No More Learning

" "Leave my ancestors in peace! "
Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you
Must not lay hands on them. " The troubadour
Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player
Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud.
"Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine
Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me!
Stay and watch over me all night, my friends. "
"Far have we travelled," said the troubadour,
"In hopes to be alone with you to-night. "
And his dark face lightened with a grim smile,
When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep.
"I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player,
"And you can have the land! Are you content? "
"Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet. "
"Revenge is sweeter! " cried the troubadour.
"'A little man like me! ' Those were her words.
Neither as queen nor empress shall she reign!
I swore it when she flouted me. She dies! "
"I cannot kill her," said the lute-player,
"I love her. " "So do I! " the other said.
"I love her and hate her. If she lived,
There would be war between us two. She dies!
We love her; we must kill her. " As he spoke
The troubadour pulled at a ring, and raised
A flagstone in the floor. "I know this place,"
He said. "A lord of Lusace had this trap
Made for his enemies. 'Twill serve our need!
Help me to lift her. All the land is yours. "
"Look! " screamed the lute-player. "Oh, God! Oh, God! "
The troubadour turned round, and his knees shook.
One of the iron images had leapt
Down from its lifeless horse, and with drawn sword
And clank of armour, it now drove at them.
"King Ladislas and Emperor Sigismund! "
It shouted in a terrible voice that fell
Upon them like a judgment from on high.
They grovelled at its iron feet, and shrieked,
"Mercy! Oh, mercy! " And Eviradnus,
Doffing his helmet and cuirass, exclaimed,
"I am a man and not an iron ghost!
It sickens me to see such cowardice
In the two greatest conquerors of the age.
Look! I have taken all my armour off;
Meet me like men, and use what arms you will. "
"'Tis only an old man," said Ladislas.
"Hold him in front, while I strike from behind. "
Eviradnus laid down his sword, to loose
The last piece of his armour, and the Pole
Ran at him with a dagger; with one hand
The old man gripped the little king, and shook
The life out of him. Then, as Sigismund
Snatched up his sword, and left him still unarmed,
Eviradnus stooped, and, seizing the dead king,
He whirled him by the feet, like a huge club.
Stricken with terror, Sigismund recoiled
Into the open trap. Eviradnus
Flung his strange weapon after him, and they fell,
The living emperor, and the lifeless king,
Into the dark abyss. Closing the stone,
Eviradnus put on his mail, and set
The hall in order. And when he had placed
The iron image on its horse, the dawn
Gleamed through the windows, and the noise
And murmur of the people of Lusace
Coming with branches of green broom to greet
Their lady, filled the air. Mahaud awoke.
"Where is my troubadour and lute-player? "
She said. Eviradnus bent over her,
His old grey eyes shining with tenderness.
"Lady," he said, "I hope that you slept well? "


_The Temple of the Captives_

The high-priest said unto the King of Kings:
"We need a temple to commemorate
Your glorious victories. " The King of Kings
Called unto him the captives he had made,
And bade them build the temple, and he asked:
"Is there a man among you who can plan
And raise this monument unto my fame? "
"No," said they. "Kill a hundred of these slaves! "
The King of Kings exclaimed. And this was done.
One of the captives promised then to build
A temple on the mountain looking down
Upon the city of the King of Kings.
Loaded with chains, the prisoners were dragged
Along the streets and up the mountain track,
And there they toiled with grim and angry eyes,
Cutting a building in the solid rock.
"'Tis but a cavern! " said the King of Kings.
"We found a lion's lair," the captive said,
"And fashioned it into your monument.
Enter, O King of Kings, and see the work
Your slaves have built for you! " The conqueror
And captive entered. To a royal throne
The King of Kings was led, that he might view
The temple; and the builder flung himself
Face downwards at his feet. Then, suddenly,
The throne began to sink below the floor.
"Where are we going? " said the King of Kings.
"Down the deep pit into the inner hall! "
The captive said. A sound like thunder rang
Above them, and the King of Kings exclaimed:
"What noise was that? " "The block of stone
That covers in this pit," the captive said,
"Has fallen in its place! " The King of Kings
Groped in the darkness, and with trembling voice
He asked: "Is there no way out of this pit? "
"Surely," the captive said, "the King of Kings,
Whose hands are swift like lightning, and whose feet
Tread down all nations, can find out a way? "
"There is no light, no sound, no breath of air! "
Cried out the King of Kings. "Why is it dark
And cold within the temple to my fame? "
"Because," the captive said, "it is your tomb! "


