Chapter V: Part 5

However, I hope you don’t misunderstand me?
When I said he was dead, I was talking stuff.
He’s beside himself. Started clean out of his skin,—
Just like my compatriot Münchausen’s fox.

PEER.

Excuse me a moment——

BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Holding him back._]

I meant like an eel;—
It was not like a fox. A needle through his eye;—
And he writhed on the wall——

PEER.

Where can rescue be found?

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

A snick round his neck, and whip! out of his skin!

PEER.

He’s raving! He’s utterly out of his wits!

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Now it’s patent, and can’t be dissimulated,
That this from-himself-going must have for result
A complete revolution by sea and land.
The persons one hitherto reckoned as mad,
You see, became normal last night at eleven,
Accordant with Reason in its newest phase.
And more, if the matter be rightly regarded,
It’s patent that, at the aforementioned hour,
The sane folks, so called, began forthwith to rave.

PEER.

You mentioned the hour, sir; my time is but scant——

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Your time, did you say? There you jog my remembrance!
[_Opens a door and calls out._
Come forth all! The time that shall be is proclaimed!
Reason is dead and gone; long live Peer Gynt!

PEER.

Now, my dear good fellow——!

[_The LUNATICS come one by one, and at intervals, into
the courtyard._

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Good morning! Come forth,
And hail the dawn of emancipation!
Your Kaiser has come to you!

PEER.

Kaiser?

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Of course!

PEER.

But the honour’s so great, so entirely excessive——

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Oh, do not let any false modesty sway you
At an hour such as this.

PEER.

But at least give me time——
No, indeed, I’m not fit; I’m completely dumbfounded!

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

A man who has fathomed the Sphinx’s meaning!
A man who’s himself!

PEER.

Ay, but that’s just the rub.
It’s true that in everything I am myself;
But here the point is, if I follow your meaning,
To be, so to phrase it, outside oneself.

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Outside? No, there you are strangely mistaken!
It’s here, sir, that one is oneself with a vengeance;
Oneself, and nothing whatever besides.
We go, full sail, as our very selves.
Each one shuts himself up in the barrel of self,
In the self-fermentation he dives to the bottom,—
With the self-bung he seals it hermetically,
And seasons the staves in the well of self.
No one has tears for the other’s woes;
No one has mind for the other’s ideas.
We’re our very selves, both in thought and tone,
Ourselves to the spring-board’s uttermost verge,—
And so, if a Kaiser’s to fill the Throne,
It is clear that you are the very man.

PEER.

O would that the devil——!

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Come, don’t be cast down;
Almost all things in nature are new at the first.
“Oneself”;—come, here you shall see an example;
I’ll choose you at random the first man that comes——
[_To a gloomy figure._
Good-day, Huhu? Well, my boy, wandering round
For ever with misery’s impress upon you?

HUHU.[102]

Can I help it, when the people,
Race[103] by race, dies untranslated.[104]
[_To PEER GYNT._
You’re a stranger; will you listen?

PEER.
[_Bowing._]

Oh, by all means!

HUHU.

Lend your ear then.—
Eastward far, like brow-borne garlands,
Lie the Malabarish seaboards.
Hollanders and Portugueses
Compass all the land with culture.
There, moreover, swarms are dwelling
Of the pure-bred Malabaris.
These have muddled up the language,
They now lord it in the country.—
But in long-departed ages
There the orang-outang was the ruler.
He, the forest’s lord and master,
Freely fought and snarled in freedom.
As the hand of nature shaped him,
Just so grinned he, just so gaped he.
He could shriek unreprehended;
He was ruler in his kingdom.—
Ah, but then the foreign yoke came,
Marred the forest-tongue primeval.
Twice two hundred years of darkness[105]
Brooded o’er the race of monkeys;
And, you know, nights so protracted
Bring a people to a standstill.—
Mute are now the wood-notes primal;
Grunts and growls are heard no longer;—
If we’d utter our ideas,
It must be by means of language.
What constraint on all and sundry!
Hollanders and Portugueses,
Half-caste race and Malabaris,
All alike must suffer by it.—
I have tried to fight the battle
Of our real, primal wood-speech,—
Tried to bring to life its carcass,—
Proved the people’s right of shrieking,—
Shrieked myself, and shown the need of
Shrieks in poems for the people.—
Scantly, though, my work is valued.—
Now I think you grasp my sorrow.
Thanks for lending me a hearing;—
Have you counsel, let me hear it!

PEER.
[_Softly._]

It is written: Best be howling
With the wolves that are about you.
[_Aloud._
Friend, if I remember rightly,
There are bushes in Morocco,
Where orang-outangs in plenty
Live with neither bard nor spokesman;—
Their speech sounded Malabarish;—
It was classical and pleasing.
Why don’t you, like other worthies,
Emigrate to serve your country?

HUHU.

Thanks for lending me a hearing;—
I will do as you advise me.
[_With a large gesture._
East! thou hast disowned thy singer!
West! thou hast orang-outangs still!
[_Goes._

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Well, was he himself? I should rather think so.
He’s filled with his own affairs, simply and solely.
He’s himself in all that comes out of him,—
Himself, just because he’s beside himself.
Come here! Now I’ll show you another one
Who’s no less, since last evening, accordant with Reason.
[_To a FELLAH, with a mummy on his back._
King Apis, how goes it, my mighty lord?

THE FELLAH.
[_Wildly, to PEER GYNT._]

Am I King Apis?

PEER.
[_Getting behind the Doctor._]

I’m sorry to say
I’m not quite at home in the situation;
But I certainly gather, to judge by your tone——

THE FELLAH.

Now you too are lying.

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Your Highness should state
How the whole matter stands.

THE FELLAH.

Yes, I’ll tell him my tale.
[_Turns to PEER GYNT._
Do you see whom I bear on my shoulders?
His name was King Apis of old.
Now he goes by the title of mummy,
And withal he’s completely dead.
All the pyramids yonder he builded,
And hewed out the mighty Sphinx,
And fought, as the Doctor puts it,
With the Turks, both to rechts and links.
And therefore the whole of Egypt
Exalted him as a god,
And set up his image in temples,
In the outward shape of a bull.—
But _I_ am this very King Apis,
I see that as clear as day;
And if you don’t understand it,
You shall understand it soon.
King Apis, you see, was out hunting,
And got off his horse awhile,
And withdrew himself unattended
To a part of my ancestor’s land.
But the field that King Apis manured
Has nourished _me_ with its corn;
And if further proofs are demanded,
Know, I have invisible horns.
Now, isn’t it most accursëd
That no one will own my might!
By birth I am Apis of Egypt,
But a fellah in other men’s sight.
Can you tell me what course to follow?—
Then counsel me honestly.—
The problem is how to make me
Resemble King Apis the Great.

