Early Plays by Henrik Ibsen (best novels in english txt) 📕

therein and rages with such madness?

May she not cheer and soothe your soul to rest,

And banish from your brow its cloud of sadness?

 

CATILINE.  [Tenderly.]  O, my Aurelia,--O, how kind and tender--.

Yet why should I embitter all your life?

Why should I share with you my many sorrows?

For my sake you have borne enough of anguish.

Henceforth upon my own head I shall bear

What ill-designing fate allotted me,--

The curse that lies in such a soul as mine,

Full of great spiritual energies,

Of fervent longings for a life of deeds,

Yet dwarfed in all its work by sordid cares.--

Must you, too, sharing in my wretched life,

Bitter with blasted hopes, then with me perish?

 

AURELIA.  To comfort is the role of every wife,

Though dreams of greatness she may never cherish.

When the man, struggling for his lofty dream,

Reaps nothing but adversity and sorrow,--

Her words to him then sweet and tender seem,

And give him strength sufficient for the morrow;

And then he sees that even the quiet life

Has pleasures which the most tumultuous lacks.

 

CATILINE.  Yes, you are right; I know it all too well.

And yet I cannot tear myself away.

A ceaseless yearning surges in my breast,--

Which only life's great tumult now can quiet.

 

AURELIA.  Though your Aurelia be not all to you,--

Though she can never still your restless soul,--

Your heart yet open to a gentle word,

A word of comfort from your loving wife.

Though she may never slake your fiery thirst,

Nor follow in their flight your noble thoughts,--

Know this, that she can share your every sorrow,

Has strength and fortitude to ease your burden.

 

CATILINE.  Then listen, dear Aurelia; you shall hear

What has of late depressed so deep my spirits.

You know, I long have sought the consulate--

Without avail.  You know the whole affair--

How to increase the votes for my election,

I have expended--

 

AURELIA.  Catiline, no more;

You torture me--

 

CATILINE.  Do you too blame my course?

What better means therefor had I to choose?--

In vain I lavished all that I possessed;

My one reward was mockery and shame.

Now in the senate has my adversary,

The crafty Cicero, trampled me to earth.

His speech was a portrayal of my life,

So glaring that I, even I, must gasp.

In every look I read dismay and fear;

With loathing people speak of Catiline;

To races yet unborn my name will be

A symbol of a low and dreadful union

Of sensuality and wretchedness,

Of scorn and ridicule for what is noble.--

And there will be no deed to purge this name

And crush to earth the lies that have been told!

Each will believe whatever rumor tells--

 

AURELIA.  But I, dear husband, trust no such reports.

Let the whole world condemn you if it will;

And let it heap disgrace upon your head;--

I know you hide within your inmost soul

A seed that still can blossom and bear fruit.

Only it cannot burst forth here in Rome;

Poisonous weeds would quickly prove the stronger.

Let us forsake this degradation's home;--

What binds you here?  Why should we dwell here longer?

 

CATILINE.  I should forsake the field,--and go away?

I should my greatest dreams in life surrender?

The drowning man still clutches firm and fast

The broken spars--though hope is frail and slender;

And should the wreck be swallowed in the deep,

And the last hope of rescue fail forever,--

Still clings he to the lone remaining spar,

And sinks with it in one last vain endeavor.

 

AURELIA.  But should a kindly seacoast smile on him,

With groves all green along the rolling billows,

Hope then awakens in his heart again,--

He struggles inward, toward the silvery willows.

There reigns a quiet peace; 'tis beautiful;

There roll the waves, in silence, without number;

His heated brow sweet evening breezes cool,

As weary-limbed he rests himself in slumber;

Each sorrow-laden cloud they drive away;

A restful calm his weary mind assuages;--

There he finds shelter and prolongs his stay

And soon forgets the sorry by-gone ages.

The distant echo of the world's unrest

Alone can reach his dwelling unfrequented.

It does not break the calm within his breast;--

It makes his soul more happy and contented;

It calls to mind the by-gone time of strife,

Its shattered hopes and its unbridled pleasures;

He finds twice beautiful this quiet life--

And would not change it for the greatest treasures.

 

CATILINE.  You speak the truth; and in this very hour

From strife and tumult I could go with you.

