Chapter III: Part 3

Shall he roast on a spit or be browned in a stewpan?

THE OLD MAN OF THE DOVRË.

Ice to your blood, friends!
[_Beckons his counsellors closer around him._
Don’t let us talk big.
We’ve been drifting astern in these latter years;
We can’t tell what’s going to stand or to fall,
And there’s no sense in turning recruits away.
Besides the lad’s body has scarce a blemish,
And he’s strongly-built too, if I see aright.
It’s true, he has only a single head;
But my daughter, too, has no more than one.
Three-headed trolls are gone clean out of fashion;
One hardly sees even a two-header now,
And even those heads are but so-so ones.
[_To PEER GYNT._]
It’s my daughter, then, you demand of me?

PEER.

Your daughter and the realm to her dowry, yes.

THE OLD MAN.

You shall have the half while I’m still alive,
And the other half when I come to die.

PEER.

I’m content with that.

THE OLD MAN.

Ay, but stop, my lad;—
You also have some undertakings to give.
If you break even one, the whole pact’s at an end,
And you’ll never get away from here living.
First of all you must swear that you’ll never give heed
To aught that lies outside the Rondë-hills’ bounds;
Day you must shun, and deeds, and each sunlit spot.

PEER.

Only call me king, and that’s easy to keep.

THE OLD MAN.

And next—now for putting your wits to the test.
[_Draws himself up in his seat._

THE OLDEST TROLL-COURTIER.
[_To PEER GYNT._]

Let us see if you have a wisdom-tooth
That can crack the Dovrë-King’s riddle-nut!

THE OLD MAN.

What difference is there ’twixt trolls and men?

PEER.

No difference at all, as it seems to me.
Big trolls would roast you and small trolls would claw you;—
With us it were likewise, if only they dared.

THE OLD MAN.

True enough; in that and in more we’re alike.
Yet morning is morning, and even is even,
And there is a difference all the same.—
Now let me tell you wherein it lies:
Out yonder, under the shining vault,
Among men the saying goes: “Man, be thyself!”
At home here with us, ’mid the tribe of the trolls,
The saying goes: “Troll, to thyself be—enough!”

THE TROLL-COURTIER.
[_To PEER GYNT._]

Can you fathom the depth?

PEER.

It strikes me as misty.

THE OLD MAN.

My son, that “Enough,” that most potent and sundering
Word, must be graven upon your escutcheon.

PEER.
[_Scratching his head._]

Well, but——

THE OLD MAN.

It _must_, if you here would be master!

PEER.

Oh well, let it pass; after all, it’s no worse——

THE OLD MAN.

And next you must learn to appreciate
Our homely, everyday way of life.

[_He beckons; two TROLLS with pigs’-heads, white
night-caps, and so forth, bring in food and drink._

The cow gives cakes and the bullock mead;
Ask not if its taste be sour or sweet;
The main matter is, and you mustn’t forget it,
It’s all of it home-brewed.

PEER.
[_Pushing the things away from him._]

The devil fly off with your home-brewed drinks!
I’ll never get used to the ways of this land.

THE OLD MAN.

The bowl’s given in, and it’s fashioned of gold.
Whoso own the gold bowl, him my daughter holds dear.

PEER.
[_Pondering._]

It is written: Thou shalt bridle the natural man;—
And I daresay the drink may in time seem less sour.
So be it!
[_Complies._

THE OLD MAN.

Ay, that was sagaciously said.
You spit?

PEER.

One must trust to the force of habit.

THE OLD MAN.

And next you must throw off your Christian-man’s garb;
For this you must know to our Dovrë’s renown:
Here all things are mountain-made, nought’s from the dale,
Except the silk bow at the end of your tail.

PEER.
[_Indignant._]

I haven’t a tail!

THE OLD MAN.

Then of course you must get one.
See my Sunday-tail, Chamberlain, fastened to him.

PEER.

I’ll be hanged if you do! Would you make me a fool?

THE OLD MAN.

None comes courting my child with no tail at his rear.

PEER.

Make a beast of a man!

THE OLD MAN.

Nay, my son, you mistake;
I make you a mannerly wooer, no more.
A bright orange bow we’ll allow you to wear,
And that passes here for the highest of honours.

PEER.
[_Reflectively._]

It’s true, as the saying goes: Man’s but a mote.
And it’s wisest to follow the fashion a bit.
Tie away!

THE OLD MAN.

You’re a tractable fellow, I see.

THE COURTIER.

Just try with what grace you can waggle and whisk it!

PEER.
[_Peevishly._]

Ha, would you force me to go still further?
Do you ask me to give up my Christian faith?

THE OLD MAN.

No, that you are welcome to keep in peace.
Doctrine goes free; upon that there’s no duty;
It’s the outward cut one must tell a troll by.
If we’re only at one in our manners and dress,
You may hold as your faith what to us is a horror.

PEER.

Why, in spite of your many conditions, you are
A more reasonable chap than one might have expected.

THE OLD MAN.

We troll-folk, my son, are less black than we’re painted;[52]
That’s another distinction between you and us.—
But the serious part of the meeting is over;
Now let us gladden our ears and our eyes.
Music-maid, forth! Set the Dovrë-harp sounding!
Dancing-maid, forth! Tread the Dovrë-hall’s floor!
[_Music and a dance._

THE COURTIER.

How like you it?

PEER.

Like it? H’m——

THE OLD MAN.

Speak without fear!
What see you?

PEER.

Why something unspeakably grim:[53]
A bell-cow with her hoof on a gut-harp strumming.
A sow in socklets a-trip to the tune.

THE COURTIERS.

Eat him!

THE OLD MAN.

His sense is but human, remember!

TROLL-MAIDENS.

Hu, tear away both his ears and his eyes!

THE GREEN-CLAD ONE.
[_Weeping._]

Hu-hu! And this we must hear and put up with,
When I and my sister make music and dance.

PEER.

Oho, was it you? Well, a joke at the feast,
You must know, is never unkindly meant.

THE GREEN CLAD ONE.

Can you swear it was so?

PEER.

Both the dance and the music
Were utterly charming, the cat claw me else.

THE OLD MAN.

This same human nature’s a singular thing;
It sticks to people so strangely long.
If it gets a gash in the fight with us,
It heals up at once, though a scar may remain.
My son-in-law, now, is as pliant as any;
He’s willingly thrown off his Christian-man’s garb,
He’s willingly drunk from our chalice of mead,
He’s willingly fastened the tail to his back,—
So willing, in short, did we find him in all things,
I thought to myself the old Adam, for certain,
Had for good and all been kicked out of doors;
But lo! in two shakes he’s atop again!
Ay ay, my son, we must treat you, I see,
To cure this pestilent human nature.

