When in this breast
Will the wild waters sink to rest?
To rest they must!
Agnes.
[To herself.]
How bright the glow
It seems as though the sundering wall
Had sunk; the low room grown a hall,
The murky world of ice and snow
Sudden become a shelter’d nest,
Where cosily my child may rest.
Brand.
What dost thou, Agnes?
Agnes.
[To herself.]
Peace, I pray!
Brand.
[Nearer.]
Why didst thou ope the curtain?
Agnes.
Nay,
I dreamt, and knew not what I did!
Brand.
Snares in that dream of thine lie hid;
Close it again.
Agnes.
[Pleading.]
Brand!
Brand.
Close, I say!
Agnes.
Oh, be not harsh, it is not right.
Brand.
Close, close!
Agnes.
[Drawing it.]
Now all is close and tight;
Yet in my heart I scarce can deem
God injured if, at sorest need,
In the brief respite of a dream
I tasted comfort.
Brand.
No, indeed!
He is a feeling Judge and kind,
And will indulgently forbear,
If in thy service He should find
Some idol-worship here and there.
Agnes.
[Bursts into tears.]
Oh, say, when will He cease to crave?
My wings are weak—I faint and fall——
Brand.
He gives to the devouring wave
Who in his giving gives not all.
Agnes.
I have given all; I have no more.
Brand.
[Shakes his head.]
Yet other gifts remain behind.
Agnes.
[Smiling.]
Ask: I’ve the courage of the poor!
Brand.
Give!
Agnes.
Take! Ah, Brand, thou’lt nothing find.find.
Brand.
Thy memories and thy moans thou hast,
Thy longings and thy sinful sighs——
Agnes.
[Despairingly.]
I have my heart of agonies!
Tear, tear it from me!
Brand.
Thou hast cast
Thy offerings in the yawning deep
For nothing, if thou count them losses.
Agnes.
[Shudders.]
Narrow is thy Lord’s way, and steep.
Brand.
That way Will cannot choose but keep.
Agnes.
And Mercy’s is——
Brand.
[Peremptorily.]
Beset with crosses.
Agnes.
[Gazes before her; then, trembling.]
Now manifest and open lies,
Abysmal as the depths of space,
That mystic Word.
Brand.
What word?
Agnes.
He dies
Who sees Jehovah face to face.
Brand.
[Throws his arms about her and clasps her close.]
O look not on Him! Close thine eyes!
Hide thee, O hide thee!
Agnes.
Must I?
Brand.
[Lets her go.]
No.
Agnes.
Thou sufferest, Brand.
Brand.
Thou art so dear.
Agnes.
Thou lov’st me, but thy love I fear.
’Tis stern.
Brand.
Too stern?
Agnes.
Ask not; whereso
Thou goest, I will also go!
Brand.
Think’st thou without design I won thee
Out of thy gladsome gay content,
Or, half in earnest, laid upon thee
The call to self-abandonment?
Woe to us both; too dear we paid,
Too vast a sacrifice we made;
Thou art my wife: I crave thee all
To live according to our call.
Agnes.
Crave; only leave me not.
Brand.
Indeed
I must; for rest and peace I need.
Soon shall the great new Church arise!
Agnes.
My little Church a ruin lies.
Brand.
It was a blessed wind that blew
And thy heart’s idol overthrew!
[Clasps her as if in dread.]
Peace be upon thee—and, through thee,
Peace also upon mine and me!
[Goes towards the side-door.
Agnes.
Brand, may I softly set ajar
One hateful window-barrier,—so?
Only a little? May I?
Brand.
[In the doorway.]
No.
[Goes into his room.
Agnes.
Closed, all closed with bolt and bar!
Seals on every passion set!
Seal’d to sorrow and to sigh,
Seal’d the grave and seal’d the sky,
Seal’d to feel—and to forget!
I will out! I gasp for breath
In this lonely house of death.
Out? Oh, whither? Angry eyes
Glare upon me from the skies!
Can I, flying, high or low,
Bear my treasure where I go?
Can I from my breast unsphere
The mute vacancy of fear?—
[Listens at Brand’s door.]
Loud he reads, he cannot hear.
There’s no comfort! There’s no way
God is busy; lists to-day
But to song and praise and blessing
Of the happy, child-possessing,
Richly-gifted of the earth.