But can you name me some such quiet spot,

Where we can live in shelter and in peace?

 

AURELIA.  [Joyful.]  You will go, Catiline?  What happiness,--

Oh, richer than my bosom can contain!

Let it be so, then!  Come!  This very night

We'll go away--

 

CATILINE.  But whither shall we go?

Name me the spot where I may dare to rest

My head in homely peace!

 

AURELIA.  How can you ask?

Have you forgot our villa in the country,

Wherein I passed my childhood days, where since,

Enraptured during love's first happy dawn,

We two spent many a blithesome summer day?

Where was the grass indeed so green as there?

Where else the groves so shady and sweet-smelling?

The snow-white villa from its wooded lair

Peeps forth and bids us there to make our dwelling.

There let us flee and dedicate our life

To rural duties and to sweet contentment;--

You will find comfort in a loving wife,

And through her kisses banish all resentment.

 

[Smiling.]

 

AURELIA.  And when with all the flowers of the land

You come to me, your sovereign, in my bowers,

Then shall I crown you with the laurel band,

And cry, All hail to you, my king of flowers!--

But why do you grow pale?  Wildly you press

My hand,--and strangely now your eyes are glowing--

 

CATILINE.  Aurelia, alas, past is your happiness;--

There we can never, never think of going.

There we can never go!

 

AURELIA.  You frighten me!

Yet, surely,--you are jesting, Catiline?

 

CATILINE.  I jest!  Would only that it were a jest!

Each word you speak, like the avenging dart

Of Nemesis, pierces my heavy heart,

Which fate will never grant a moment's rest.

 

AURELIA.  O gods! speak, speak!  What do you mean?

 

CATILINE.  See here!

Here is your villa,--here your future joys!

 

[He draws out a purse filled with gold and throws it on the

table.]

 

AURELIA.  Oh, you have sold--?

 

CATILINE.  Yes,--all I sold today;--

And to what end?  In order to corrupt--

 

AURELIA.  O Catiline, no more!  Let us not think

On this affair; sorrow is all it brings.

 

CATILINE.  Your quiet-patience wounds me tenfold more

Than would a cry of anguish from your lips!

 

[An old SOLDIER enters and approaches CATILINE.]

 

THE SOLDIER.  Forgive me, master, that thus unannounced

I enter your abode at this late hour.

Ah, be not wroth--

 

CATILINE.  What is your errand here?

 

THE SOLDIER.  My errand here is but a humble prayer,

Which you will hear.  I am a needy man,

One who has sacrificed his strength for Rome.

Now I am feeble, can no longer serve;

Unused my weapons rust away at home.

The hope of my old age was in a son,

Who labored hard and was my one support.

Alas,--in prison now he's held for debt.

And not a ray of hope--.  Oh, help me, master!

 

[Kneeling.]

 

THE SOLDIER.  If but a penny!  I have gone on foot

From house to house; each door is long since closed.

I know not what to do--

 

CATILINE.  The paltry knaves!

A picture this is of the many's want.

Thus they reward the old brave company.

No longer gratitude is found in Rome!

Time was I might have wished in righteous wrath

To punish them with sword and crimson flames;

But tender words have just been spoken here;

My soul is moved; I do not wish to punish;--

To ease misfortune likewise is a deed.--

Take this, old warrior;--clear with this your debt.

 

[He hands him the purse with the gold.]

 

THE SOLDIER.  [Rising.]

O gracious lord,--dare I believe your words?

 

CATILINE.  Yes; but be quick, old man; go free your son.

 

[The SOLDIER goes hurriedly out.]

 

CATILINE.  A better use,--not so, Aurelia dear?--

Than bribery and purchasing of votes?

Noble it is to crush the tyrant's might;

Yet quiet solace too has its reward.

 

AURELIA.  [Throws herself in his arms.]

Oh, rich and noble is your spirit still.

Yes,--now I know my Catiline again.

 

                *       *       *       *       *

 

[An underground tomb with a freshly walled-in passage

high on the rear wall.  A lamp burns faintly.]

 

[FURIA, in long black robes, is standing in the tomb

as if listening.]

 

FURIA.  A hollow sound.  'Tis thunder rolls above.

I hear its rumble even in the tomb.

Yet is the tomb itself so still--so still!

