PEER

  You hesitate? Speak!

  ANITRA

  But I’d rather——

  PEER

  Say on; don’t waste time about it.

  ANITRA

  I don’t care so much about having a soul;—

  Give me rather——

  PEER

  What, child?

  ANITRA [Pointing to his turban.]

  That lovely opal!

  PEER [Enchanted, handing her the jewel.]

  Anitra! Anitra! true daughter of Eve!

  I feel thee magnetic; for I am a man,

  And, as a much-esteemed author has phrased it:

  “Das Ewig-Weibliche ziehet uns an!”63

  SCENE SEVENTH

  A moonlight night.The palm-grove outside ANITRA’s tent.

  PEER GYNT is sitting beneath a tree, with an Arabian lute in his hands. His beard and hair are clipped; he looks considerably younger.

  PEER GYNT [Plays and sings.]

  I double-locked my Paradise,

  And took its key with me.

  The north-wind bore me seaward ho!

  While lovely women all forlorn

  Wept on the ocean strand.

  Still southward, southward clove my keel

  The salt sea-currents through.

  Where palms were swaying proud and fair,

  A garland round the ocean-bight,

  I set my ship afire.

  I climbed aboard the desert ship,

  A ship on four stout legs.

  It foamed beneath the lashing whip;—

  Oh, catch me; I’m a flitting bird;—

  I’m twittering on a bough!

  Anitra, thou’rt the palm-tree’s must;

  That know I now full well!

  Ay, even the Angora goat-milk cheese

  Is scarcely half such dainty fare,

  Anitra, ah, as thou!

  [He hangs the lute over his shoulder, and comes forward.]

  Stillness! Is the fair one listening?

  Has she heard my little song?

  Peeps she from behind the curtain,

  Veil and so forth cast aside?—

  Hush! A sound as though a cork

  From a bottle burst amain!

  Now once more! And yet again!

  Love-sighs can it be? or songs?—

  No, it is distinctly snoring.—

  Dulcet strain! Anitra sleepeth!

  Nightingale, thy warbling stay!

  Every sort of woe betide thee,

  If with gurgling trill thou darest—

  But, as says the text: Let be!

  Nightingale, thou art a singer;

  Ah, even such an one am I.

  He, like me, ensnares with music

  Tender, shrinking little hearts.

  Balmy night is made for music;

  Music is our common sphere;

  In the act of singing, we are

  We, Peer Gynt and nightingale.

  And the maiden’s very sleeping

  Is my passion’s crowning bliss;—

  For the lips protruded o’er the

  Beaker yet untasted quite——

  But she’s coming, I declare!

  After all, it’s best she should.

  ANITRA [From the tent.]

  Master, call’st thou in the night?

  PEER

  Yes indeed, the Prophet calls.

  I was wakened by the cat

  With a furious hunting-hubbub——

  ANITRA

  Ah, not hunting-noises, Master;

  It was something much, much worse.

  PEER

  What, then, was’t?

  ANITRA

  Oh, spare me!

  PEER

  Speak!

  ANITRA

  Oh, I blush to——

  PEER [Approaching.]

  Was it, mayhap,

  That which filled me so completely

  When I let you have my opal?

  ANITRA [Horrified.]

  Liken thee, O earth’s great treasure,

  To a horrible old cat!

  PEER

  Child, from passion’s standpoint viewed,

  May a tom-cat and a prophet

  Come to very much the same.

  ANITRA

  Master, jest like honey floweth

  From thy lips.

  PEER

  My little friend,

  You, like other maidens, judge

  Great men by their outsides only.

  I am full of jest at bottom,

  Most of all when we’re alone.

  I am forced by my position

  To assume a solemn mask.

  Duties of the day constrain me;

  All the reckonings and worry

  That I have with one and all,

  Make me oft a cross-grained prophet;

  But it’s only from the tongue out.—

  Fudge, avaunt! En tête-à-tête64

  I’m Peer—well, the man I am.

  Hei, away now with the prophet;

  Me, myself, you have me here!

  [Seats himself under a tree, and draws her to him.]

  Come, Anitra, we will rest us

  Underneath the palm’s green fan-shade!

  I’ll lie whispering, you’ll lie smiling;

  Afterwards our roôles exchange we;

  Then shall your lips, fresh and balmy,

  To my smiling, passion whisper!

  ANITRA [Lies down at his feet.]

  All thy words are sweet as singing,

  Though I understand but little.

  Master, tell me, can thy daughter

  Catch a soul by listening?

  PEER

  Soul, and spirit’s light and knowledge,

  All in good time you shall have them.

  When in east, on rosy streamers

  Golden types print: Here is day,—

  Then, my child, I’ll give you lessons;

  You’ll be well brought up, no fear.