PEER.

Build pyramids then, your highness,
And carve out a greater Sphinx,
And fight, as the Doctor puts it,
With the Turks, both to rechts and links.

THE FELLAH.

Ay, that is all mighty fine talking!
A fellah! A hungry louse!
I, who scarcely can keep my hovel
Clear even of rats and mice.
Quick, man,—think of something better,
That’ll make me both great and safe,
And further, exactly like to
King Apis that’s on my back!

PEER.

What if your highness hanged you,
And then, in the lap of earth,
’Twixt the coffin’s natural frontiers,
Kept still and completely dead.

THE FELLAH.

I’ll do it! My life for a halter!
To the gallows with hide and hair!—
At first there will be some difference,
But that time will smooth away.
[_Goes off and prepares to hang himself._

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

There’s a personality for you, Herr Peer,—
A man of method——

PEER.

Yes, yes; I see——;
But he’ll really hang himself! God grant us grace!
I’ll be ill;—I can scarcely command my thoughts!

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

A state of transition; it won’t last long.

PEER.

Transition? To what? With your leave—I must go——

BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Holding him_.]

Are you crazy?

PEER.

Not yet——. Crazy? Heaven forbid!

[_A commotion. The Minister HUSSEIN[106] forces his way
through the crowd._

HUSSEIN.

They tell me a Kaiser has come to-day.
[_To PEER GYNT._
It is you?

PEER.
[_In desperation._]

Yes, that is a settled thing!

HUSSEIN.

Good.—Then no doubt there are notes to be answered?

PEER.
[_Tearing his hair._]

Come on! Right you are, sir;—the madder the better!

HUSSEIN.

Will you do me the honour of taking a dip?
[_Bowing deeply._
I am a pen.

PEER.
[_Bowing still deeper._]

Why then I am quite clearly
A rubbishy piece of imperial parchment.

HUSSEIN.

My story, my lord, is concisely this:
They take me for a pounce-box,[107] and I am a pen.

PEER.

My story, Sir Pen, is, to put it briefly:
I’m a blank sheet of paper that no one will write on.

HUSSEIN.

No man understands in the least what I’m good for;
They all want to use me for scattering sand with!

PEER.

I was in a woman’s keeping a silver-clasped book;—
It’s one and the same misprint to be either mad or sane!

HUSSEIN.

Just fancy, what an exhausting life.
To be a pen and never taste the edge of a knife!

PEER.
[_With a high leap._]

Just fancy, for a reindeer to leap from on high—
To fall and fall—and never feel the ground beneath your hoofs!

HUSSEIN.

A knife! I am blunt;—quick, mend me and slit me!
The world will go to ruin if they don’t mend my point for me!

PEER.

A pity for the world which, like other self-made things,
Was reckoned by the Lord to be so excellently good.

BEGRIFFENFELDT.

Here’s a knife!

HUSSEIN.
[_Seizing it._]

Ah, how I shall lick up the ink now!
Oh, what rapture to cut oneself!
[_Cuts his throat._

BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Stepping aside._]

Pray do not sputter.

PEER.
[_In increasing terror._]

Hold him!

HUSSEIN.

Ay, hold me! That is the word!
Hold! Hold the pen! On the desk with the paper——!
[_Falls._
I’m outworn. The postscript—remember it, pray:
He lived and he died as a fate-guided pen.[108]

PEER.
[_Dizzily._]

What shall I——! What am I? Thou mighty——hold fast!
I am all that thou wilt,—I’m a Turk, I’m a sinner——
A hill-troll——; but help;—there was something that burst——!
[_Shrieks._
I cannot just hit on thy name at the moment;—
Oh, come to my aid, thou—all madmen’s protector!
[_Sinks down insensible._

BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_With a wreath of straw in his hand, gives a bound
and sits astride of him._]

Ha! See him in the mire enthronëd;—
Beside himself——To crown him now!

[_Presses the wreath on PEER GYNT’S head, and shouts_:

Long life, long life to Self-hood’s Kaiser!

SCHAFMANN.
[_In the cage._]

Es lebe hoch der grosse Peer!

-----

Footnotes:

-----

Footnote 65:

In the original, “Master Cotton.”

Footnote 66:

A Swede. The name means “trumpet-blast.”

Footnote 67:

In the original (early editions), “Werry well.”

Footnote 68:

So in original.

Footnote 69:

This may not be a very lucid or even very precise rendering of
Verdensborgerdomsforpagtning; but this line, and indeed the
whole speech, is pure burlesque; and the exact sense of
nonsense is naturally elusive.

Footnote 70:

So in original.

Footnote 71:

Literally, “pack-camel.”

Footnote 72:

So in original.

Footnote 73:

So in original.

Footnote 74:

So in original.

Footnote 75:

So in original.

Footnote 76:

In the original “kejser.” We have elsewhere used the word
“Kaiser,” but in this scene, and in Scenes 7 and 8 of this
act, the ordinary English form seemed preferable.

Footnote 77:

So in original.

Footnote 78:

An allusion to the spurs with which Charles XII. is said to
have torn the caftan of the Turkish Vizier who announced to
him that the Sultan had concluded a truce with Russia. The
boots and spurs, it would appear, have been preserved, but
with the buckles missing.

Footnote 79:

So in original.

Footnote 80:

So in original.

Footnote 81:

So in original.

Footnote 82:

Mr. Cotton seems to have confounded Olympus with Parnassus.

Footnote 83:

So in original.

Footnote 84:

An allusion to the attitude of Sweden during the Danish War of
1863-64, with special reference to the diplomatic notes of the
Minister for Foreign Affairs, Grev Manderström. He is also
aimed at in the character of Hussein in the last scene of this
act. See Introduction.

Footnote 85:

So in original.

Footnote 86:

This is not to be taken as a burlesque instance of the poet’s
supposed preoccupation with questions of heredity, but simply
as an allusion to the fact that, in the East, thieving and
receiving are regular and hereditary professions.

Footnote 87:

This proposal was seriously mooted about ten years after the
appearance of _Peer Gynt_.

Footnote 88:

Or “ego.”

Footnote 89:

In original, “Pundsterling og shilling.”

Footnote 90:

In the original, “De har snydt——hm; jeg mener syndet, mit
barn!”

Footnote 91:

In the previous edition we restored the exact wording of
Goethe’s line, “zieht uns hinan.” We ought to have understood
that the point of the speech lay in the misquotation.

Footnote 92:

Literally, “on the basis of.”

