which you took!
BRAND: That which …? Ah! Speak to her.
Speak, but will she hear?
EINAR: Agnes, I beg you, stay;
stay on the sunlit heights,
not where dark sorrow waits.
AGNES: I have no choice to make.
I have one road to take.
This is the only way.
EINAR: How can you? How can you leave
your mother, your sisters?
AGNES: Give
them my love, I shall send
a letter when I have found
what my soul clearly sees.
EINAR: Out there, where the great waters gleam,
The white-sailed vessels scud and skim,
Dipping their prows in pearly foam,
Bright emanations of a dream,
Seeking the fabled shore, the calm
Landfall and their longed-for home.
AGNES: Sail with them, then, go east or
west; but think of me as dead.
EINAR: Come, come with me; my sister
if not my bride!
AGNES: Einar, Einar, I have told
you. There is an ocean
of silence. It lies between
us, wider than the world.
EINAR: Go home, then. Go, be safe!
AGNES [softly]:
I am drawn by this man towards a new life.
BRAND: Young woman, beware.
And when you choose, be sure.
For, choosing, you are chosen.
In the shadow of these frozen
peaks, I shall remain
a forgotten man.
And life with me will seem
an endless winter gloom.
AGNES: Starshine pierces the cloud.
I am not afraid.
BRAND: All or nothing. That
is my demand. The task
is very great. And the risk,
also, is very great.
There’ll be no mercy shown.
There’s no provision made
for weakness or dread.
Falter, and you go down
Mere lifelong sacrifice
itself may not suffice.
Would you die willingly?
EINAR: This is no seaside game.
It is a dark and cruel
commandment that can kill.
BRAND [to AGNES]:
You stand where the roads cross.
Once and for all, then! Choose!
Exit.
EINAR: Choose between storm and calm.
Choose between ‘go’ and ‘stay’.
Choose between joy and grief.
Choose between night and day.
Choose between death and life.
AGNES: Beyond darkness and death
light dawns upon the earth.
She follows BRAND. EINAR looks for some time, as if lost, in the direction in which she has gone; then he bows his head and goes out towards the fjord again.