_Jean Chouan_

The work of pacifying Brittany
Was going on; and children, women, men,
Fled from the revolutionary troops
In wild disorder. Over a bare plain
And up a hill, swept by the guns of France,
They ran, and reached the shelter of a wood.
There they re-formed--the peasant royalists.
And then Jean Chouan, who was leading them,
Cried: "Is there any missing? " "No," they said,
Counting their numbers. "Scatter along the wood! "
Jean Chouan cried again. The women caught
Their babies to their breasts, and the old men
Tottered beside the children. Panic, fear
Possessed the broken, flying peasantry.
Only Jean Chouan stayed behind to watch
The movements of the enemy. He stood
Silent in prayer below the sheltering hill;
A tall, wild figure, with his long, loose hair
Streaming upon the wind. And suddenly,
A cry rang shrill and keen above the roar
Of the French guns. A woman's cry it was;
And, looking from the hill, Jean Chouan saw
A woman labouring, with bare, torn feet,
And haggard, terror-stricken face, to reach
A refuge in the forest. Up the hill,
Swep by the French artillery, she toiled,
And the shells burst around her. "She is lost! "
Jean Chouan murmured. "She will be destroyed
Before she reaches shelter. Oh, the brutes,
To mass their fire upon a woman's head! "

* * * * *

Then on the height that overlooked the plain,
Jean Chouan sprang, and stood against the sky,
Fearless and proud, superb and motionless,
And cried, "I am Jean Chouan! " The French troops
Gazed for a moment in astonishment
At his tall figure. "Yes, it is the chief! "
They said to one another, as they turned
Their guns upon him. "Save yourself! " he cried,
"My sister, save yourself! " as, mad with fright,
The woman stumbled onward. Like a pine
Too strongly rooted in the rock to bend
Or break beneath the fury of the storm,
He towered amid the hurricane of death
That roared and flamed around him. "I will wait
Until you gain the forest! " he exclaimed.
The woman hastened. Over the hill she crept,
And staggered down the valley. "Is she safe? "
Jean Chouan shouted, as a bullet passed
Right through his body. Standing still erect,
He waited, with a smile upon his lips,
The answer. When some voices in the wood
Cried, "Jeanne is safe. Return! " Jean Chouan said,
"Ave Maria! " and then fell down dead.