  But, ’mid night’s delicious stillness,

  It were stupid if I should,

  With a threadbare wisdom’s remnants,

  Play the part of pedagogue.—

  And the soul, moreover, is not,

  Looked at properly, the main thing.

  It’s the heart that really matters.

  ANITRA

  Speak, O Master! When thou speakest,

  I see gleams, as though of opals!

  PEER

  Wisdom in extremes is folly;

  Coward blossoms into tyrant;

  Truth, when carried to excess,

  Ends in wisdom written backwards.

  Ay, my daughter, I’m forsworn

  As a dog if there are not

  Folk with o’erfed souls on earth

  Who shall scarce attain to clearness.

  Once I met with such a fellow,

  Of the flock the very flower;

  And even he mistook his goal,

  Losing sense in blatant sound.—

  See the waste round this oasis.

  Were I but to swing my turban,

  I could force the ocean-flood

  To fill up the whole concern.

  But I were a blockhead, truly

  Seas and lands to go creating.

  Know you what it is to live?

  ANITRA

  Teach me!

  PEER

  It is to be wafted

  Dry-shod down the stream of time,

  Wholly, solely as oneself.

  Only in full manhood can I

  Be the man I am, dear child!

  Aged eagle moults his plumage,

  Aged fogey lags declining,

  Aged dame has ne’er a tooth left,

  Aged churl gets withered hands,—

  One and all get withered souls.

  Youth! Ah Youth! I mean to reign,

  As a sultan, whole and fiery,—

  Not on Gyntiana’s shores,

  Under trellised vines and palm-leaves,—

  But enthronëd in the freshness

  Of a woman’s virgin thoughts.—

  See you now, my little maiden,

  Why I’ve graciously bewitched you,—

  Why I have your heart selected,

  And established, so to speak,

  There my being’s Caliphate?

  All your longings shall be mine.

  I’m an autocrat in passion!

  You shall live for me alone.

  I’ll be he who shall enthrall

  You like gold and precious stones.

  Should we part, then life is over,—

  That is, your life, nota bene!65

  Every inch and fibre of you,

  Will-less, without yea or nay,

  I must know filled full of me.

  Midnight beauties of your tresses,

  All that’s lovely to be named,

  Shall, like Babylonian gardens,

  Tempt your Sultan to his tryst.

  After all, I don’t complain, then,

  Of your empty forehead-vault.

  With a soul, one’s oft absorbed in

  Contemplation of oneself.

  Listen, while we’re on the subject,—

  If you like it, faith, you shall

  Have a ring about your ankle:—

  ’Twill be best for both of us.

  I will be your soul by proxy;

  For the rest—why, status quo.

  [ANITRA snores.]

  What! She sleeps! Then has it glided

  Bootless past her, all I’ve said?—

  No; it marks my influence o’er her

  That she floats away in dreams

  On my love-talk as it flows.

  [Rises, and lays trinkets in her lap.]

  Here are jewels! Here are more!

  Sleep, Anitra! Dream of Peer——.

  Sleep! In sleeping, you the crown have

  Placed upon your Emperor’s brow!

  Victory on his Person’s basis

  Has Peer Gynt this night achieved.

  SCENE EIGHTH

  A caravan route.The oasis is seen far off in the background.

  PEER GYNT comes galloping across the desert on his white horse, with ANITRA before him on his saddle-bow.

  ANITRA

  Let be, or I’ll bite you!

  PEER

  You little rogue!

  ANITRA

  What would you?

  PEER

  What would I? Play hawk and dove!

  Run away with you! Frolic and frisk a bit!

  ANITRA

  For shame! An old prophet like you!

  PEER

  Oh, stuff!

  The prophet’s not old at all, you goose!

  Do you think all this is a sign of age?

  ANITRA

  Let me go! I want to go home!

  PEER

  Coquette!

  What, home! To papa-in-law! That would be fine!

  We madcap birds that have flown from the cage

  Must never come into his sight again.

  Besides, my child, in the self-same place

  It’s wisest never to stay too long;

  For familiarity lessens respect;—

  Most of all when one comes as a prophet or such.

  One should show oneself glimpse-wise and pass like a dream.

  Faith, ’twas time that the visit should come to an end.

  They’re unstable of soul, are these sons of the desert;—

  Both incense and prayers dwindled off towards the end.

  ANITRA

  Yes, but are you a prophet?

  PEER

  Your Emperor I am!

  [Tries to kiss her.]

  Why just see now how coy the wee woodpecker is!

  ANITRA

  Give me that ring that you have on your finger.

  PEER

  Take, sweet Anitra, the whole of the trash!

  ANITRA

  Thy words are as songs! Oh, how dulcet their sound!

  PEER

  How blessëd to know oneself loved to this pitch!

  I’ll dismount! Like your slave, I will lead your palfrey!

  [Hands her his riding-whip, and dismounts.]