PEER.

What will you do?

THE OLD MAN.

In your left eye, first,
I’ll scratch you a bit, till you see awry;
But all that you see will seem fine and brave.
And then I’ll just cut your right window-pane out——

PEER.

Are you drunk?

THE OLD MAN.
[_Lays a number of sharp instruments on the table._]

See, here are the glazier’s tools.
Blinkers you’ll wear, like a raging bull.
Then you’ll recognise that your bride is lovely,—
And ne’er will your vision be troubled, as now,
With bell-cows harping and sows that dance.

PEER.

This is madman’s talk!

THE OLDEST COURTIER.

It’s the Dovrë-King speaking;
’Tis he that is wise, and ’tis you that are crazy!

THE OLD MAN.

Just think how much worry and mortification
You’ll thus escape from, year out, year in.
You must remember, your eyes are the fountain
Of the bitter and searing lye of tears.

PEER.

That’s true; and it says in our sermon-book:
If thine eye offend thee, then pluck it out.
But tell me, when will my sight heal up
Into human sight?

THE OLD MAN.

Nevermore, my friend.

PEER.

Indeed! In that case, I’ll take my leave.

THE OLD MAN.

What would you without?

PEER.

I would go my way.

THE OLD MAN.

No, stop! It’s easy to slip in here,
But outward the Dovrë-King’s gate opens not.

PEER.

You wouldn’t detain me by force, I hope?

THE OLD MAN.

Come now, just listen to reason, Prince Peer!
You have gifts for trolldom. He acts—does he not?—
Even now in a passably troll-like fashion?
And you’d fain be a troll?

PEER.

Yes, I would, sure enough.
For a bride, and a well-managed kingdom to boot,
I can put up with losing a good many things.
But there is a limit to all things on earth.
The tail I’ve accepted, it’s perfectly true;
But no doubt I can loose what the Chamberlain tied.
My breeches I’ve dropped; they were old and patched;
But no doubt I can button them on again.
And lightly enough I can slip my cable
From these your Dovrëfied ways of life.
I am willing to swear that a cow is a maid;
An oath one can always eat up again;—
But to know that one never can free oneself,
That one can’t even die like a decent soul;
To live as a hill-troll for all one’s days—
To feel that one never can beat a retreat,—
As the book has it, that’s what your heart is set on;
But that is a thing I can never agree to.

THE OLD MAN.

Now, sure as I live, I shall soon lose my temper;
And then I am not to be trifled with.
You pasty-faced loon! Do you know who I am?
First with my daughter you make too free——

PEER.

There you lie in your throat!

THE OLD MAN.

You must marry her.

PEER.

Do you dare to accuse me——?

THE OLD MAN.

What? Can you deny
That you lusted for her in heart and eye?

PEER.
[_With a snort of contempt._]

No more? Who the deuce cares a straw for that?

THE OLD MAN.

It’s ever the same with this humankind.
The spirit you’re ready to own with your lips,
But in fact nothing counts that your fists cannot handle.
So you really think, then, that lust matters nought?
Wait; you shall soon have ocular proof of it——

PEER.

You don’t catch me with a bait of lies!

THE GREEN-CLAD ONE.

My Peer, ere the year’s out, your child will be born.

PEER.

Open doors! let me go!

THE OLD MAN.

In a he-goat’s skin.
You shall have the brat after you.

PEER.
[_Mopping the sweat off his brow._]

Would I could waken!

THE OLD MAN.

Shall we send him to the palace?

PEER.

You can send him to the parish!

THE OLD MAN.

Well well, Prince Peer; that’s your own look-out.
But one thing’s certain, what’s done is done;
And your offspring, too, will be sure to grow;
Such mongrels shoot up amazingly fast——

PEER.

Old man, don’t act like a headstrong ox!
Hear reason, maiden! Let’s come to terms.
You must know I’m neither a prince nor rich;—
And whether you measure or whether you weigh me,
Be sure you won’t gain much by making me yours.

[_THE GREEN-CLAD ONE is taken ill, and is carried out by
TROLL-MAIDS._

THE OLD MAN.
[_Looks at him for a while in high disdain; then says_:]

Dash him to shards on the rock-walls, children!

THE TROLL-IMPS.

Oh dad, mayn’t we play owl-and-eagle first!
The wolf-game! Grey-mouse and glow-eyed cat!

THE OLD MAN.

Yes, but quick. I am worried and sleepy. Goodnight!
[_He goes._

PEER.
[_Hunted by the TROLL-IMPS._]

Let me be, devil’s imps!
[_Tries to escape up the chimney._

THE IMPS.

Come brownies! Come nixies!
Bite him behind!

PEER.

Ow!
[_Tries to slip down the cellar trap-door._

THE IMPS.

Shut up all the crannies!

THE TROLL-COURTIER.

Now the small-fry are happy!

PEER.
[_Struggling with a little IMP that has bit himself
fast to his ear._]

Let go will you, beast!

THE COURTIER.
[_Hitting him across the fingers._]

Gently, you scamp, with a scion of royalty!

PEER.

A rat-hole——!
[_Runs to it._

THE IMPS.

Be quick, Brother Nixie, and block it!

PEER.

The old one was bad, but the youngsters are worse!

THE IMPS.

Slash him!

PEER.

Oh, would I were small as a mouse!
[_Rushing around._

THE IMPS.
[_Swarming round him._]

Close the ring! Close the ring!

PEER.
[_Weeping._]

Were I only a louse!
[_He falls._

THE IMPS.

Now into his eyes!

PEER.
[_Buried in a heap of IMPS._]

Mother, help me, I die!
[_Church bells sound far away._

THE IMPS.

Bells in the mountain! The Black-Frock’s cows!

[_THE TROLLS take to flight, amid a confused uproar of
yells and shrieks. The palace collapses; everything
disappears._

SCENE SEVENTH.

_Pitch darkness._

_PEER GYNT is heard beating and slashing about him with a large
bough._

PEER.

Answer! Who are you?

A VOICE IN THE DARKNESS.

Myself.

PEER.

Clear the way!

THE VOICE.

Go roundabout, Peer! The hill’s roomy enough.

PEER.
[_Tries to force a passage at another place, but strikes
against something._]

Who are _you_?

THE VOICE.

Myself. Can you say the same?

PEER.

I can say what I will; and my sword can smite!
Mind yourself! Hu, hei, now the blow falls crushing!
King Saul slew hundreds; Peer Gynt slew thousands!
[_Cutting and slashing._
Who _are_ you?

THE VOICE.

Myself.

PEER.