Christmas is the feast of mirth.
Me He sees not, nor takes heed
Of a lonely mother’s need.—
[Goes cautiously to the window.]
Shall I draw the curtain back,
Till the clear and kindly ray
Chase the horror of night away
From his chamber bare and black?
Nay, he is not there at all.
Yule’s the children’s festival,
He hath got him leave to rise,
Haply now he stands, and cries,
Stretches little arms in vain
To his mother’s darken’d pane.
Was not that a baby’s voice?
Alf, I’ve neither will nor choice!
All is barr’d and bolted here.
’Tis thy father’s bidding, dear!
Alf, I may not open now!
An obedient child art thou!
We ne’er grieved him, thou and I.
Oh, fly home then to the sky,
There is gladness, there is light,
There thy merry comrades stay
Till thou come to join their play.
Oh, but weep not in their sight,
Nor to any soul betray
That thy father bade me lock,
When thy little hand did knock.
Years bring sterner, sadder stress
Than a little child may guess.
Say, he sorrow’d, say, he sigh’d;
Say, he wove the garden’s pride
All into a wreath for thee.
’Tis his doing! Canst thou see?
[Listens, starts, and shakes her head.]
Oh, I dream! Not bar and wall
Only from my love divide me.
When the purging fire hath tried me
In its anguish, then alone
Shall the parting barriers fall
And the mighty bolts be batter’d,
And the vaulted dungeons shatter’d,
And the prison hinges groan!
Much, oh, much is to be done
Ere we parted twain be one.
I with silent, toiling hands
Still will labour on, to fill
The abyss of his commands;
I shall nerve me, I shall will.
But it is the Feast this eve—
Last year’s how unlike! And wait
We will honour it in state.
I will fetch my treasures forth,
Whereof the uncounted worth
Best a mother can conceive,
To whose spirit they express
All her life-lost happiness.

[She kneels down by the cupboard, and takes various things out of a drawer. At the same moment, Brand opens the door, and is about to speak, when he observes her occupation, checks himself and remains standing. Agnes does not see him.

Brand.
[Softly.]
Haunting still the mortal mound,
Playing in Death’s garden-ground.
Agnes.
Lo, the robe, the veil that clad
At the font my little lad.
Under it his cloak I’ve laid—
[Holds it up, gazes at it, and laughs.]
Lord, how brave it looks and bright!
Ah, he was a bonny sight
In his festal robes array’d!
Here’s the scarf, the cape he wore
When the keen wind first he bore;
Longer was it than was meet
Then, but quickly grew too spare—
I will lay it with them there.
Gloves and stockings—(Oh, what feet!)
And his hood of silken fold
That had fenced him from the cold,
All unused and clean and sweet.
Oh, and there the wrappings warm
That should shield his little form
For the journey, from the storm
When again I laid them by,
Weary unto death was I!
Brand.
[Clasps his hands in anguish.]
Mercy, God! I strive in vain!
Shatter her last idol-shrine
By some other hand than mine!
Agnes.
Did I weep? Behold, a stain!
Oh, my treasure! Jewell’d prize,
Bath’d in floods from aching eyes,
Lit with fires of tortured Will,
Holy Crowning-vesture, worn
By a child to Death’s font borne,
Oh, what riches have I still!

A sharp knock at the outer door; Agnes turns with a cry, and at the same moment sees Brand. The door is burst open, and a Woman, raggedly dressed, enters hastily, with a child in her arms.

The Woman.
[Looking at the child’s clothes, calls to Agnes.]
Thou rich mother, share with me!
Agnes.
Thou art richer far!
The Woman.
I see,
Thou art of the common breed,
Cramm’d with words, and void of deed.
Brand.
[Approaching her.]
Tell me what thou seekest.
The Woman.
Thee,
Troth, I do not seek, at least!
Rather to the wind and rain
Will I hurry out again,
Than be sermon’d by a priest;
Rather to the wild sea fly,
Drown and rot beneath the sky,
Than I’ll hear the black man tell
How I’m on my way to hell;
Can I help—the devil take me—
Being what God chose to make me?
Brand.
[To himself.]
Voice and feature pierce me still
With a dim and icy dread.
Agnes.
Thou shalt warm thee, if thou’rt chill;
And thy hungry child be fed.
The Woman.
