Chapter VI: Part 6

A sexton! A sexton! where are you, hounds?
A song from braying precentor-mouths:
Around your hat-brim a mourning band;—
My dead are many; I must follow their biers!

_THE BUTTON-MOULDER, with a box of tools and a large
casting-ladle, comes from a side path._

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Well met, old gaffer!

PEER.

Good evening, friend!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

The man’s in a hurry. Why, where is he going?

PEER.

To a grave-feast.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Indeed? My sight’s not very good;—
Excuse me,—your name doesn’t chance to be Peer?

PEER.

Peer Gynt, as the saying is.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

That I call luck!
It’s precisely Peer Gynt I am sent for to-night.

PEER.

You’re sent for? What do you want?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Why, see here;
I mould buttons; and you must go into my ladle.

PEER.

What to do there?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

To be melted up.

PEER.

To be melted?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Here it is, empty and scoured.
Your grave is dug ready, your coffin bespoke.
The worms in your body will live at their ease;—
But I have orders, without delay,
On Master’s behalf to fetch in your soul.

PEER.

It can’t be! Like this, without any warning——!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

It’s an old tradition at burials and births
To appoint in secret the day of the feast,
With no warning at all to the guest of honour.

PEER.

Ay, ay, that’s true. All my brain’s awhirl.
You are——?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Why, I told you—a button-moulder.

PEER.

I see! A pet child has many nicknames.
So that’s it, Peer; it is there you’re to harbour
But these, my good man, are most unfair proceedings!
I’m sure I deserve better treatment than this;—
I’m not nearly so bad as perhaps you think,—
Indeed I’ve done more or less good in the world;—
At worst you may call me a sort of a bungler,—
But certainly not an exceptional sinner.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Why that is precisely the rub, my man;
You’re no sinner at all in the higher sense;
That’s why you’re excused all the torture-pangs,
And, like others, land in the casting-ladle.

PEER.

Give it what name you please—call it ladle or pool;[129]
Spruce ale and swipes, they are both of them beer.
Avaunt from me, Satan!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

You can’t be so rude
As to take my foot for a horse’s hoof?

PEER.

On horse’s hoof or on fox’s claws[130]—
Be off; and be careful what you’re about!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

My friend, you’re making a great mistake.
We’re both in a hurry, and so, to save time,
I’ll explain the reason of the whole affair.
You are, with your own lips you told me so,
No sinner on the so-called heroic scale,—
Scarce middling even——

PEER.

Ah, now you’re beginning
To talk common sense——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Just have patience a bit—
But to call you a good man were going too far.—

PEER.

Well, you know I have never laid claim to that.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

You’re nor one thing nor t’other then, only so-so.
A sinner of really grandiose style
Is nowadays not to be met on the highways.
It wants much more than merely to wallow in mire;
For both vigour and earnestness go to a sin.

PEER.

Ay, it’s very true that remark of yours;
One has to lay on, like the old Berserkers.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

You, friend, on the other hand, took your sin lightly.

PEER.

Only outwardly, friend, like a splash of mud.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Ah, we’ll soon be at one now. The sulphur pool
Is no place for you, who but plashed in the mire.

PEER.

And in consequence, friend, I may go as I came?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

No, in consequence, friend, I must melt you up.

PEER.

What tricks are these that you’ve hit upon
At home here, while I’ve been in foreign parts?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

The custom’s as old as the Snake’s creation;
It’s designed to prevent loss of good material.
You’ve worked at the craft—you must know that often
A casting turns out, to speak plainly, mere dross;
The buttons, for instance, have sometimes no loop to them.
What did you do then?

PEER.

Flung the rubbish away.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Ah, yes; Jon Gynt was well known for a waster,
So long as he’d aught left in wallet or purse.
But Master, you see, he is thrifty, he is;
And that is why he’s so well-to-do.
He flings nothing away as entirely worthless
That can be made use of as raw material.
Now, you were designed for a shining button
On the vest of the world; but your loop gave way;
So into the waste-box you needs must go,
And then, as they phrase it, be merged in the mass.

PEER.

You’re surely not meaning to melt me up,
With Dick, Tom, and Hal,[131] into something new?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

That just what I do mean, and nothing else.
We’ve done it already to plenty of folks.
At Kongsberg[132] they do just the same with coin
That’s been current so long that its impress is lost.

PEER.

But this is the wretchedest miserliness!
My dear good friend, let me get off free;—
A loopless button, a worn out farthing,—
What is _that_ to a man in your Master’s position?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Oh, so long as, and seeing, the spirit is in you,
You always have value as so much metal.

PEER.