Footnote 93:

So in original.

Footnote 94:

Literally, “you’re looed” or “euchred.”

Footnote 95:

Literally, “behave as though sober and wakeful.”

Footnote 96:

Literally, “_spirituel_.”

Footnote 97:

_Sidst_—literally, “when last we met.”

Footnote 98:

“Gå udenom,” the phrase used by the Boyg, Act ii. sc. 7.

Footnote 99:

So in original.

Footnote 100:

So in original.

Footnote 101:

This is understood to refer to the authors of the Greek
version of the Old Testament, known as the Septuagint. We are
unable to account for the hundred and sixty recruits to their
company.

Footnote 102:

See Introduction.

Footnote 103:

Literally, “generation.”

Footnote 104:

Literally, “uninterpreted.”

Footnote 105:

An allusion to the long period of stagnation in the history of
Norway under the Danish rule—say, from 1400 to 1800.

Footnote 106:

See note, p. 140.

Footnote 107:

The pounce-box (for strewing “pounce” or sand on undried ink)
had not yet been quite superseded by blotting-paper.

Footnote 108:

“En påholden pen.” “Underskrive med påholden pen”—to sign by
touching a pen which is guided by another.

-----

ACT FIFTH.

SCENE FIRST.

_On board a ship on the North Sea, off the Norwegian coast.
Sunset. Stormy weather._

_PEER GYNT, a vigorous old man, with grizzled hair and beard,
is standing aft on the poop. He is dressed half
sailor-fashion, with a pea-jacket and long boots. His
clothing is rather the worse for wear; he himself is
weather-beaten, and has a somewhat harder expression.
The CAPTAIN is standing beside the steersman at the
wheel. The crew are forward._

PEER GYNT.
[_Leans with his arms on the bulwark, and gazes
towards the land._]

Look at Hallingskarv[109] in his winter furs;—
He’s ruffling it, old one, in the evening glow.
The Jokel,[109] his brother, stands behind him askew;
He’s got his green ice-mantle still on his back.
The Folgefånn,[109] now, she is mighty fine,—
Lying there like a maiden in spotless white.
Don’t you be madcaps, old boys that you are!
Stand where you stand; you’re but granite knobs.

THE CAPTAIN.
[_Shouts forward._]

Two hands to the wheel, and the lantern aloft!

PEER.

It’s blowing up stiff——

THE CAPTAIN.

——for a gale to-night.

PEER.

Can one see the Rondë Hills from the sea?

THE CAPTAIN.

No, how should you? They lie at the back of the snowfields.

PEER.

Or Blåhö?[110]

THE CAPTAIN.

No; but from up in the rigging,
You’ve a glimpse, in clear weather, of Galdhöpiggen.[110]

PEER.

Where does Hårteig[110] lie?

THE CAPTAIN.
[_Pointing._]

About over there.

PEER.

I thought so.

THE CAPTAIN.

You know where you are, it appears.

PEER.

When I left the country, I sailed by here;
And the dregs, says the proverb, hang in to the last.
[_Spits, and gazes at the coast._
In there, where the screes and the clefts lie blue,—
Where the valleys, like trenches, gloom narrow and black,—
And underneath, skirting the open fiords,—
It’s in places like these human beings abide.
[_Looks at the Captain._
They build far apart in this country.

THE CAPTAIN.

Ay;
Few are the dwellings and far between.

PEER.

Shall we get in by day-break?

THE CAPTAIN.

Thereabouts;
If we don’t have too dirty a night altogether.

PEER.

It grows thick in the west.

THE CAPTAIN.

It does so.

PEER.

Stop a bit!
You might put me in mind when we make up accounts—
I’m inclined, as the phrase goes, to do a good turn
To the crew——

THE CAPTAIN.

I thank you.

PEER.

It won’t be much
I have dug for gold, and lost what I found;—
We are quite at loggerheads, Fate and I.
You know what I’ve got in safe keeping on board—
That’s all I have left;—the rest’s gone to the devil.

THE CAPTAIN.

It’s more than enough, though, to make you of weight
Among people at home here.

PEER.

I’ve no relations.
There’s no one awaiting the rich old curmudgeon.—
Well; that saves you, at least, any scenes on the pier!

THE CAPTAIN.

Here comes the storm.

PEER.

Well, remember then—
If any of your crew are in real need,
I won’t look too closely after the money——

THE CAPTAIN.

That’s kind. They are most of them ill enough off;
They have all got their wives and their children at home.
With their wages alone they can scarce make ends meet;
But if they come home with some cash to the good,
It will be a return not forgot in a hurry.

PEER.

What do you say? Have they wives and children?
Are they married?

THE CAPTAIN.

Married? Ay, every man of them.
But the one that is worst off of all is the cook;
Black famine is ever at home in his house.

PEER.

Married? They’ve folks that await them at home?
Folks to be glad when they come? Eh?

THE CAPTAIN.

Of course,
In poor people’s fashion.

PEER.

And come they one evening,
What then?

THE CAPTAIN.

Why, I daresay the goodwife will fetch
Something good for a treat——

PEER.

And a light in the sconce?

THE CAPTAIN.

Ay, ay, may be two; and a dram to their supper.

PEER.

And there they sit snug! There’s a fire on the hearth!
They’ve their children about them! The room’s full of chatter;
Not one hears another right out to an end,
For the joy that is on them——!

THE CAPTAIN.

It’s likely enough.
So it’s really kind, as you promised just now,
To help eke things out.

PEER.
[_Thumping the bulwark._]

I’ll be damned if I do.
Do you think I am mad? Would you have me fork out
For the sake of a parcel of other folks’ brats?
I’ve slaved much too sorely in earning my cash
There’s nobody waiting for old Peer Gynt.

THE CAPTAIN.

Well well; as you please then; your money’s your own.

PEER.

Right! Mine it is, and no one else’s.
We’ll reckon as soon as your anchor is down!
Take my fare, in the cabin, from Panama here.
Then brandy all round to the crew. Nothing more.
If I give a doit more, slap my jaw for me, Captain.

THE CAPTAIN.

I owe you a quittance, and not a thrashing;—
But excuse me, the wind’s blowing up to a gale.

[_He goes forward. It has fallen dark; lights are lit in
the cabin. The sea increases. Fog and thick clouds._

PEER.

To have a whole bevy of youngsters at home;—
Still to dwell in their minds as a coming delight;—
To have others’ thoughts follow you still on your path!—
There’s never a soul gives a thought to me.—
Lights in the sconces! I’ll put out those lights.
I will hit upon something!—I’ll make them all drunk;—
Not one of the devils shall go sober ashore.
They shall all come home drunk to their children and wives!
They shall curse; bang the table till it rings again,—
They shall scare those that wait for them out of their wits!
The goodwife shall scream and rush forth from the house,—
Clutch her children along! All their joy gone to ruin!