  There now, my rosebud, you exquisite flower!

  Here I’ll go trudging my way through the sand,

  Till a sunstroke o’ertakes me and finishes me.

  I’m young, Anitra; bear that in mind!

  You mustn’t be shocked at my escapades.

  Frolics and high jinks are youth’s sole criterion!

  And so, if your intellect weren’t so dense,

  You would see at a glance, oh my fair oleander,—

  Your lover is frolicsome—ergo, he’s young!

  ANITRA

  Yes, you are young. Have you any more rings?

  PEER

  Am I not? There, grab! I can leap like a buck!

  Were there vine-leaves around, I would garland my brow.

  To be sure I am young! Hei, I’m going to dance!

  [Dances and sings.]

  I am a blissful game-cock!

  Peck me, my little pullet!

  Hop-sa-sa! Let me trip it;—

  I am a blissful game-cock!

  ANITRA

  You are sweating, my prophet; I fear you will melt;

  Hand me that heavy bag hung at your belt.

  PEER

  Tender solicitude! Bear the purse ever;—

  Hearts that can love are content without gold!

  [Dances and sings again.]

  Young Peer Gynt is the maddest wag;—

  He knows not what foot he shall stand upon.

  Pooh, says Peer;—pooh, never mind!

  Young Peer Gynt is the maddest wag!

  ANITRA

  What joy when the Prophet steps forth in the dance!

  PEER

  Oh, bother the Prophet!—Suppose we change clothes!

  Heisa! Strip off!

  ANITRA

  Your caftan were too long,

  Your girdle too wide, and your stockings too tight——

  PEER

  Eh bien!66

  [Kneels down.]

  But vouchsafe me a vehement sorrow;—

  To a heart full of love, it is sweet to suffer!

  Listen; as soon as we’re home at my castle——

  ANITRA

  In your Paradise;—have we far to ride?

  PEER

  Oh, a thousand miles or——

  ANITRA

  Too far!

  PEER

  Oh, listen;—

  You shall have the soul that I promised you once——

  ANITRA

  Oh, thank you; I’ll get on without the soul.

  But you asked for a sorrow——

  PEER [Rising.]

  Ay, curse me, I did!

  A keen one, but short,—to last two or three days.

  ANITRA

  Anitra obeyeth the Prophet!—Farewell!

  [Gives him a smart cut across the fingers, and dashes off; at a tearing gal

  lop, back across the desert.]

  PEER [Stands for a long time thunderstruck.]

  Well now, may I be——!

  SCENE NINTH

  The same place, an hour later.

  PEER GYNT is stripping off his Turkish costume, soberly and thoughtfully, bit by bit. Last of all, he takes his little travelling-cap out of his coat pocket, puts it on, and stands once more in European dress.

  PEER [Throwing the turban far away from him.]

  There lies the Turk, then, and here stand I!—

  These heathenish doings are no sort of good.

  It’s lucky ’twas only a matter of clothes,

  And not, as the saying goes, bred in the bone.—

  What tempted me into that galley at all?

  It’s best, in the long run, to live as a Christian,

  To put away peacock-like ostentation,

  To base all one’s dealings on law and morality,

  To be ever oneself, and to earn at the last a

  Speech at one’s grave-side, and wreaths on one’s coffin.

  [Walks a few steps.]

  The hussy;—she was on the very verge

  Of turning my head clean topsy-turvy.

  May I be a troll if I understand

  What it was that dazed and bemused me so.

  Well; it’s well that’s done: had the joke been carried

  But one step on, I’d have looked absurd.—

  I have erred;——but at least it’s a consolation

  That my error was due to the false situation.

  It wasn’t my personal self that fell.

  ’Twas in fact this prophetical way of life,

  So utterly lacking the salt of activity,

  That took its revenge in these qualms of bad taste.

  It’s a sorry business this prophetising!

  One’s office compels one to walk in a mist;

  In playing the prophet, you throw up the game67

  The moment you act like a rational being.68

  In so far I’ve done what the occasion demanded,

  In the mere fact of paying my court to that goose.

  But, nevertheless——

  [Bursts out laughing.]

  H’m, to think of it now!

  To try to make time stop by jigging and dancing,

  And to cope with the current by capering and prancing!

  To thrum on the lute-strings, to fondle and sigh,

  And end, like a rooster,—by getting well plucked,

  Such conduct is truly prophetic frenzy.—

  Yes, plucked!—Phew! I’m plucked clean enough indeed.

  Well, well, I’ve a trifle still left in reserve;

  I’ve a little in America, a little in my pocket,

  So I won’t be quite driven to beg my bread.—

  And at bottom this middle condition is best.

  I’m no longer a slave to my coachman and horses;

  I haven’t to fret about postchaise or baggage;

  I am master, in short, of the situation.—

  What path should I choose? Many paths lie before me;