That stupid reply
You may spare; it doesn’t clear up the matter.
_What_ are you?

THE VOICE.

The great Boyg.[54]

PEER.

Ah, indeed!
The riddle was black; now I’d call it grey.
Clear the way then, Boyg!

THE VOICE.

Go roundabout, Peer!

PEER.

No, through!
[_Cuts and slashes._
There he fell!
[_Tries to advance, but strikes against something._
Ho ho, are there more here?

THE VOICE.

The Boyg, Peer Gynt! the one only one.
It’s the Boyg that’s unwounded, and the Boyg that was hurt,
It’s the Boyg that is dead, and the Boyg that’s alive.

PEER.
[_Throws away the branch._]

The weapon is troll-smeared;[55] but I have my fists!
[_Fights his way forward._

THE VOICE.

Ay, trust to your fists, lad, trust to your body.
Hee-hee, Peer Gynt, so you’ll reach the summit.

PEER.
[_Falling back again._]

Forward or back, and it’s just as far;—
Out or in, and it’s just as strait![56]
He is _there_! And _there_! And he’s round the bend!
No sooner I’m out than I’m back in the ring.—
Name who you are! Let me see you! What are you?

THE VOICE.

The Boyg.

PEER.
[_Groping around._]

Not dead, not living; all slimy; misty.
Not so much as a shape! It’s as bad as to battle
In a cluster of snarling, half-wakened bears!
[_Screams._
Strike back at me, can’t you!

THE VOICE.

The Boyg isn’t mad.

PEER.

Strike!

THE VOICE.

The Boyg strikes not.

PEER.

Fight! You shall!

THE VOICE.

The great Boyg conquers, but does not fight.

PEER.

Were there only a nixie here that could prick me!
Were there only as much as a year-old troll!
Only something to fight with. But here there is nothing.—
Now he’s snoring! Boyg!

THE VOICE.

What’s your will?

PEER.

Use force!

THE VOICE.

The great Boyg conquers in all things without it.[57]

PEER.
[_Biting his own arms and hands._]

Claws and ravening teeth in my flesh!
I must feel the drip of my own warm blood.

[_A sound is heard like the wing-strokes of great
birds._

BIRD-CRIES.

Comes he now, Boyg?

THE VOICE.

Ay, step by step.

BIRD-CRIES.

All our sisters far off! Gather here to the tryst!

PEER.

If you’d save me now, lass, you must do it quick!
Gaze not adown so, lowly and bending.—
Your clasp-book! Hurl it straight into his eyes!

BIRD-CRIES.

He totters!

THE VOICE.

We have him.

BIRD-CRIES.

Sisters! Make haste!

PEER.

Too dear the purchase one pays for life
In such a heart-wasting hour of strife.
[_Sinks down._

BIRD-CRIES.

Boyg, there he’s fallen! Seize him! Seize him!

[_A sound of bells and of psalm-singing is heard far
away._

THE BOYG.
[_Shrinks up to nothing, and says in a gasp_:]

He was too strong. There were women behind him.

SCENE EIGHTH.

_Sunrise. The mountain-side in front of ÅSE’S sæter. The door is
shut; all is silent and deserted._

_PEER GYNT is lying asleep by the wall of the sæter._

PEER.
[_Wakens, and looks about him with dull and heavy
eyes. He spits._]

What wouldn’t I give for a pickled herring!

[_Spits again, and at the same moment catches sight of
HELGA, who appears carrying a basket of food._

Ha, child, are you there? What is it you want?

HELGA.

It is Solveig——

PEER.
[_Jumping up._]

Where is _she_?

HELGA.

Behind the sæter.

SOLVEIG.
[_Unseen._]

If you come nearer, I’ll run away!

PEER.
[_Stopping short._]

Perhaps you’re afraid I might take you in my arms?

SOLVEIG.

For shame!

PEER.

Do you know where I was last night?—
Like a horse-fly the Dovrë-King’s daughter is after me.

SOLVEIG.

Then it was well that the bells were set ringing.

PEER.

Peer Gynt’s not the lad they can lure astray.—
What do you say?

HELGA.
[_Crying._]

Oh, she’s running away!
[_Running after her._
Wait!

PEER.
[_Catches her by the arm._]

Look here, what I have in my pocket!
A silver button, child! You shall have it,—
Only speak for me!

HELGA.

Let me be; let me go!

PEER.

There you have it.

HELGA.

Let go; there’s the basket of food.

PEER.

God pity you if you don’t——

HELGA.

Uf, how you scare me!

PEER.
[_Gently; letting her go._]

No, I only meant: beg her not to forget me!
[_HELGA runs off._

-----

Footnotes:

-----

Footnote 43:

See note on page 35.

Footnote 44:

“Blir der Helg når en dig ser?” literally, “Does it become a
holy-day (or holy-tide) when one sees you?”

Footnote 45:

A malevolent water-monster.

Footnote 46:

_Sæter_—a châlet, or small mountain farm, where the cattle are
sent to pasture in the summer months.

Footnote 47:

See note, p. 29.

Footnote 48:

See Appendix.

Footnote 49:

Pronounce _Vaal-fyeld_.

Footnote 50:

Pronounce Broasë.

Footnote 51:

Kicking the rafters is a much-admired exploit in peasant
dancing. See note, page 30.

Footnote 52:

Literally, “Better than our reputation.”

Footnote 53:

“Ustyggelig stygt.” “Ustyggelig” seems to be what Mr. Lewis
Carroll calls a portmanteau word, compounded of “usigelig” =
unspeakable, and “styg” = ugly. The words might be rendered
“beyond grimness grim.”

Footnote 54:

See Introduction and Appendix.

Footnote 55:

Rendered harmless by magical anointing.

Footnote 56:

“Atter og fram, det er lige langt;—
ud og ind, det er lige trangt!”

Footnote 57:

“Med lempe,” literally “by gentleness” or “easy-goingness.”
“Quiescence” is somewhere near the idea.

-----

ACT THIRD.

SCENE FIRST.