[_The ship gives a heavy lurch; he staggers and keeps
his balance with difficulty._

Why, that was a buffet and no mistake.
The sea’s hard at labour, as though it were paid for it;—
It’s still itself here on the coasts of the north;—
A cross-sea, as wry and wrong-headed as ever——
[_Listens._
Why, what can those screams be?

THE LOOK-OUT.
[_Forward._]

A wreck a-lee!

THE CAPTAIN.
[_On the main deck, shouts._]

Starboard your helm! Bring her up to the wind!

THE MATE.

Are there men on the wreck?

THE LOOK-OUT.

I can just see three!

PEER.

Quick: lower the stern boat——

THE CAPTAIN.

She’d fill ere she floated.
[_Goes forward._

PEER.

Who can think of that now?
[_To some of the crew._
If you’re men, to the rescue!
What the devil, if you should get a bit of a ducking.

THE BOATSWAIN.

It’s out of the question in such a sea.

PEER.

They are screaming again! There’s a lull in the wind.—
Cook, will you risk it? Quick! I will pay——

THE COOK.

No, not if you offered me twenty pounds-sterling[111]——

PEER.

You hounds! You chicken-hearts! Can you forget
These are men that have goodwives and children at home?
There they’re sitting and waiting——

THE BOATSWAIN.

Well, patience is wholesome.

THE CAPTAIN.

Bear away from that sea!

THE MATE.

There the wreck capsized!

PEER.

All is silent of a sudden——!

THE BOATSWAIN.

Were they married, as you think,
There are three new-baked widows even now in the world.

[_The storm increases. PEER GYNT moves away aft._

PEER.

There is no faith left among men any more,—
No Christianity,—well may they say it and write it;—
Their good deeds are few and their prayers are still fewer,
And they pay no respect to the Powers above them.—
In a storm like to-night’s, he’s a terror, the Lord is.
These beasts should be careful, and think, what’s the truth,
That it’s dangerous playing with elephants;—
And yet they must openly brave his displeasure!
_I_ am no whit to blame; for the sacrifice
I can prove I stood ready, my money in hand.
But how does it profit me?—What says the proverb?
A conscience at ease is a pillow of down.
Oh ay, that is all very well on dry land,
But I’m blest if it matters a snuff on board ship,
When a decent man’s out on the seas with such riff-raff.
At sea one can never be one’s self;
One must go with the others from deck to keel;
If for boatswain and cook the hour of vengeance should strike,
I shall no doubt be swept to the deuce with the rest;—
One’s personal welfare is clean set aside;—
One counts but as a sausage in slaughtering-time.—
My mistake is this: I have been too meek;
And I’ve had no thanks for it after all.
Were I younger, I think I would shift the saddle,
And try how it answered to lord it awhile.
There is time enough yet! They shall know in the parish
That Peer has come sailing aloft o’er the seas!
I’ll get back the farmstead by fair means or foul;—
I will build it anew; it shall shine like a palace.
But none shall be suffered to enter the hall!
They shall stand at the gateway, all twirling their caps;—
They shall beg and beseech—_that_ they freely may do;
But none gets so much as a farthing of mine.
If _I’ve_ had to howl ’neath the lashes of fate,
Trust me to find folks I can lash in my turn——

THE STRANGE PASSENGER.
[_Stands in the darkness at PEER GYNT’S side, and
salutes him in friendly fashion._]

Good evening!

PEER.

Good evening! What——? Who are you?

THE PASSENGER.

Your fellow-passenger, at your service.

PEER.

Indeed? I thought I was the only one.

THE PASSENGER.

A mistaken impression, which now is set right.

PEER.

But it’s singular that, for the first time to-night,
I should see you——

THE PASSENGER.

I never come out in the day-time.

PEER.

Perhaps you are ill? You’re as white as a sheet——

THE PASSENGER.

No, thank you—my health is uncommonly good.

PEER.

What a raging storm!

THE PASSENGER.

Ay, a blessëd one, man!

PEER.

A blessëd one?

THE PASSENGER.

Sea’s running high as houses
Ah, one can feel one’s mouth watering!
Just think of the wrecks that to-night will be shattered;—
And think, too, what corpses will drive ashore!

PEER.

Lord save us!

THE PASSENGER.

Have ever you seen a man strangled,
Or hanged,—or drowned?

PEER.

This is going too far——!

THE PASSENGER.

The corpses all laugh. But their laughter is forced;
And the most part are found to have bitten their tongues.

PEER.

Hold off from me——!

THE PASSENGER.

Only one question, pray!
If we, for example, should strike on a rock,
And sink in the darkness——

PEER.

You think there is danger?

THE PASSENGER.

I really don’t know what I ought to say.
But suppose, now, I float and you go to the bottom——

PEER.

Oh, rubbish——

THE PASSENGER.

It’s just a hypothesis.
But when one is placed with one foot in the grave,
One grows softhearted and open-handed——

PEER.
[_Puts his hand in his pocket._]

Ho, money?

THE PASSENGER.

No, no; but perhaps you would kindly
Make me a gift of your much-esteemed carcass——?

PEER.

This is _too_ much!

THE PASSENGER.

No more than your body, you know!
To help my researches in science——

PEER.

Begone!

THE PASSENGER.

But think, my dear sir—the advantage is yours!
I’ll have you laid open and brought to the light.
What I specially seek is the centre of dreams,—
And with critical care I’ll look into your seams——

PEER.

Away with you!

THE PASSENGER.

Why, my dear sir—a drowned corpse——!

PEER.

Blasphemer! You’re goading the rage of the storm!
I call it too bad! Here it’s raining and blowing,
A terrible sea on, and all sorts of signs
Of something that’s likely to shorten our days;—
And you carry on so as to make it come quicker.

THE PASSENGER.

You’re in no mood, I see, to negotiate further;
But time, you know, brings with it many a change——
[_Nods in a friendly fashion._
We’ll meet when you’re sinking, if not before;
Perhaps I may then find you more in the humour.
[_Goes into the cabin._

PEER.

Unpleasant companions these scientists are!
With their freethinking ways——
[_To the BOATSWAIN, who is passing._
Hark, a word with you, friend!
That passenger? What crazy creature is he?

THE BOATSWAIN.

I know of no passenger here but yourself.

PEER.

No others? This thing’s getting worse and worse.
[_To the SHIP’S BOY, who comes out of the cabin._
Who went down the companion just now?