_Civil War_

"Kill him! " the mob yelled. "Kill him! " as they surged
In fury round their prisoner. Unmoved
And unafraid he stood: a constable
Of Paris, captured by the Communards.
His hands were black with gunpowder; his clothes
Were red with blood. A simple, fearless man,
Charged with the task of carrying out the law,
He gave no quarter, and he asked for none.
All the day he had fought against the mob
That swept with sword and flame along the streets
Of Paris, while the German conqueror
Battened on France. A woman sprang at him,
And shrieked, "You have been killing us! " "That's true,"
The man replied. "Come, shoot him here! " she screamed.
"No! Farther on! At the Bastille! " "No! Here! "
And while the crowd disputed, the man said:
"Kill me just where you like; but kill me quick. "
"Yes! " cried the woman, "shoot him where he stands.
He is a wolf! " "A wolf that has been caught,"
The prisoner said, "by a vile pack of curs! "
"The wretch insults us! " yelled the furious mob.
"Down with him! Death! Death! Death! " And with clenched fists
They struck him on the face. An angry flame
Gleamed in his eyes, but, silent and superb,
He marched along the street amid the howls
Of the ferocious, maddened multitude!
God! How they hated him! To shoot him seemed
Too light a sentence, as he calmly strode
Over the corpses of their comrades strewn
Along the street. "How many did you kill? "
They shrieked at him. "Murderer! Traitor! Spy! "
He did not answer; but the waiting mob
Heard a small voice cry: "Daddy! " and a child
Of six years' age ran from a house close by,
And struggled to remain and clasped his knees,
Saying, "He is my daddy. Don't hurt him!
He is my daddy--" "Down with the cursed spy!
Shoot him at once! " a hundred voices said;
"Then we can get on with our work! " Their yells,
The clangour of the tocsin, and the roar
Of cannon mingled. 'Mid the dreadful noise,
The child, still clinging to his father's knees,
Cried, "I tell you he's my daddy. Let him go! "
Pale, tearful, with one arm thrown out to shield
His father, and the other round his leg,
The child stood. "He is pretty! " said a girl.
"How old are you, my little one? " The child
Answered, "Don't kill my daddy! " Many men
Lowered their eyes, and the fierce hands that gripped
The prisoner began to loose their hold.
"Send the kid to its mother! " one man cried,
"And end this job! " "His mother died last month,"
The prisoner said. "Do you know Catherine? "
He asked his little boy. "Yes," said the child,
"She lives next door to us. " "Then go to her,"
He said, in grave, calm, kindly tones. "No! No!
I cannot go without you! " cried his son.
"They're going to hurt you, daddy, all these men! "
The father whispered to the Communards
That held him. "Let me say good-bye to him,
And you can shoot me round the corner-house;
Or where you will! " They loosed their prisoner
A moment, and he said unto his child:
"You see, we're only playing. They are friends,
And I am going for a walk with them.
Be a good boy, my darling, and run home. "
Raising his face up to be kissed, the child
Smiled through his tears, and skipped into the house.
"Now," said his father to the silent mob,
"Where would you like to shoot me; by this wall,
Or round the corner? " Through the crowd of men,
Mad with the lust for blood, a shudder passed,
And with one voice they cried: "Go home! Go home! "


FOOTNOTES:

[M] English poetry of the last eighty years is fine in quality
and great in volume, but it would be difficult to maintain that it
is the finest and greatest poetry of the period. It was France that
produced the master-singer, and with rare generosity both Tennyson and
Swinburne acknowledged that Victor Hugo was their superior. The range
of power of the Frenchman was marvellous; he was a great novelist, a
great playwright, a great political writer; but, above all, he was a
poet.
His immense force of imagination and narrative power is displayed
at its best in "The Legend of the Ages" ("La Legende des Siecles"). The
first part appeared in 1859, the second in 1877, and the last in 1883.
It consists of a series of historical and philosophic poems, in which
the story of the human race is depicted in the lightning flashes of a
resplendent imagination. Some of the poems, given here for the first
time in English, contain stories as fine as the masterpieces of the
great novelists.




HENRIK IBSEN[N]




The Master Builder


_Persons in the Drama_

HALVARD SOLNESS, _the Master Builder_
ALINE SOLNESS, _his wife_
DR. HERDAL, _physician_
KNUT BROVIK, _formerly an architect, now in Solness's employment_
RAGNAR BROVIK, _his son_
KAIA FOSLI, _his niece, book-keeper_
HILDA WANGEL


ACT I

SCENE. --_A plainly furnished work-room in the house of_ HALVARD
SOLNESS. _At the back, visible through an open door, is the
draughtsman's office, where sit_ KNUT BROVIK _and his son_,
RAGNAR, _occupied with plans and calculations. At the desk
in the outer office_ KAIA FOSLI _is writing in the ledger.
She is young, slight, and delicate-looking. She wears a
green shade over her eyes. All three work for some time
in silence_.

KNUT BROVIK _(rising as if in distress_): No, I can't
bear it much longer!

KAIA: You're feeling very ill, aren't you, uncle?

BROVIK: Oh, I seem to get worse every day!

RAGNAR _(advancing)_: You ought to go home, father.

BROVIK: Not till _he_ comes! I'm determined to have
it out--with the chief!