Where there’s warmth and where there’s light
Brats of gipsies may not stay;
We must haunt the lone highway,
Hill and forest, heath and height;
We must wander, we must roam,
Leave to others house and home.
I must swiftly from this place.
Dogs of justice are behind me,
Mayor, bailiff, all in chase,
Hungering to catch and bind me!
Brand.
Here thou shalt have shelter.
The Woman.
Here!
Roof’d above and wall’d about?
No! The winter night is clear,
And the breezes blithe without.
But a rag to wrap the child!
That were something! Sooth, its wild
Rascal brother fled, and bore
With him all the clouts it wore.
Look, it lies half naked—blue,
Stiff and stark and frozen through,
By the storm-wind’s icy breath.
Brand.
Woman, on the road to death,
Free thy infant from thy doom;
Free him from thy grief and gloom
Of his birth I’ll blot the brand.
The Woman.
Much, sooth, thou dost understand!
Such a wonder none on earth
Can, nor shall do, though he can!
War on you that set the ban,—
Wot ye where it was, that birth?
In a ditch-side, on the ground,
Gamblers drank and shouted round—
Christen’d in the sleety slime,
Cross’d with charcoal-ashes’ grime,
Suckled with a spirit-flask;—
When his mother bore him first
There were some stood by and cursed,
Who could they be, do you ask?
Bless you! Why, the baby’s father,
Or,—the baby’s fathers rather!
Brand.
Agnes?
Agnes.
Yes.
Brand.
Thy duty’s clear.
Agnes.
[Shuddering.]
Never! never! Brand, to her!
The Woman.
Give me, give me! Give me all!
Silk and broider’d jacket small!
Nought’s too good, and nought too bad,
If ’twill warm my starving lad.
He’ll be going by-and-by.
Thaw his body ere he die!
Brand.
[To Agnes.]
Choice is calling! Hear’st thou now?
The Woman.
Store enough of clothes hast thou
For thy dead child: hast thou none
For my death-doom’d living one?
Brand.
Is not this a warning cry
Importuning bodefully?
The Woman.
Give!
Agnes.
’Tis sacrilege blood-red
Desecration of the dead!
Brand.
Vainly given to death he was
If thou at the threshold pause.
Agnes.
[Crushed.]
I obey. My heart’s quick root
I will trample under foot.
Woman, come thou and receive,
I will share it with thee.
The Woman.
Give!
Brand.
Share it, say’st thou?—Agnes; share it?
Agnes.
[Wildly.]
I will rather die than spare it
All! See, inch by inch I’ve bent
To thy will; my force is spent!
Half’s enough; she needs no more!
Brand.
Was the whole too much before,
When for thy child it was meant?
Agnes.
[Gives.]
Woman, take; in this was clad
At the font my little lad.
Here the scarf, cloak, mantle, good
For the night-air, here the hood
Warm for winter; take this last——
The Woman.
Give me!
Brand.
Is this all thou hast?
Agnes.
[Gives again.]
Take the crowning vesture worn,
By the child to Death’s Font.Font.
The Woman.
So! I see there’s nothing more.
I’ll clear out without delay,
Dress my baby at the door—
Then with all my pack away!
[Goes.
Agnes.
[In violent inner conflict; at length asks.]
Is it reason, Brand, to lay
Further bidding on me?
Brand.
Say,
Didst thou with a glad heart go
To thy task of giving?
Agnes.
No.
Brand.
Then thy gift is vainly will’d
And His bidding unfulfill’d.
[Going.
Agnes.
[Remains silent until he is near the door, then calls.]
Brand!
Brand.
What wilt thou?
Agnes.
I have lied—
See, I’m humbled, I am grieved.
Never knew’st thou nor believed,
Anything was left beside.
Brand.
Well?
Agnes.
[Takes a folded child’s cap from her bosom.]
See, one I thought to hide—
One!
Brand.
The cap?
Agnes.
Yes, tear-bewet,
Clammy with his mortal sweat,
There in my beating bosom set!
Brand.
In thy idol-bonds abide.
[Going.
Agnes.
Hold!
Brand.
What wilt thou?
Agnes.
Thou dost know.
[Holds out the cap to him.
Brand.
[Approaches and asks, without taking it.]
Gladly given?
Agnes.
Gladly!
Brand.
So.
At the door she lingers yet.
[Goes.
Agnes.