THE BOY.

The ship’s dog, sir!

[_Passes on._

THE LOOK-OUT.
[_Shouts._]

Land close ahead!

PEER.

Where’s my box? Where’s my trunk?
All the baggage on deck!

THE BOATSWAIN.

We have more to attend to!

PEER.

It was nonsense, captain! ’Twas only my joke;—
As sure as I’m here I will help the cook——

THE CAPTAIN.

The jib’s blown away!

THE MATE.

And there went the foresail!

THE BOATSWAIN.
[_Shrieks from forward._]

Breakers under the bow!

THE CAPTAIN.

She will go to shivers!

[_The ship strikes. Noise and confusion._

SCENE SECOND.

_Close under the land, among sunken rocks and surf. The ship
sinks. The jolly-boat, with two men in her, is seen for a
moment through the scud. A sea strikes her; she fills and
upsets. A shriek is heard; then all is silent for a while.
Shortly afterwards the boat appears floating bottom
upwards._

_PEER GYNT comes to the surface near the boat._

PEER.

Help! Help! A boat! Help! I’ll be drowned!
Save me, oh Lord—as saith the text!
[_Clutches hold of the boat’s keel._

THE COOK.
[_Comes up on the other side._]

Oh, Lord God—for my children’s sake,
Have mercy! Let me reach the land!
[_Seizes hold of the keel._

PEER.

Let go!

THE COOK.

Let go!

PEER.

I’ll strike!

THE COOK.

So’ll I!

PEER.

I’ll crush you down with kicks and blows!
Let go your hold! She won’t float two!

THE COOK.

I know it! Yield!

PEER.

Yield you!

THE COOK.

Oh yes!

[_They fight; one of the Cook’s hands is disabled; he
clings on with the other._

PEER.

Off with that hand!

THE COOK.

Oh, kind sir—spare!
Think of my little ones at home

PEER.

I need my life far more than you,
For I am lone and childless still.

THE COOK.

Let go! You’ve lived, and I am young!

PEER.

Quick; haste you; sink;—you drag us down.

THE COOK.

Have mercy! Yield in heaven’s name!
There’s none to miss and mourn for you—
[_His hand slips; he screams._
I’m drowning!

PEER.
[_Seizing him._]

By this wisp of hair
I’ll hold you; say your Lord’s Prayer, quick!

THE COOK.

I can’t remember; all turns black——

PEER.

Come, the essentials in a word——!

THE COOK.

Give us this day——!

PEER.

Skip that part, Cook;
You’ll get all _you_ need, safe enough.

THE COOK.

Give us this day——

PEER.

The same old song!
’Tis plain you were a cook in life——
[_The COOK slips from his grasp._

THE COOK.
[_Sinking._]

Give us this day our——
[_Disappears._

PEER.

Amen, lad!
To the last gasp you were yourself.—
[_Draws himself up on to the bottom of the boat._
So long as there is life there’s hope——

THE STRANGE PASSENGER.
[_Catches hold of the boat._]

Good morning!

PEER.

Hoy!

THE PASSENGER.

I heard you shout.—
It’s pleasant finding you again.
Well? So my prophecy came true!

PEER.

Let go! Let go! ’Twill scarce float _one_!

THE PASSENGER.

I’m striking out with my left leg.
I’ll float, if only with their tips
My fingers rest upon this ledge.
But apropos: your body——

PEER.

Hush!

THE PASSENGER.

The rest, of course, is done for, clean——

PEER.

No more!

THE PASSENGER.

Exactly as you please.
[_Silence._

PEER.

Well?

THE PASSENGER.

I am silent.

PEER.

Satan’s tricks!—
What now?

THE PASSENGER.

I’m waiting.

PEER.
[_Tearing his hair._]

I’ll go mad!—
What are you?

THE PASSENGER.
[_Nods._]

Friendly.

PEER.

What else! Speak!

THE PASSENGER.

What think you? Do you know none other
That’s like me?

PEER.

Do I know the devil——?

THE PASSENGER.
[_In a low voice._]

Is it _his_ way to light a lantern
For life’s night-pilgrimage through fear?

PEER.

Ah, come! When once the thing’s cleared up,
You’d seem a messenger of light?

THE PASSENGER.

Friend,—have you _once_ in each half-year
Felt all the earnestness of dread?[112]

PEER.

Why, one’s afraid when danger threatens;—
But all your words have double meanings.[113]

THE PASSENGER.

Ay, have you gained but _once_ in life
The victory that is given in dread?

PEER.
[_Looks at him._]

Came you to ope for me a door,
’Twas stupid not to come before.
What sort of sense is there in choosing
Your time when seas gape to devour one?

THE PASSENGER.

Were, then, the victory more likely
Beside your hearthstone, snug and quiet?

PEER.

Perhaps not; but your talk was quizzical.
How could you fancy it awakening?

THE PASSENGER.

Where I come from, there smiles are prized
As highly as pathetic style.

PEER.

All has its time; what fits the taxman,[114]
So says the text, would damn the bishop.

THE PASSENGER.

The host whose dust inurned has slumbered
Treads not on week-days the cothurnus.

PEER.

Avaunt thee, bugbear! Man, begone!
I will not die! I must ashore!

THE PASSENGER.

Oh, as for that, be reassured;—
One dies not midmost of Act Five.
[_Glides away._

PEER.

Ah, there he let it out at last;—
He was a sorry moralist.

SCENE THIRD.

_Churchyard in a high lying mountain parish._

_A funeral is going on. By the grave, the PRIEST and a gathering
of people. The last verse of the psalm is being sung. PEER
GYNT passes by on the road._

PEER.
[_At the gate._]

Here’s a countryman going the way of all flesh.
God be thanked that it isn’t me.
[_Enters the churchyard._

THE PRIEST.
[_Speaking beside the grave._]