No, I say! No! With both teeth and claws
I’ll fight against this! Sooner anything else!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

But what else? Come now, be reasonable.
You know you’re not airy enough for heaven——

PEER.

I’m not hard to content; I don’t aim so high;—
But I won’t be deprived of one doit of my Self.
Have me judged by the law in the old-fashioned way!
For a certain time place me with Him of the Hoof;—
Say a hundred years, come the worst to the worst;
That, now, is a thing that one surely can bear;
They say that the torment is moral no more,
So it can’t be so pyramid-like after all.
It is, as ’tis written, a mere transition;
And as the fox said: One waits; there comes
An hour of deliverance; one lives in seclusion,
And hopes in the meantime for happier days.—
But this other notion—to have to be merged,
Like a mote, in the carcass of some outsider,—
This casting-ladle business, this Gynt-cessation,—
It stirs up my innermost soul in revolt!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Bless me, my dear Peer, there is surely no need
To get so wrought up about trifles like this.
Yourself you never have been at all;—
Then what does it matter, your dying right out?

PEER.

Have _I_ not been——? I could almost laugh!
Peer Gynt, then, has been something else, I suppose!
No, Button-moulder, you judge in the dark.
If you could but look into my very reins,
You’d find only Peer there, and Peer all through,—
Nothing else in the world, no, nor anything more.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

It’s impossible. Here I have got my orders.
Look, here it is written: Peer Gynt shalt thou summon.
He has set at defiance his life’s design;
Clap him into the ladle with other spoilt goods.

PEER.

What nonsense! They must mean some other person.
Is it really Peer? It’s not Rasmus, or Jon?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

It is many a day since I melted them.
So come quietly now, and don’t waste my time.

PEER.

I’ll be damned if I do! Ay, ’twould be a fine thing
If it turned out to-morrow some one else was meant.
You’d better take care what you’re at, my good man!
Think of the onus you’re taking upon you——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

I have it in writing——

PEER.

At least give me time!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

What good would that do you?

PEER.

I’ll use it to prove
That I’ve been myself all the days of my life;
And that’s the question that’s in dispute.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

You’ll prove it? And how?

PEER.

Why, by vouchers and witnesses.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

I’m sadly afraid Master will not accept them.

PEER.

Impossible! However, enough for the day[133]—!
My dear man, allow me a loan of myself;
I’ll be back again shortly. One is born only once,
And one’s self, as created, one fain would stick to.
Come, are we agreed?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Very well then, so be it.
But remember, we meet at the next cross-roads.

[_PEER GYNT runs off._

SCENE EIGHTH.

_A further point on the heath._

PEER.
[_Running hard._]

Time is money, as the Scripture says.
If I only knew where the cross-roads are;—
They may be near and they may be far.
The earth burns beneath me like red-hot iron.
A witness! A witness! Oh, where shall I find one?
It’s almost unthinkable here in the forest.
The world is a bungle! A wretched arrangement,
When a right must be proved that is patent as day!

_An OLD MAN, bent with age, with a staff in his hand and
a bag on his back, is trudging in front of him._

THE OLD MAN.
[_Stops._]

Dear, kind sir—a trifle to a houseless soul!

PEER.

Excuse me; I’ve got no small change in my pocket——

THE OLD MAN.

Prince Peer! Oh, to think we should meet again——!

PEER.

Who are you?

THE OLD MAN.

You forget the Old Man in the Rondë?

PEER.

Why, you’re never——?

THE OLD MAN.

The King of the Dovrë, my boy!

PEER.

The Dovrë-King? Really? The Dovrë-King? Speak!

THE OLD MAN.

Oh, I’ve come terribly down in the world——!

PEER.

Ruined?

THE OLD MAN.

Ay, plundered of every stiver.
Here am I tramping it, starved as a wolf.

PEER.

Hurrah! Such a witness doesn’t grow on the trees.

THE OLD MAN.

My Lord Prince, too, has grizzled a bit since we met.

PEER.

My dear father-in-law, the years gnaw and wear one.—
Well well, a truce to all private affairs,—
And pray, above all things, no family jars.
I was then a sad madcap——

THE OLD MAN.

Oh yes; oh yes;—
His Highness was young; and what won’t one do then?
But his Highness was wise in rejecting his bride.
He saved himself thereby both worry and shame,
For since then she’s utterly gone to the bad——

PEER.

Indeed!

THE OLD MAN.

She has led a deplorable life;[134]
And, just think,—she and Trond are now living together.

PEER.

Which Trond?

THE OLD MAN.

Of the Valfjeld.

PEER.

It’s he? Aha;
It was he I cut out with the sæter-girls.

