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 Bailiff91 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 Glittertind92

  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 peasants 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,—93

  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 end 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-bag94 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.]95

  Look, the cat of the Dovrë! 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, 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 [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——96

  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 halling97 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 attracted.

  The house was well filled; expectation ran high.

  He stepped forth in a cloak with an ample cape to it;

  Man mus 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;