Now, when the soul has gone to meet its doom,
And here the dust lies, like an empty pod,—
Now, my dear friends, we’ll speak a word or two
About this dead man’s pilgrimage on earth.
He was not wealthy, neither was he wise,
His voice was weak, his bearing was unmanly,
He spoke his mind abashed and faltering,
He scarce was master at his own fireside;
He sidled into church, as though appealing
For leave, like other men, to take his place.
It was from Gudbrandsdale, you know, he came.
When here he settled he was but a lad;—
And you remember how, to the very last,
He kept his right hand hidden in his pocket.
That right hand in the pocket was the feature
That chiefly stamped his image on the mind,—
And therewithal his writhing, his abashed
Shrinking from notice wheresoe’er he went.
But, though he still pursued a path aloof,
And ever seemed a stranger in our midst,
You all know what he strove so hard to hide,—
The hand he muffled had four fingers only.—
I well remember, many years ago,
One morning; there were sessions held at Lundë.
’Twas war-time, and the talk in every mouth
Turned on the country’s sufferings and its fate.
I stood there watching. At the table sat
The Captain, ’twixt the Bailiff[115] and the sergeants;
Lad after lad was measured up and down,
Passed, and enrolled, and taken for a soldier.
The room was full, and from the green outside,
Where thronged the young folks, loud the laughter rang.
A name was called, and forth another stepped,
One pale as snow upon the glacier’s edge.
They bade the youth advance; he reached the table;
We saw his right hand swaddled in a clout;—
He gasped, he swallowed, battling after words,—
But, though the Captain urged him, found no voice.
Ah yes, at last! Then with his cheek aflame,
His tongue now failing him, now stammering fast
He mumbled something of a scythe that slipped
By chance, and shore his finger to the skin.
Straightway a silence fell upon the room.
Men bandied meaning glances; they made mouths;
They stoned the boy with looks of silent scorn.
He felt the hail-storm, but he saw it not.
Then up the Captain stood, the grey old man;
He spat, and pointed forth, and thundered “Go!”
And the lad went. On both sides men fell back,
Till through their midst he had to run the gauntlet.
He reached the door; from there he took to flight;—
Up, up he went,—through wood and over hillside,
Up through the stone-screes, rough, precipitous.
He had his home up there among the mountains.—
It was some six months later he came here,
With mother, and betrothed, and little child.
He leased some ground upon the high hill-side,
There where the waste lands trend away towards Lomb.
He married the first moment that he could;
He built a house; he broke the stubborn soil;
He throve, as many a cultivated patch
Bore witness, bravely clad in waving gold.
At church he kept his right hand in his pocket,—
But sure I am at home his fingers nine
Toiled every whit as hard as others’ ten.—
One spring the torrent washed it all away.
Their lives were spared. Ruined and stripped of all,
He set to work to make another clearing;
And, ere the autumn, smoke again arose
From a new, better-sheltered, mountain farm-house.
Sheltered? From torrent—not from avalanche;
Two years, and all beneath the snow lay buried.
But still the avalanche could not daunt his spirit.
He dug, and raked, and carted—cleared the ground—
And the next winter, ere the snow-blasts came,
A third time was his little homestead reared.
Three sons he had, three bright and stirring boys;
They must to school, and school was far away;—
And they must clamber, where the hill-track failed,
By narrow ledges past the headlong scree.
What did he do? The eldest had to manage
As best he might, and, where the path was worst,
His father bound a rope round him to stay him;—
The others on his back and arms he bore.
Thus he toiled, year by year, till they were men.
Now might he well have looked for some return.
In the New World, three prosperous gentlemen
Their school-going and their father have forgotten.
He was short-sighted. Out beyond the circle
Of those most near to him he nothing saw.
To him seemed meaningless as cymbals’ tinkling
Those words that to the heart should ring like steel.
His race, his fatherland, all things high and shining,
Stood ever, to his vision, veiled in mist.
But he was humble, humble, was this man;
And since that sessions-day his doom oppressed him,
As surely as his cheeks were flushed with shame,
And his four fingers hidden in his pocket.—
Offender ’gainst his country’s laws? Ay, true!
But there is one thing that the law outshineth
Sure as the snow-white tent of Glittertind[116]
Has clouds, like higher rows of peaks, above it.
No patriot was he. Both for church and state
A fruitless tree. But there, on the upland ridge,
In the small circle where he saw his calling,
_There_ he was great, because he was himself.
His inborn note rang true unto the end.
His days were as a lute with muted strings.
And therefore, peace be with thee, silent warrior,
That fought the peasant’s little fight, and fell!
It is not ours to search the heart and reins;—
That is no task for dust, but for its ruler;—
Yet dare I freely, firmly, speak my hope:
He scarce stands crippled now before his God!

[_The gathering disperses. PEER GYNT remains behind,
alone._

PEER.

Now _that_ is what I call Christianity!
Nothing to seize on one’s mind unpleasantly.—
And the topic—immovably being oneself,—
That the pastor’s homily turned upon,—
Is full, in its essence, of edification.
[_Looks down upon the grave._
Was it he, I wonder, that hacked through his knuckle
That day I was out hewing logs in the forest?
Who knows? If I weren’t standing here with my staff
By the side of the grave of this kinsman in spirit,
I could almost believe it was I that slept,
And heard in a vision my panegyric.—
It’s a seemly and Christianlike custom indeed
This casting a so-called memorial glance
In charity over the life that is ended.
I shouldn’t at all mind accepting my verdict
At the hands of this excellent parish priest.
Ah well, I dare say I have some time left
Ere the gravedigger comes to invite me to stay with him;—
And as Scripture has it: What’s best is best,—
And: Enough for the day is the evil thereof,—[117]
And further: Discount not thy funeral.—
Ah, the Church, after all, is the true consoler.
I’ve hitherto scarcely appreciated it;—
But now I feel clearly how blessëd it is
To be well assured upon sound authority:
Even as thou sowest thou shalt one day reap.—
One must be oneself; for oneself and one’s own
One must do one’s best, both in great and in small things.
If the luck goes against you, at least you’ve the honour
Of a life carried through in accordance with principle.—
Now homewards! Though narrow and steep the path,
Though fate to the find may be never so biting—
Still old Peer Gynt will pursue his own way,
And remain what he is: poor, but virtuous ever.

[_Goes out._

SCENE FOURTH.

_A hill-side seamed by the dry bed of a torrent. A ruined mill
house beside the stream. The ground is torn up, and the
whole place waste. Further up the hill, a large
farm-house._

_An auction is going on in front of the farm-house. There is a
great gathering of people, who are drinking, with much
noise. PEER GYNT is sitting on a rubbish-heap beside the
mill._

PEER.

Forward and back, and it’s just as far;
Out and in, and it’s just as strait.—
Time wears away and the river gnaws on.
Go roundabout, the Boyg said;—and here one must.

A MAN DRESSED IN MOURNING.

Now there is only rubbish left over.
_[Catches sight of PEER GYNT._
Are there strangers here too? God be with you, good friend!

PEER.

Well met! You have lively times here to-day.
Is’t a christening junket or wedding feast?

THE MAN IN MOURNING.

I’d rather call it a house-warming treat;—
The bride is laid in a wormy bed.

PEER.

And the worms are squabbling for rags and clouts.

THE MAN IN MOURNING.

That’s the end of the ditty; it’s over and done.

PEER.

All the ditties end just alike;
And they’re all old together; I knew ’em as a boy.