KAIA _(anxiously)_: Oh, no, uncle! Wait awhile.
Hush! I hear him on the stairs.

[_They go back to their work_. HALVARD SOLNESS, _mature,
healthy, vigorous, comes in_.

SOLNESS: Are they gone?

KAIA: No. _[She takes the shade off her eyes_.

SOLNESS _(approaching her and whispering_): Kaia!
Why do you always take off that shade when I come?

KAIA: I look so ugly with it on.

SOLNESS _(stroking her hair_): Poor, poor little
Kaia------

KAIA: Hush------

[BROVIK _comes into the front room_.

BROVIK: May I have a few words with you?

SOLNESS: Certainly.

[BROVIK _sends_ KAIA _out_.

BROVIK: It will soon be all over with me. (SOLNESS
_places him in an armchair_. ) Thanks. Well, you see, it's
about Ragnar. That weighs most upon me. What's to
become of him?

SOLNESS: Your son will stay with me as long as ever
he likes.
BROVIK: But he wants to have a chance. He must do
something on his own account.

SOLNESS: Well, but he has learnt nothing, except, of
course, to draw.

BROVIK: You had learnt little enough when you were
with me, and yet you cut me out. Now, how can you
have the heart to let me go to my grave without having
seen what Ragnar is fit for? And I'm anxious to see
him and Kaia married--before I go.

SOLNESS: I can't drag commissions down from the
moon for him.

BROVIK: He can have the building of that villa at Lovstrand,
if you would only approve of his plans, and
retire------

SOLNESS _(angrily):_ Retire? I?

BROVIK: From the agreement, that is.

SOLNESS: So that's it, is it? Halvard Solness to make
room for younger men! Never in the world!

BROVIK _(rising painfully_): Then I'm to die without
any certainty, any gleam of happiness or trust in Ragnar?

SOLNESS: You must pass out of life as best you can.
[BROVIK _reels_. RAGNAR _enters and takes his father
home. _ SOLNESS _detains_ KAIA.

SOLNESS: You want to marry Ragnar.

KAIA: I cared for him once--before I met you. I
can't be separated from you------

SOLNESS: Marry him as much as you please. Make
him stay here, and then I can keep _you_, too, my dear
Kaia.

KAIA _(sinks down before him_): Oh, how unspeakably
good you are to me!

SOLNESS: Get up! For goodness' sake get up! I
think I hear someone.

[MRS. SOLNESS _enters. She is wasted with grief, but has
once been beautiful_.

MRS. SOLNESS _(with a glance at_ KAIA): Halvard!
I'm afraid I'm disturbing you.

SOLNESS: Not in the least. What is it, Aline?

MRS. SOLNESS: Merely that Dr. Herdal is in the drawing-room.

SOLNESS: I'll come later on, dear--later on.

[_Exit_ MRS. SOLNESS.

KAIA: Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'm sure Mrs. Solness
thinks ill of me in some way!

SOLNESS: Oh, not in the least! You'd better go now,
all the same, Kaia. And mind you get that matter about
Ragnar settled for me. Please give me Ragnar's drawings
before you go. I might glance over them.

KAIA _(happy):_ Oh, yes, please do!

[MRS. SOLNESS _and_ DR. HERDAL _enter_.

MRS. SOLNESS: Halvard, I cannot keep the doctor any
longer.

SOLNESS: Well, then, come in here.

KAIA: Good-night, Mrs. Solness.

[KAIA _goes out_.

MRS. SOLNESS: She must be quite an acquisition to you,
Halvard, this Miss Fosli.

SOLNESS: Yes, indeed. She's useful in all sorts of
ways.

MRS. SOLNESS: So it seems.

[MRS. SOLNESS _goes out_.

SOLNESS: Tell me, doctor, did you notice anything odd
about Aline?

DR. HERDAL _(smiling_): Well, one couldn't help noticing
that your wife--h'm------

SOLNESS: Well?

DR. HERDAL: That your wife isn't particularly fond
of this Miss Fosli. There's nothing of any sort in the
case, is there?