_Deep in the pine-woods. Grey autumn weather. Snow is falling._

_PEER GYNT stands in his shirt-sleeves, felling timber._

PEER.
[_Hewing at a large fir-tree with twisted branches._]

Oh ay, you are tough, you ancient churl;
But it’s all in vain, for you’ll soon be down.
[_Hews at it again._
I see well enough you’ve a chain-mail shirt,
But I’ll hew it through, were it never so stout.—
Ay, ay, you’re shaking your twisted arms;
You’ve reason enough for your spite and rage;
But none the less you must bend the knee——!
[_Breaks off suddenly._
Lies! ’Tis an old tree and nothing more.
Lies! It was never a steel-clad churl;
It’s only a fir-tree with fissured bark.—
It is heavy labour this hewing timber;
But the devil and all when you hew and dream too.—
I’ll have done with it all—with this dwelling in mist,
And, broad-awake, dreaming your senses away.—
You’re an outlaw, lad! You are banned to the woods.
[_Hews for a while rapidly._
Ay, an outlaw, ay. You’ve no mother now
To spread your table and bring your food.
If you’d eat, my lad, you must help yourself,
Fetch your rations raw from the wood and stream,
Split your own fir-roots[[58] and light your own fire,
Bustle around, and arrange and prepare things.
Would you clothe yourself warmly, you must stalk your deer;
Would you found you a house, you must quarry the stones;
Would you build up its walls, you must fell the logs,
And shoulder them all to the building-place.—
[_His axe sinks down; he gazes straight in
front of him._
Brave shall the building be. Tower and vane
Shall rise from the roof-tree, high and fair.
And then I will carve, for the knob on the gable,
A mermaid, shaped like a fish from the navel.
Brass shall there be on the vane and the door-locks.
Glass I must see and get hold of too.
Strangers, passing, shall ask amazed:
What is that glittering far on the hillside?
[_Laughs angrily._
Devil’s own lies! There they come again.
You’re an outlaw, lad!
[_Hewing vigorously._
A bark-thatched hovel
Is shelter enough both in rain and frost.
[_Looks up at the tree._
Now he stands wavering. There; only a kick,
And he topples and measures his length on the ground;—
The thick-swarming undergrowth shudders around him!

[_Begins lopping the branches from the trunk; suddenly
he listens, and stands motionless with his axe in
the air._

There’s some one after me;—Ay, are you that sort,
Old Hegstad-churl; would you play me false?
[_Crouches behind the tree, and peeps over it._
A lad! One only. He seems afraid.
He peers all round him. What’s that he hides
’Neath his jacket? A sickle. He stops and looks round,—
Now he lays his hand on a fence-rail flat.
What’s this now? Why does he lean like that——?
Ugh, ugh! Why, he’s chopped his finger off!
A whole finger off!—He bleeds like an ox.—
Now he takes to his heels with his fist in a clout.
[_Rises._
What a devil of a lad! An unmendable[59] finger!
Right off! And with no one compelling him to it!
Ho, now I remember! It’s only thus
You can ’scape from having to serve the King.
That’s it. They wanted to send him soldiering,
And of course the lad didn’t want to go.—
But to chop off——? To sever for good and all——?
Ay, think of it—wish it done—will it to boot,—
But do it——! No, that’s past my understanding!

[_Shakes his head a little; then goes on with his work._

SCENE SECOND.

_A room in ÅSE’S house. Everything in disorder; boxes standing
open; wearing apparel strewn around. A cat is lying on the
bed._

_ÅSE and the COTTAR’S WIFE are hard at work packing things
together and putting them straight._

ÅSE.
[_Running to one side._]

Kari, come here!

KARI.

What now?

ÅSE.
[_On the other side._]

Come here——?
Where is——? Where shall I find——? Tell me where——?
What am I seeking? I’m out of my wits!
Where is the key of the chest?

KARI.

In the key hole.

ÅSE.

What is that rumbling?

KARI.

The last cart-load
They’re driving to Hegstad.

ÅSE.
[_Weeping._]

How glad I’d be
In the black chest myself to be driven away!
Oh, what must a mortal abide and live through!
God help me in mercy; The whole house is bare!
What the Hegstad-churl left now the Bailiff[60] has taken.
Not even the clothes on my back have they spared.
Fie! Shame on them all that have judged so hardly!
[_Seats herself on the edge of the bed._
Both the land and the farm-place are lost to our line;
The old man was hard, but the law was still harder;—
There was no one to help me, and none would show mercy;
Peer was away; not a soul to give counsel.

KARI.

But here, in this house, you may dwell till you die.

ÅSE.

Ay, the cat and I live on charity.

KARI.

God help you, mother; your Peer’s cost you dear.

ÅSE.

Peer? Why, you’re out of your senses, sure!
Ingrid came home none the worse in the end.
The right thing had been to hold Satan to reckoning;—
He was the sinner, ay, he and none other;
The ugly beast tempted my poor boy astray!

KARI.

Had I not better send word to the parson?
Mayhap you’re worse than you think you are.

ÅSE.

To the parson? Truly I almost think so.
[_Starts up._
But, oh God, I can’t! I’m the boy’s own mother;
And help him I must; it’s no more than my duty;
I must do what I can when the rest forsake him.
They’ve left him his coat; I must patch it up.
I wish I dared snap up the fur-rug as well!
What’s come of the hose?

KARI.

They are there, ’mid that rubbish.

ÅSE.
[_Rummaging about._]

Why, what have we here? I declare it’s an old
Casting-ladle, Kari! With this he would play
Button-moulder, would melt, and then shape, and then stamp them.
One day—there was company—in the boy came,
And begged of his father a lump of tin.
“Not tin,” says Jon, “but King Christian’s coin;
Silver; to show you’re the son of Jon Gynt.”
God pardon him, Jon; he was drunk, you see,
And then he cared neither for tin nor for gold.
Here are the hose. Oh, they’re nothing but holes;
They want darning, Kari!

KARI.

Indeed but they do.

ÅSE.

When that is done, I must get to bed;
I feel so broken, and frail, and ill——
[_Joyfully._
Two woollen-shirts, Kari;—they’ve passed them by!

KARI.

So they have indeed.

ÅSE.

It’s a bit of luck.
One of the two you may put aside;
Or rather, I think we’ll e’en take them both;—
The one he has on is so worn and thin.

KARI.

But oh, Mother Åse, I fear it’s a sin.

ÅSE.

Maybe; but remember the priest holds out
Pardon for this and our other sinnings.

SCENE THIRD.

_In front of a settlers newly-built hut in the forest. A
reindeer’s horns over the door. The snow is lying deep
around. It is dusk._

_PEER GYNT is standing outside the door, fastening a large
wooden bar to it._

PEER.
[_Laughing between whiles._]

Bars I must fix me; bars that can fasten
The door against troll-folk, and men, and women.
Bars I must fix me; bars that can shut out
All the cantankerous little hobgoblins.—
They come with the darkness, they knock and they rattle:
Open, Peer Gynt, we’re as nimble as thoughts are!
’Neath the bedstead we bustle, we rake in the ashes,
Down the chimney we hustle like fiery-eyed dragons.
Hee-hee! Peer Gynt; think you staples and planks
Can shut out cantankerous hobgoblin-thoughts?