A LAD OF TWENTY.
[_With a casting-ladle._]

Just look what a rare thing I’ve been buying!
In this Peer Gynt cast his silver buttons.

ANOTHER.

Look at mine, though! The money-bag[118] bought for a halfpenny.

A THIRD.

No more, eh? Twopence for the pedlar’s pack!

PEER.

Peer Gynt? Who was he?

THE MAN IN MOURNING.

All I know is this:
He was kinsman to Death and to Aslak the Smith.

A MAN IN GREY.

You’re forgetting me, man! Are you mad or drunk?

THE MAN IN MOURNING.

You forget that at Hegstad was a storehouse door

THE MAN IN GREY.

Ay, true; but we know you were never dainty.

THE MAN IN MOURNING.

If only she doesn’t give Death the slip——

THE MAN IN GREY.

Come, kinsman! A dram, for our kinship’s sake!

THE MAN IN MOURNING.

To the deuce with your kinship! You’re maundering in drink——

THE MAN IN GREY.

Oh, rubbish; blood’s never so thin as all that;
One cannot but feel one’s akin to Peer Gynt.
[_Goes off with him._

PEER.
[_To himself._]

One meets with acquaintances.

A LAD.
[_Calls after the MAN IN MOURNING._]

Mother that’s dead
Will be after you, Aslak, if you wet your whistle.

PEER.
[_Rises._]

The husbandman’s saying seems scarce to hold here:
The deeper one harrows the better it smells.

A LAD.
[_With a bear’s skin._]

Look, the cat of the Dovrë![119] Well, only his fell.
It was he chased the trolls out on Christmas Eve.

ANOTHER.
[_With a reindeer skull._]

Here is the wonderful reindeer that bore,
At Gendin, Peer Gynt over edge and scree.

A THIRD.
[_With a hammer, calls out to the MAN IN MOURNING._]

Hei, Aslak, this sledge-hammer, say, do you know it?
Was it this that you used when the devil clove the wall?

A FOURTH.
[_Empty-handed._]

Mads Moen, here’s the invisible cloak
Peer Gynt and Ingrid flew off through the air with.

PEER.

Brandy here, boys! I feel I’m grown old;—
I must put up to auction my rubbish and lumber!

A LAD.

What have you to sell, then?

PEER.

A palace I have;—
It lies in the Rondë; it’s solidly built.

THE LAD.

A button is bid!

PEER.

You must run to a dram.
’Twere a sin and a shame to bid anything less.

ANOTHER.

He’s a jolly old boy this!
[_The bystanders crowd around him._

PEER.
[_Shouts._]

Granë,[120] my steed;
Who bids?

ONE OF THE CROWD.

Where’s he running?

PEER.

Why, far in the west!
Near the sunset, my lads! Ah, that courser can fly
As fast, ay, as fast as Peer Gynt could lie.

VOICES.

What more have you got?

PEER.

I’ve both rubbish and gold!
I bought it with ruin; I’ll sell it at a loss.

A LAD.

Put it up!

PEER.

A dream of a silver-clasped book!
That you can have for an old hook and eye.

THE LAD.

To the devil with dreams!

PEER.

Here’s my Kaiserdom!
I throw it in the midst of you; scramble for it!

THE LAD.

Is the crown given in?

PEER.

Of the loveliest straw.
It will fit whoever first puts it on.
Hei, there is more yet! An addled egg!
A madman’s grey hair! And the Prophet’s beard!
All these shall be his that will show on the hillside
A post that has writ on it; Here lies your path!

THE BAILIFF.[121]
[_Who has come up._]

You’re carrying on, my good man, so that almost
I think that your path will lead straight to the lock-up.

PEER.
[_Hat in hand._]

Quite likely. But, tell me, who was Peer Gynt?

THE BAILIFF.

Oh, nonsense——

PEER.

Your pardon! Most humbly I beg——!

THE BAILIFF.

Oh, he’s said to have been an abominable liar——[122]

PEER.

A liar——?

THE BAILIFF.

Yes—all that was strong and great
He made believe always that he had done it.
But, excuse me, friend—I have other duties——

[_Goes._

PEER.

And where is he now, this remarkable man?

AN ELDERLY MAN.

He fared over seas to a foreign land;
It went ill with him there, as one well might foresee;—
It’s many a year now since he was hanged.

PEER.

Hanged! Ay, ay! Why, I thought as much;
Our lamented Peer Gynt was himself to the last.
[_Bows._
Good-bye,—and best thanks for to-day’s merry meeting.
[_Goes a few steps, but stops again._
You joyous youngsters, you comely lasses,—
Shall I pay my shot with a traveller’s tale?

SEVERAL VOICES.

Yes; do you know any?

PEER.

Nothing more easy.—

[_He comes nearer; a look of strangeness comes over
him._

I was gold-digging once in San Francisco.
There were mountebanks swarming all over the town.
One with his toes could perform on the fiddle;
Another could dance a Spanish halling[123] on his knees;
A third, I was told, kept on making verses
While his brain-pan was having a hole bored right through it.
To the mountebank-meeting came also the devil;—
Thought _he_’d try his luck with the rest of them.
His talent was this: in a manner convincing,
He was able to grunt like a flesh-and-blood pig.
He was not recognised, yet his manners[124] attracted.
The house was well filled; expectation ran high.
He stepped forth in a cloak with an ample cape to it;
_Man muss sich drappiren_, as the Germans say.
But under the mantle—what none suspected—
He’d managed to smuggle a real live pig.
And now he opened the representation;
The devil he pinched, and the pig gave voice.
The whole thing purported to be a fantasia
On the porcine existence, both free and in bonds;
And all ended up with a slaughter-house squeal—
Whereupon the performer bowed low and retired.—
The critics discussed and appraised the affair;
The tone of the whole was attacked and defended.
Some fancied the vocal expression too thin,
While some thought the death-shriek too carefully studied;
But all were agreed as to one thing: _qua_ grunt,
The performance was grossly exaggerated.—
Now _that_, you see, came of the devil’s stupidity
In not taking the measure of his public first.

[_He bows and goes off. A puzzled silence comes over the
crowd._

SCENE FIFTH.

_Whitsun Eve.—In the depths of the forest. To the back, in a
clearing, is a hut with a pair of reindeer horns over the
porch-gable._

_PEER GYNT is creeping among the undergrowth, gathering wild
onions._

PEER.

