The collected works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 01 (of 11)Ibsen, Henrik
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The collected works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 01 (of 11)
Ibsen, Henrik
Ibsen, Henrik, 1828-1906 -- Translations into English; Norwegian drama -- Translations into English
He was once so brilliant and so strong;
Warred with the world to win his mistress; passed
For Custom’s doughtiest iconoclast;
And poured forth love in pæans of glad song—!
Look at him now! In solemn robes and wraps,
A two-legged drama on his own collapse!
And she, the limp-skirt slattern, with the shoes
Heel-trodden, that squeak and clatter in her traces,
This is the winged maid who was his Muse
And escort to the kingdom of the graces!
Of all that fire this puff of smoke’s the end!
_Sic transit gloria amoris_, friend.
SVANHILD.
Yes, it is wretched, wretched past compare.
I know of no one’s lot that I would share.
FALK [_eagerly_].
Then let us two rise up and bid defiance
To this same order Art, not Nature, bred!
SVANHILD [_shaking her head_].
Then were the cause for which we made alliance
Ruined, as sure as this is earth we tread.
FALK.
No, triumph waits upon two souls in unity.
To Custom’s parish-church no more we’ll wend,
Seatholders in the Philistine community.
See, Personality’s one aim and end
Is to be independent, free and true.
In that I am not wanting, nor are you.
A fiery spirit pulses in your veins,
For thoughts that master, you have words that burn;
The corslet of convention, that constrains
The beating hearts of other maids, you spurn.
The voice that you were born with will not chime to
The chorus Custom’s baton gives the time to.
SVANHILD.
And do you think pain has not often pressed
Tears from my eyes, and quiet from my breast?
I longed to shape my way to my own bent—
FALK.
“In pensive ease?”
SVANHILD.
O no, ’twas sternly meant.
But then the aunts came in with well-intended
Advice, the matter must be sifted, weighed—
[_Coming nearer._
“In pensive ease,” you say; oh no, I made
A bold experiment—in art.
FALK.
Which ended—?
SVANHILD.
In failure. I lacked talent for the brush.
The thirst for freedom, tho’, I could not crush;
Checked at the easel, it essayed the stage—
FALK.
That plan was shattered also, I engage?
SVANHILD.
Upon the eldest aunt’s suggestion, yes;
She much preferred a place as governess—
FALK.
But of all this I never heard a word!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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