[_SOLVEIG comes on snow-shoes over the heath; she has a
shawl over her head, and a bundle in her hand._

SOLVEIG.

God prosper your labour. You must not reject me.
You sent for me hither, and so you must take me.

PEER.

Solveig! It cannot be——! Ay, but it is!—
And you’re not afraid to come near to me!

SOLVEIG.

One message you sent me by little Helga;
Others came after in storm and in stillness.
All that your mother told bore me a message,
That brought forth others when dreams sank upon me.
Nights full of heaviness, blank, empty days,
Brought me the message that now I must come.
It seemed as though life had been quenched down there;
I could nor laugh nor weep from the depths of my heart.
I knew not for sure how you might be minded;
I knew but for sure what I should do and must do.

PEER.

But your father?

SOLVEIG.

In all of God’s wide earth
I have none I can call either father or mother.
I have loosed me from all of them.

PEER.

Solveig, you fair one—
And to come to me?

SOLVEIG.

Ay, to you alone;
You must be all to me, friend and consoler.
[_In tears._
The worst was leaving my little sister;—
But parting from father was worse, still worse;
And worst to leave her at whose breast I was borne;—
Oh no, God forgive me, the worst I must call
The sorrow of leaving them all, ay all!

PEER.

And you know the doom that was passed in spring?
It forfeits my farm and my heritage.

SOLVEIG.

Think you for heritage, goods, and gear,
I forsook the paths all my dear ones tread?

PEER.

And know you the compact? Outside the forest
Whoever may meet me may seize me at will.

SOLVEIG.

I ran upon snow-shoes; I asked my way on;
They said “Whither go you?” I answered, “I go home.”

PEER.

Away, away then with nails and planks!
No need now for bars against hobgoblin-thoughts.
If you dare dwell with the hunter here,
I know the hut will be blessed from ill.
Solveig! Let me look at you! Not too near!
Only look at you! Oh, but you are bright and pure!
Let me lift you! Oh, but you are fine and light!
Let me carry you, Solveig, and I’ll never be tired!
I will not soil you. With outstretched arms
I will hold you far out from me, lovely and warm one!
Oh, who would have thought I could draw you to me,—
Ah, but I have longed for you, daylong and nightlong.
Here you may see I’ve been hewing and building;—
It must down again, dear; it is ugly and mean——

SOLVEIG.

Be it mean or brave,—here is all to my mind.
One so lightly draws breath in the teeth of the wind.
Down below it was airless; one felt as though choked;
That was partly what drove me in fear from the dale.
But here, with the fir-branches soughing o’erhead,—
What a stillness and song!—I am here in my home.

PEER.

And know you that surely? For all your days?

SOLVEIG.

The path I have trodden leads back nevermore.

PEER.

You are mine then! In! In the room let me see you!
Go in! I must go to fetch fir-roots[61] for fuel.
Warm shall the fire be and bright shall it shine,
You shall sit softly and never be a-cold.

[_He opens the door; SOLVEIG goes in. He stands still
for a while, then laughs aloud with joy and leaps
into the air._

PEER.

My king’s daughter! Now I have found her and won her!
Hei! Now the palace shall rise, deeply founded!

_He seizes his axe and moves away; at the same moment an
OLD-LOOKING WOMAN, in a tattered green gown, comes
out from the wood; an UGLY BRAT, with an ale-flagon
in his hand, limps after, holding on to her skirt._

THE WOMAN.

Good evening, Peer Lightfoot!

PEER.

What is it? Who’s there?

THE WOMAN.

Old friends of yours, Peer Gynt! My home is near by.
We are neighbours.

PEER.

Indeed! That is more than I know.

THE WOMAN.

Even as your hut was builded, mine built itself too.

PEER.
[_Going._]

I’m in haste——

THE WOMAN.

Yes, that you are always, my lad!
But I’ll trudge behind you and catch you at last.

PEER.

You’re mistaken, good woman!

THE WOMAN.

I was so before;
I was when you promised such mighty fine things.

PEER.

I promised——? What devil’s own nonsense is this?

THE WOMAN.

You’ve forgotten the night when you drank with my sire?
You’ve forgot——?

PEER.

I’ve forgot what I never have known.
What’s this that you prate of? When last did we meet?

THE WOMAN.

When last we met was when first we met.
[_To THE BRAT._]
Give your father a drink; he is thirsty, I’m sure.

PEER.

Father? You’re drunk, woman! Do you call him——?

THE WOMAN.

I should think you might well know the pig by its skin!
Why, where are your eyes? Can’t you see that he’s lame
In his shank, just as you too are lame in your soul?

PEER.

Would you have me believe——?

THE WOMAN.

Would you wriggle away——?

PEER.

This long-leggëd urchin——!

THE WOMAN.

He’s shot up apace.

PEER.

Dare you, you troll-snout, father on me——?

THE WOMAN.

Come now, Peer Gynt, you’re as rude as an ox!
[_Weeping._
Is it my fault if no longer I’m fair,
As I was when you lured me on hillside and lea?
Last fall, in my labour, the Fiend held my back,
And so ’twas no wonder I came out a fright.
But if you would see me as fair as before,
You have only to turn yonder girl out of doors,
Drive her clean out of your sight and your mind;—
Do but this, dear my love, and I’ll soon lose my snout!

PEER.

Begone from me, troll-witch!

THE WOMAN.

Ay, see if I do!

PEER.

I’ll split your skull open——!

THE WOMAN.

Just try if you dare!
Ho-ho, Peer Gynt, I’ve no fear of blows!
Be sure I’ll return every day of the year.
Through the door, set ajar, I’ll peep in at you both.
When you’re sitting with your girl on the fireside bench,—
When you’re tender, Peer Gynt,—when you’d pet and caress her,—
I’ll seat myself by you, and ask for my share.
She there and I—we will take you by turns.
Farewell, dear my lad, you can marry to-morrow!

PEER.

You nightmare of hell!

THE WOMAN.

By-the-bye, I forgot!
You must rear your own youngster, you light-footed scamp!
Little imp, will you go to your father?

THE BRAT.
[_Spits at him._]

Faugh!
I’ll chop you with my hatchet; only wait, only wait!

THE WOMAN.
[_Kisses THE BRAT._]

What a head he has got on his shoulders, the dear!
You’ll be dad’s living image when once you’re a man!

PEER.
[_Stamping._]

Oh, would you were as far——!

THE WOMAN.

As we now are near?

PEER.
[_Clenching his hands._]

And all this——!

THE WOMAN.

For nothing but thoughts and desires!
It is hard on you, Peer!

PEER.

It is worst for another!—
Solveig, my fairest, my purest gold!

THE WOMAN.