Well, this is one standpoint. Where is the next?
One should try all things and choose the best.
Well, I have done so,—beginning from Cæsar,
And downwards as far as to Nebuchadnezzar.
So I’ve had, after all, to go through Bible history;—
The old boy has come back to his mother again.
After all it is written: Of the earth art thou come.—
The main thing in life is to fill one’s belly.
Fill it with onions? That’s not much good;—
I must take to cunning, and set out snares.
There’s water in the beck here; I shan’t suffer thirst;
And I count as the first ’mong the beasts after all.
When my time comes to die—as most likely it will,—
I shall crawl in under a wind-fallen tree;
Like the bear, I will heap up a leaf-mound above me,
And I’ll scratch in big print on the bark of the tree:
Here rests Peer Gynt, that decent soul
Kaiser o’er all of the other beasts.—
Kaiser?
[_Laughs inwardly._
Why, you old soothsayer’s-dupe!
No Kaiser are you; you are nought but an onion.
I’m going to peel you now, my good Peer!
You won’t escape either by begging or howling.

[_Takes an onion and strips off one coat after another._

There lies the outermost layer, all torn;
That’s the shipwrecked man on the jolly-boat’s keel.
Here’s the passenger layer, scanty and thin;—
And yet in its taste there’s a tang of Peer Gynt.
Next underneath is the gold-digger ego;
The juice is all gone—if it ever had any.
This coarse-grained layer with the hardened skin
Is the peltry hunter by Hudson’s Bay.
The next one looks like a crown;—oh, thanks!
We’ll throw it away without more ado.
Here’s the archæologist, short but sturdy,
And here is the Prophet, juicy and fresh.
He stinks, as the Scripture has it, of lies,
Enough to bring the water to an honest man’s eyes.
This layer that rolls itself softly together
Is the gentleman, living in ease and good cheer.
The next one seems sick. There are black streaks upon it;—
Black symbolises both parsons and niggers.
[_Pulls off several layers at once._
What an enormous number of swathings!
Is not the kernel soon coming to light?
[_Pulls the whole onion to pieces._
I’m blest if it is! To the innermost centre,
It’s nothing but swathings—each smaller and smaller.—
Nature is witty!
[_Throws the fragments away._
The devil take brooding!
If one goes about thinking, one’s apt to stumble.
Well, _I_ can at any rate laugh at that danger;—
For here on all fours I am firmly planted.
[_Scratches his head._
A queer enough business, the whole concern!
Life, as they say, plays with cards up its sleeve;[125]
But when one snatches at them, they’ve disappeared,
And one grips something else,—or else nothing at all.

[_He has come near to the hut; he catches sight of it
and starts._

This hut? On the heath——! Ha!
[_Rubs his eyes._
It seems exactly
As though I had known this same building before.—
The reindeer-horns jutting above the gable!—
A mermaid, shaped like a fish from the navel!—
Lies! there’s no mermaid! But nails—and planks,—
Bars too, to shut out hobgoblin thoughts!—

SOLVEIG.
[_Singing in the hut._]

Now all is ready for Whitsun Eve.
Dearest boy of mine, far away,
Comest thou soon?
Is thy burden heavy,
Take time, take time;—
I will await thee;
I promised of old.[126]

PEER.
[_Rises, quiet and deadly pale._]

One that’s remembered,—and one that’s forgot.
One that has squandered,—and one that has saved.—
Oh, earnest!—and never can the game be played o’er!
Oh, dread![127]—here was my Kaiserdom!
[_Hurries off-along the wood path._

SCENE SIXTH.

_Night. A heath, with fir-trees. A forest fire has been raging;
charred tree-trunks are seen stretching for miles. White
mists here and there clinging to the earth._

_PEER GYNT comes running over the heath._

PEER.

Ashes, fog-scuds, dust wind-driven,—
Here’s enough for building with!
Stench and rottenness within it;
All a whited sepulchre.
Figments, dreams, and still-born knowledge
Lay the pyramid’s foundation;
O’er them shall the work mount upwards,
With its step on step of falsehood.
Earnest shunned, repentance dreaded,
Flaunt at the apex like a scutcheon,
Fill the trump of judgment with their
“Petrus Gyntus Cæsar fecit!”
[_Listens._
What is this, like children’s weeping?
Weeping, but half-way to song.—
Thread-balls[128] at my feet are rolling!—
[_Kicking at them._
Off with you! You block my path!

THE THREAD-BALLS.
[_On the ground._]

We are thoughts;
Thou shouldst have thought us;—
Feet to run on
Thou shouldst have given us!

PEER.
[_Going round about._]

I have given life to _one_;—
’Twas a bungled, crook-legged thing!

THE THREAD-BALLS.

We should have soared up
Like clangorous voices,——
And here we must trundle
As grey-yarn thread-balls.

PEER.
[_Stumbling._]

Thread-clue! you accursed scamp!
Would you trip your father’s heels?
[_Flees._

WITHERED LEAVES.
[_Flying before the wind._]

We are a watchword;
Thou shouldst have proclaimed us!
See how thy dozing
Has wofully riddled us.
The worm has gnawed us.
In every crevice;
We have never twined us
Like wreaths round fruitage.

PEER.

Not in vain your birth, however;—
but still and serve as manure.

A SIGHING IN THE AIR.

We are songs;
Thou shouldst have sung us!—
A thousand times over
Hast thou cowed us and smothered us.
Down in thy heart’s pit
We have lain and waited;—
We were never called forth.
Thy gorge we poison!

PEER.

Poison thee, thou foolish stave!
Had I time for verse and stuff?
[_Attempts a short cut._

DEWDROPS.
[_Dripping from the branches._]

We are tears
Unshed for ever.
Ice-spears, sharp-wounding,
We could have melted.
Now the barb rankles
In the shaggy bosom;—
The wound is closed over;
Our power is ended.

PEER.

Thanks;—I wept in Rondë-cloisters,—
None the less my tail-part smarted!

BROKEN STRAWS.

We are deeds;
Thou shouldst have achieved us!
Doubt, the throttler,
Has crippled and riven us.
On the Day of Judgment
We’ll come a-flock,
And tell the story,—
Then woe to you!

PEER.

Rascal-tricks! How dare you debit
What is _negative_ against me?
[_Hastens away._

ÅSE’S VOICE.
[_Far away._]

Fie, what a post-boy!
Hu, you’ve upset me
Here in the slush, boy!
Sadly it’s smirched me.—
You’ve driven me the wrong way.
Peer, where’s the castle?
The Fiend has misled you
With the switch from the cupboard.

PEER.

Better haste away, poor fellow!
With the devil’s sins upon you,
Soon you’ll faint upon the hillside;—
Hard enough to bear one’s own sins.
[_Runs off._

SCENE SEVENTH.

_Another part of the heath._

PEER GYNT.
[_Sings._]