SOLNESS: Not on _my_ side.

DR. HERDAL: On hers, then?

SOLNESS: Hardly a fair question! Still, you know
she's engaged to Ragnar; but since she came here she
seemed to drift quite away from _him_.
DR. HERDAL: She drifted over to you, then?

SOLNESS: Yes, entirely. She quivers when she comes
near me.

DR. HERDAL: Why on earth don't you tell your wife
the rights of it?

SOLNESS: Because I seem to find a sort of--of salutary
self-sacrifice in allowing Aline to do me an injustice.
It's like paying off a little bit of a huge, immeasurable
debt I owe her. Oh, I know she thinks I'm ill--crazy.
And, I think, so do you.

DR. HERDAL: And what then?

SOLNESS: Then I dare say you fancy I'm an extremely
happy man--Solness, the master builder!

DR. HERDAL: You've certainly had luck on your side.
First of all, the home of your wife's family was burnt
down for you. A great grief to her--but _you_ rose on the
ruins. Yes, you've had luck.

SOLNESS: But luck must turn. The younger generation
will come knocking at my door. Then there's an
end of Halvard Solness, the master builder. (_A knock
at the door. Starts_. ) What's that?

DR. HERDAL: Someone is knocking at the door.

SOLNESS (_loudly_): Come in!

[HILDA WANGEL _enters. She is dressed in a tourist
costume, skirt caught up for walking, and carries
a knapsack and alpenstock_.

HILDA: You don't recognise me?

SOLNESS (_doubtfully_): No. I must admit that--just
for the moment.

DR. HERDAL: But I recognise you, Miss Wangel.

SOLNESS: Wangel? You must be the doctor's daughter
up at Lysanger?

HILDA: Yes. Who else's daughter should I be?

[SOLNESS _calls in his wife, an old friend of_ MISS
WANGEL'S. HILDA _asks leave to stay the night_. MRS.
SOLNESS _consents amiably. She and the doctor go
out. _ HILDA and SOLNESS _alone_.

HILDA: Mr. Solness, have you a bad memory?

SOLNESS: Not that I'm aware of.

HILDA: Don't you remember what happened up at Lysanger?

SOLNESS: It was nothing much, was it?

HILDA: How can you say that? Don't you remember
how you climbed the new church tower when it was
finished, and hung a great wreath on the weather-cock; and
how I stood with the other white-frocked schoolgirls and
screamed, "Hurrah for Mr. Solness? " And you sang up
there--like harps in the air! And afterwards you
kissed me, kissed me and said in ten years I'd be _your_
princess, and you'd come back and give me a castle in
Spain--a kingdom--

SOLNESS (_open-mouthed_): _I_ did?

HILDA: Yes, _you_. Well, the ten years are up to-day.
I want my kingdom! Out with my kingdom, Mr. Solness!
On the table!

SOLNESS: But, seriously, what do you want to do here?

HILDA: I don't want that stupid imaginary kingdom--I've
set my heart upon quite a different one.

SOLNESS (_gazing at her_): I seem--it's strange--to
have gone about all these years torturing myself with the
effort to recover something--some experience which I
seem to have forgotten. What a good thing it is that
you have come to me now. I'd begun to be so afraid--so
terribly afraid of the younger generation. One day
they'll thunder at my door.

HILDA: Then I'd go out and open it. Let them come
in to you on friendly terms, as it were.

SOLNESS: No, no, no! The younger generation--it
means retribution.

HILDA (_with quivering lips_): Can _I_ be of any use to
you, Mr. Solness?

SOLNESS: Yes, you can. For you, too, come--under
a new banner, it seems to me. Youth marshalled against
youth! _You_ are the very one I have most needed.

HILDA (_with happy, wondering eyes_): Oh, heavens, how
lovely!

SOLNESS: What?

HILDA: Then I _have_ my kingdom!

SOLNESS _(involuntarily)_: Hilda!

HILDA _(with quivering lips): Almost_--I was going to say.

[_She goes out_.