Oh ay, ’tis the guiltless must smart, said the devil:
His mother boxed his ears when his father was drunk!

[_She trudges off into the thicket with THE BRAT, who
throws the flagon at PEER GYNT._

PEER.
[_After a long silence._]

The Boyg said, “Go roundabout!”—so one must here.—
There fell my fine palace, with crash and clatter!
There’s a wall around her whom I stood so near,
Of a sudden all’s ugly—my joy has grown old.—
Roundabout, lad! There’s no way to be found
Right through all this, from where you stand to her.
Right through? H’m, surely there should be one.
There’s a text on repentance, unless I mistake.
But what? What is it? I haven’t the book,
I’ve forgotten it mostly, and here there is none
That can guide me aright in the pathless wood.—
Repentance? And maybe ’twould take whole years
Ere I fought my way through. ’Twere a meagre life, that.
To shatter what’s radiant, and lovely, and pure,
And clinch it together in fragments and shards?
You can do it with a fiddle, but not with a bell.
Where you’d have the sward green, you must mind not to trample.
’Twas nought but a lie though, that witch-snout business!
Now all that foulness is well out of sight.—
Ay, out of sight maybe, but not out of mind.
Thoughts will sneak stealthily in at my heel.
Ingrid! And the three, they that danced on the heights!
Will they too want to join us? With vixenish spite
Will they claim to be folded, like her, to my breast,
To be tenderly lifted on outstretched arms?
Roundabout, lad; though my arms were as long
As the root of the fir, or the pine-tree’s stem,—
I think even then I should hold her too near
To set her down pure and untarnished again.—
I must roundabout here, then, as best I may,
And see that it bring me nor gain nor loss.
One must put such things from one, and try to forget.—

[_Goes a few steps towards the hut, but stops again._

Go in after this? So befouled and disgraced?
Go in with that troll-rabble after me still?
Speak, yet be silent; confess, yet conceal——?
[_Throws away his axe._
It’s a holy-day evening. For me to keep tryst,
Such as now I am, would be sacrilege.

SOLVEIG.
[_In the doorway._]

Are you coming?

PEER.
[_Half aloud._]

Roundabout!

SOLVEIG.

What?

PEER.

You must wait.
It is dark, and I’ve got something heavy to fetch.

SOLVEIG.

Wait; I will help you; the burden we’ll share.

PEER.

No, stay where you are! I must bear it alone.

SOLVEIG.

But don’t go too far, dear!

PEER.

Be patient, my girl;
Be my way long or short—you must wait.

SOLVEIG.
[_Nodding to him as he goes._]

Yes, I’ll wait!

[_PEER GYNT goes down the wood-path. SOLVEIG remains
standing in the open half-door._

SCENE FOURTH.

_ÅSE’S room. Evening. The room is lighted by a wood fire on the
open hearth. A cat is lying on a chair at the foot of the
bed._

_ÅSE lies in the bed, fumbling about restlessly with her hands
on the coverlet._

ÅSE.

Oh, Lord my God, isn’t he coming?
The time drags so drearily on.
I have no one to send with a message;
And I’ve much, oh so much, to say.
I haven’t a moment to lose now!
So quickly! Who could have foreseen
Oh me, if I only were certain
I’d not been too strict with him!

PEER GYNT.
[_Enters._]

Good evening!

ÅSE.

The Lord give you gladness!
You’ve come then, my boy, my dear!
But how dare you show face in the valley?
You know your life’s forfeit here.

PEER.

Oh, life must e’en go as it may go;
I felt that I must look in.

ÅSE.

Ay, now Kari is put to silence,
And I can depart in peace!

PEER.

Depart? Why, what are you saying?
Where is it you think to go?

ÅSE.

Alas, Peer, the end is nearing;
I have but a short time left.

PEER.
[_Writhing, and walking towards the back of the room._]

See there now! I’m fleeing from trouble;
I thought at least _here_ I’d be free——!
Are your hands and your feet a-cold, then?

ÅSE.

Ay, Peer; all will soon be o’er.—
When you see that my eyes are glazing,
You must close them carefully.
And then you must see to my coffin;
And be sure it’s a fine one, dear.
Ah no, by-the-bye——

PEER.

Be quiet!
There’s time yet to think of that.

ÅSE.

Ay, ay.
[_Looks restlessly round the room._
Here you see the little
They’ve left us! It’s like them, just.

PEER.
[_With a writhe._]

Again!
[_Harshly._
Well, I know it was my fault.
What’s the use of reminding me?

ÅSE.

You! No, that accursed liquor,
From that all the mischief came!
Dear my boy, you know you’d been drinking;
And then no one knows what he does;
And besides, you’d been riding the reindeer;
No wonder your head was turned!

PEER.

Ay, ay; of that yarn enough now.
Enough of the whole affair.
All that’s heavy we’ll let stand over
Till after—some other day.
[_Sits on the edge of the bed._
Now, mother, we’ll chat together;
But only of this and that,—
Forget what’s awry and crooked,
And all that is sharp and sore.—
Why see now, the same old pussy
So she is alive then, still?

ÅSE.

She makes such a noise o’ nights now;
You know what that bodes, my boy!

PEER.
_Changing the subject._]

What news is there here in the parish?

ÅSE.
[_Smiling._]

There’s somewhere about, they say,
A girl who would fain to the uplands——

PEER.
[_Hastily._]

Mads Moen, is he content?

ÅSE.

They say that she hears and heeds not
The old people’s prayers and tears.
You ought to look in and see them;—
You, Peer, might perhaps bring help——

PEER.

The smith, what’s become of him now?

ÅSE.

Don’t talk of that filthy smith.
Her name I would rather tell you,
The name of the girl, you know——

PEER.

Nay, now we will chat together,
But only of this and that,—
Forget what’s awry and crooked,
And all that is sharp and sore.
Are you thirsty? I’ll fetch you water.
Can you stretch you? The bed is short.
Let me see;—if I don’t believe, now,
It’s the bed that I had when a boy!
Do you mind, dear, how oft in the evenings
You sat at my bedside here,
And spread the fur-coverlet o’er me,
And sang many a lilt and lay?

ÅSE.

Ay, mind you? And then we played sledges,
When your father was far abroad.
The coverlet served for sledge-apron,
And the floor for an ice-bound fiord.

PEER.

Ah, but the best of all, though,—
Mother, you mind that too?
The best was the fleet-foot horses——

ÅSE.

Ay, think you that I’ve forgot?—
It was Kari’s cat that we borrowed;
It sat on the log-scooped chair——

PEER.

To the castle west of the moon, and
The castle east of the sun,
To Soria-Moria Castle
The road ran both high and low.
A stick that we found in the closet,
For a whip-shaft you made it serve.