Am I forever damned to drowsy rest?

Never again am I to wander forth

By winding paths, as ever was my wish?

 

FURIA.  [After a pause.]

A strange, strange life it was;--as strange a fate.

Meteor-like all came--and disappeared.

He met me.  A mysterious magic force,

An inner harmony, together drew us.

I was his Nemesis;--and he my victim;--

Yet punishment soon followed the avenger.

 

FURIA.  [Another pause.]

Now daylight rules the earth.--Am I perchance

To slip--unknowing--from the realm of light?

'Tis well, if so it be,--if this delay

Within the tomb be nothing but a flight

Upon the wings of lightning into Hades,--

If I be nearing even now the Styx!

There roll the leaden billows on the shore;

There silently old Charon plies his boat.

Soon am I there!  Then shall I seat myself

Beside the ferry,--question every spirit,

Each fleeting shadow from the land of life,

As light of foot he nears the river of death,--

Shall ask each one in turn how Catiline

Fares now among the mortals of the earth,--

Shall ask each one how he has kept his oath.

I shall illumine with blue sulphur light

Each spectral countenance and hollow eye,--

To ascertain if it be Catiline.

And when he comes, then shall I follow him;--

Together we shall make the journey hence,

Together enter Pluto's silent hall.

I too a shadow shall his shade pursue;--

Where Catiline is, must Furia also be!

 

FURIA.  [After a pause, more faintly.]

The air is growing close and clammy here,--

And every breath in turn more difficult.--

Thus am I drawing near the gloomy swamps,

Where creep the rivers of the underworld.

 

FURIA.  [She listens; a dull noise is heard.]

A muffled sound?  'Tis like the stroke of oars.

It is the ferryman of shades who comes

To take me hence.  No, here--here will I wait!

 

[The stones in the freshly walled-in passage are broken asunder.

CURIUS comes into view on the outside; he beckons to her.]

 

FURIA.  Ah, greetings, Charon!  Are you ready now

To lead me hence, a guest among the spirits?

Here will I wait!

 

CURIUS.  [Whispering.]  I come to set you free!

 

                *       *       *       *       *

CATLINE_ACT2

 

[A room in CATILINE's house with a colonnade in the

rear; a lamp lights up the room.]

 

[CATILINE paces the floor back and forth; LENTULUS and

CETHEGUS are with him.]

 

CATILINE.  No, no!  I say, you do not understand

Yourselves what you demand of me.  Should I

Turn traitor and incite a civil war,--

Besmear my hand with Roman blood?  No, no!

I'll never do it!  Let the entire state

Condemn me if--

 

LENTULUS.  You will not, Catiline?

 

CATILINE.  No.

 

LENTULUS.  Tell me,--have you nothing to avenge?

No insult?  No one here you fain would strike?

 

CATILINE.  Let him who will avenge; I shall not stir.

Yet silent scorn is likewise a revenge;--

And that alone shall be enough.

 

CETHEGUS.  Aha,--

Our visit was, I see, inopportune.

Yet doubtless will the morrow bring you back

To other thoughts.

 

CATILINE.  But why the morrow?

 

CETHEGUS.  There are mysterious rumors in the air.

A vestal recently was led to death--

 

CATILINE.  [Surprised.]

A vestal,--say you?  Ah, what do you mean?

 

LENTULUS.  Why, yes, a vestal.  Many people murmur--

 

CATILINE.  What do they murmur?

 

CETHEGUS.  That in this dark affair

You are not altogether innocent.

 

CATILINE.  This they believe of me?

 

LENTULUS.  Such is the rumor;

Of course,--to us, to all your good old friends,

Such talk is trifling and of no account;--

The world, however, judges more severely.

 

CATILINE.  [Deep in thought.]  And is she dead?

 

CETHEGUS.  Undoubtedly she is.

An hour's confinement in the convict tomb

Is quite enough--

 

LENTULUS.  That is not our affair.

It was not therefore that we spoke of her.

But hear me, Catiline!  Bethink yourself.

You sought the consulate; and all your welfare

Hung on that single fragile thread of hope.

Now is it sundered; everything is lost.

 

CATILINE.  [Still deep in thought.]

"Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!"

 

CETHEGUS.  Shake off these useless