Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/280



[Shaking his head.]

Man must struggle till he falls.

Oh, not thou; thou art the head! By the nails thy hands were gored;— Thou art chosen; thou art Lord.

I'm the meanest worm that crawls.

[Looks up; the clouds are lifting.]

Know'st thou where thou stand'st?

[Gazing before him.]

Below The first step of the ascent; It is far, and I am faint.

[More fiercely.]

Say! Where art thou, dost thou know?

Yes, now falls the misty shroud.

Yes, it falls: without a cloud Svartetind impales the blue!

[Looking up.]

Svartetind? The ice-church