ÅSE.

Right proudly I perked on the box-seat——

PEER.

Ay, ay; you threw loose the reins,
And kept turning round as we travelled,
And asked me if I was cold.
God bless you, ugly old mother,—
You were ever a kindly soul——!
What’s hurting you now?

ÅSE.

My back aches,
Because of the hard, bare boards.

PEER.

Stretch yourself; I’ll support you.
There now, you’re lying soft.

ÅSE.
[_Uneasily._]

No, Peer, I’d be moving!

PEER.

Moving?

ÅSE.

Ay, moving; ’tis ever my wish.

PEER.

Oh, nonsense! Spread o’er you the bed-fur.
Let me sit at your bedside here.
There; now we’ll shorten the evening
With many a lilt and lay.

ÅSE.

Best bring from the closet the prayer-book:
I feel so uneasy of soul.

PEER.

In Soria-Moria Castle
The King and the Prince give a feast.
On the sledge-cushions lie and rest you;
I’ll drive you there over the heath——

ÅSE.

But, Peer dear, am I invited?

PEER.

Ay, that we are, both of us.

[_He throws a string round the back of the chair on
which the cat is lying, takes up a stick, and seats
himself at the foot of the bed._

Gee-up! Will you stir yourself, Black-boy?
Mother, you’re not a-cold?
Ay, ay; by the pace one knows it,
When Granë[62] begins to go!

ÅSE.

Why, Peer, what is it that’s ringing——?

PEER.

The glittering sledge-bells, dear!

ÅSE.

Oh, mercy, how hollow it’s rumbling

PEER.

We’re just driving over a fiord.

ÅSE.

I’m afraid! What is that I hear rushing
And sighing so strange and wild?

PEER.

It’s the sough of the pine-trees, mother,
On the heath. Do you but sit still.

ÅSE.

There’s a sparkling and gleaming afar now;
Whence comes all that blaze of light.

PEER.

From the castle’s windows and doorways.
Don’t you hear, they are dancing?

ÅSE.

Yes.

PEER.

Outside the door stands St. Peter,
And prays you to enter in.

ÅSE.

Does he greet us?

PEER.

He does, with honour,
And pours out the sweetest wine.

ÅSE.

Wine! Has he cakes as well, Peer?

PEER.

Cakes? Ay, a heaped-up dish.
And the dean’s wife[63] is getting ready
Your coffee and your dessert.

ÅSE.

Lord, Lord! shall we two come together?

PEER.

As freely as ever you will.

ÅSE.

Oh, deary, Peer, what a frolic
You’re driving me to, poor soul!

PEER.
[_Cracking his whip._]

Gee-up; will you stir yourself, Black-boy!

ÅSE.

Peer, dear, you’re driving right?

PEER.
[_Cracking his whip again._]

Ay, broad is the way.

ÅSE.

This journey,
It makes me so weak and tired.

PEER.

There’s the castle rising before us;
The drive will be over soon.

ÅSE.

I will lie back and close my eyes then,
And trust me to you, my boy!

PEER.

Come up with you, Granë, my trotter!
In the castle the throng is great;
They bustle and swarm to the gateway:
Peer Gynt and his mother are here!
What say you, Master Saint Peter?
Shall mother not enter in?
You may search a long time, I tell you,
Ere you find such an honest old soul.
Myself I don’t want to speak of;
I can turn at the castle gate.
If you’ll treat me, I’ll take it kindly;
If not, I’ll go off just as pleased.
I have made up as many flim-flams
As the devil at the pulpit desk,
And called my old mother a hen, too,
Because she would cackle and crow.
But her you shall honour and reverence,
And make her at home indeed;
There comes not a soul to beat her
From the parishes nowadays.—
Ho-ho; here comes God the Father!
Saint Peter! you’re in for it now!
[_In a deep voice._
“Have done with these jack-in-office airs, sir;
Mother Åse shall enter free!”
[_Laughs loudly, and turns towards his mother._
Ay, didn’t I know what would happen?
Now they dance to another tune!
[_Uneasily._
Why, what makes your eyes so glassy?
Mother! Have you gone out of your wits——?
[_Goes to the head of the bed._
You mustn’t lie there and stare so——!
Speak, mother; it’s I, your boy!

[_Feels her forehead and hands cautiously; then throws
the string on the chair, and says softly_:

Ay, ay!—You can rest yourself, Granë;
For e’en now the journey’s done.
[_Closes her eyes, and bends over her._
For all of your days I thank you,
For beatings and lullabys!
But see, you must thank me back, now—
[_Presses his cheek against her mouth._
There; that was the driver’s fare.[64]

THE COTTAR’S WIFE.
[_Entering._]

What? Peer! Ah, then we are over
The worse of the sorrow and need!
Dear Lord, but she’s sleeping soundly—
Or can she be——?

PEER.

Hush; she is dead.

[_KARI weeps besides the body; PEER GYNT walks up and
down the room for some time; at last he stops beside
the bed._

PEER.

See mother buried with honour.
I must try to fare forth from here.

KARI.

Are you faring afar?

PEER.

To seaward.

KARI.

So far!

PEER.

Ay, and further still.
[_He goes._

-----

Footnotes:

-----

Footnote 58:

“Tyri,” resinous pine-wood which burns with a bright blaze.

Footnote 59:

“Umistelig”—unlosable, indispensable, irreplaceable.

Footnote 60:

“Lensmand,” the lowest functionary in the Norwegian official
scale—a sort of parish officer.

Footnote 61:

See note, p. 92.

Footnote 62:

Granë (Grani) was the name of Sigurd Fafnirsbane’s horse,
descended from Odin’s Sleipnir. Sigurd’s Granë was grey; Peer
Gynt calls his “Svarten,” Black-boy, or Blackey.—See the
“Volsunga Saga,” translated by Morris and Magnussen. Camelot
edition, p. 43.

Footnote 63:

“Salig provstinde,” literally “the late Mrs. Provost.”

Footnote 64:

_Tak for skyds_, literally “thanks for the drive.”

-----

ACT FOURTH

SCENE FIRST.

_On the south-west coast of Morocco. A palm-grove. Under an
awning, on ground covered with matting, a table spread for
dinner. Further back in the grove hammocks are slung. In
the offing lies a steam-yacht, flying the Norwegian and
American colours. A jolly-boat drawn up on the beach. It
is towards sunset._

_PEER GYNT, a handsome middle-aged gentleman, in an elegant
travelling-dress, with a gold-rimmed double eyeglass
hanging at his waistcoat, is doing the honours at the head
of the table. MR. COTTON,_[65] _MONSIEUR BALLON, HERR VON
EBERKOPF, and HERR TRUMPETERSTRÅLE,_[66] _are seated at
the table finishing dinner._

PEER GYNT.

Drink, gentlemen! If man is made
For pleasure, let him take his fill then.
You know ’tis written: Lost is lost,
And gone is gone——. What may I hand you?

TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.

As host you’re princely, Brother Gynt!

PEER.

I share the honour with my cash,
With cook and steward——

MR. COTTON.

Very well;[67]
Let’s pledge a toast to all the four!

MONSIEUR BALLON.

Monsieur,[68] you have a _gout_,[68] a _ton_,[68]
That nowadays is seldom met with
Among men living _en garçon_,—[68]
A certain—what’s the word——?

VON EBERKOPF.

A dash,
A tinge of free soul-contemplation,
And cosmopolitanisation,[69]
An outlook through the cloudy rifts
By narrow prejudice unhemmed,
A stamp of high illumination,
An _Ur-Natur_,[68] with lore of life,
To crown the trilogy, united.
_Nicht wahr_, Monsieur, ’twas that you meant?

MONSIEUR BALLON.

Yes, very possible; not quite
So loftily it sounds in French.

VON EBERKOPF.

_Ei was!_[70] That language is so stiff.—
But the phenomenon’s final cause
If we would seek——

PEER.

It’s found already.
The reason is that I’m unmarried.
Yes, gentlemen, completely clear
The matter is. What should a man be?
Himself, is my concise reply.
He should regard himself and his.
But can he, as a sumpter-mule[71]
For others’ woe and others’ weal?

VON EBERKOPF.

But this same in-and-for-yourself-ness,
I’ll answer for’t, has cost you strife——

PEER.

Ah yes, indeed; in former days;
But always I came off with honour.
Yet one time I ran very near
To being trapped against my will.
I was a brisk and handsome lad,
And she to whom my heart was given,
She was of royal family——

MONSIEUR BALLON.

Of royal——?

PEER.
[_Carelessly._]

One of those old stocks,
You know the kind——

TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
[_Thumping the table._]

Those noble-trolls.

PEER.
[_Shrugging his shoulders_.]

Old fossil Highnesses who make it
Their pride to keep plebeian blots
Excluded from their line’s escutcheon.

MR. COTTON.

Then nothing came of the affair?

MONSIEUR BALLON.

The family opposed the marriage?

PEER.

Far from it!

MONSIEUR BALLON.

Ah!

PEER.
[_With forbearance_.]

You understand
That certain circumstances made for
Their marrying us without delay.
But truth to tell, the whole affair
Was, first to last, distasteful to me.
I’m finical in certain ways,
And like to stand on my own feet.
And when my father-in-law came out
With delicately veiled demands
That I should change my name and station,
And undergo ennoblement,
With much else that was most distasteful,
Not to say quite inacceptable.—
Why then I gracefully withdrew,
Point-blank declined his ultimatum—
And so renounced my youthful bride.
[_Drums on the table with a devout air._
Yes, yes; there is a ruling Fate!
On that we mortals may rely;
And ’tis a comfortable knowledge.

MONSIEUR BALLON.

And so the matter ended, eh?

PEER.

Oh no, far otherwise I found it;
For busy-bodies mixed themselves,
With furious outcries, in the business.
The juniors of the clan were worst;
With seven of them I fought a duel.
That time I never shall forget,
Though I came through it all in safety.
It cost me blood; but that same blood
Attests the value of my person,
And points encouragingly towards
The wise control of Fate aforesaid.

VON EBERKOPF.

Your outlook on the course of life
Exalts you to the rank of thinker.
Whilst the mere commonplace empiric
Sees separately the scattered scenes,
And to the last goes groping on,
You in one glance can focus all things.
One norm[72] to all things you apply.
You point each random rule of life,
Till one and all diverge like rays
From one full-orbed philosophy.—
And you have never been to college?

PEER.

I am, as I’ve already said,
Exclusively a self-taught man.
Methodically naught I’ve learned;
But I have thought and speculated,
And done much desultory reading.
I started somewhat late in life,
And then, you know, it’s rather hard
To plough ahead through page on page,
And take in all of everything.
I’ve done my history piecemeal;
I never have had time for more.
And, as one needs in days of trial
Some certainty to place one’s trust in,
I took religion intermittently.
That way it goes more smoothly down.
One should not read to swallow all,
But rather see what one has use for.

MR. COTTON.

Ay, that is practical!

PEER.
[_Lights a cigar._]

Dear friends,
Just think of my career in general.
In what case came I to the West?
A poor young fellow, empty-handed;
I had to battle sore for bread;
Trust me, I often found it hard.
But life, my friends, ah, life is dear,
And, as the phrase goes, death is bitter.
Well! Luck, you see, was kind to me;
Old Fate, too, was accommodating.
I prospered; and, by versatility,
I prospered better still and better.
In ten years’ time I bore the name
Of Crœsus ’mongst the Charleston shippers.
My fame flew wide from port to port,
And fortune sailed on board my vessels——

MR. COTTON.

What did you trade in?

PEER.

I did most
In negro slaves for Carolina,
And idol-images for China.

MONSIEUR BALLON.

_Fi donc!_[73]

TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.

The devil, Uncle Gynt!

PEER.

You think, no doubt, the business hovered
On the outer verge of the allowable?
Myself I felt the same thing keenly.
It struck me even as odious.
But, trust me, when you’ve once begun,
It’s hard to break away again.
At any rate it’s no light thing,
In such a vast trade-enterprise,
That keeps whole thousands in employ,
To break off wholly, once for all.
That “once for all” I can’t abide,
But own, upon the other side,
That I have always felt respect
For what are known as consequences;
And that to overstep the bounds
Has ever somewhat daunted me.
Besides, I had begun to age.
Was getting on towards the fifties;—
My hair was slowly growing grizzled;
And, though my health was excellent,
Yet painfully the thought beset me:
Who knows how soon the hour may strike,
The jury-verdict be delivered
That parts the sheep and goats asunder?
What could I do? To stop the trade
With China was impossible.
A plan I hit on—opened straightway
A new trade with the self-same land.
I shipped off idols every spring,
Each autumn sent forth missionaries,
Supplying them with all they needed,
As stockings, Bibles, rum, and rice——

MR. COTTON.

Yes, at a profit?

PEER.

Why, of course.
It prospered. Dauntlessly they toiled.
For every idol that was sold
They got a coolie well baptized,
So that the effect was neutralised.
The mission-field lay never fallow,
For still the idol-propaganda
The missionaries held in check.

MR. COTTON.

Well, but the African commodities?

PEER.