THE OLD MAN.

But my grandson has shot up both stout and tall,
And has flourishing children all over the land——

PEER.

Now, my dear man, spare us this flow of words;—
I’ve something quite different troubling my mind.—
I’ve got into rather a ticklish position,
And am greatly in need of a witness or voucher;—
That’s how you could help me best, father-in-law,
And I’ll find you a trifle to drink my health.

THE OLD MAN.

You don’t say so; can I be of use to his Highness?
You’ll give me a character, then, in return?

PEER.

Most gladly. I’m somewhat hard pressed for cash,
And must cut down expenses in every direction.
Now hear what’s the matter. No doubt you remember
That night when I came to the Rondë a-wooing——

THE OLD MAN.

Why, of course, my Lord Prince!

PEER.

Oh, no more of the Prince!
But no matter. You wanted, by sheer brute force,
To bias my sight, with a slit in the lens,
And to change me about from Peer Gynt to a troll.
What did _I_ do then? I stood out against it,—
Swore I would stand on no feet but my own;
Love, power, and glory at once I renounced,
And all for the sake of remaining myself.
Now this fact, you see, you must swear to in Court——

THE OLD MAN.

No, I’m blest if I can.

PEER.

Why, what nonsense is this?

THE OLD MAN.

You surely don’t want to compel me to lie?
You pulled on the troll-breeches, don’t you remember,
And tasted the mead——

PEER.

Ay, you lured me seductively;—
But I flatly declined the decisive test,
And that is the thing you must judge your man by.
It’s the end of the ditty that all depends on.

THE OLD MAN.

But it ended, Peer, just in the opposite way.

PEER.

What rubbish is this?

THE OLD MAN.

When you left the Rondë,
You inscribed my motto upon your escutcheon.[135]

PEER.

What motto?

THE OLD MAN.

The potent and sundering word.

PEER.

The word?

THE OLD MAN.

That which severs the whole race of men
From the troll-folk: _Troll! To thyself be enough!_

PEER.
[_Recoils a step._]

_Enough!_

THE OLD MAN.

And with every nerve in your body,
You’ve been living up to it ever since.

PEER.

What, I? Peer Gynt?

THE OLD MAN.
[_Weeps._]

It’s ungrateful of you!
You’ve lived as a troll, but have still kept it secret.
The word I taught you has shown you the way
To swing yourself up as a man of substance;—
And now you must needs come and turn up your nose
At me and the word you’ve to thank for it all.

PEER.

_Enough!_ A hill-troll! An egoist!
This must be all rubbish; that’s perfectly certain!

THE OLD MAN.
[_Pulls out a bundle of old newspapers._]

I daresay you think we don’t take in the papers?
Wait; here I’ll show you in red and black[136]
How the “Bloksberg Post” eulogises you;
And the “Heklefjeld Journal” has done the same
Ever since the winter you left the country.—
Do you care to read them? You’re welcome, Peer.
Here’s an article, look you, signed “Stallion-hoof.”
And here too is one: “On Troll-Nationalism.”
The writer points out and lays stress on the truth
That horns and a tail are of little importance,
So long as one has but a strip of the hide.
“Our _enough_,” he concludes, “gives the hallmark of trolldom
To man,”—and proceeds to cite you as an instance.

PEER.

A hill-troll? I?

THE OLD MAN.

Yes, that’s perfectly clear.

PEER.

Might as well have stayed quietly where I was?
Might have stayed in the Rondë in comfort and peace?
Saved my trouble and toil and no end of shoe-leather?
Peer Gynt—a troll? Why, it’s rubbish! It’s stuff!
Good-bye! There’s a halfpenny to buy you tobacco.

THE OLD MAN.

Nay, my good Prince Peer!

PEER.

Let me go! You’re mad,
Or else doting. Off to the hospital with you!

THE OLD MAN.

Oh, that is exactly what I’m in search of.
But, as I told you, my grandson’s offspring
Have become overwhelmingly strong in the land,
And they say that I only exist in books.
The saw says: One’s kin are unkindest of all;
I’ve found to my cost that that saying is true.
It’s cruel to count as mere figment and fable——

PEER.

My dear man, there are others who share the same fate.

THE OLD MAN.

And ourselves we’ve no Mutual Aid Society,
No alms-box or Penny Savings Bank;—
In the Rondë, of course, they’d be out of place.

PEER.

No, that curs’d: _To thyself be enough_ was the word there!

THE OLD MAN.

Oh, come now, the Prince can’t complain of the word.
And if he could manage by hook or by crook——

PEER.

My man, you have got on the wrong scent entirely;
I’m myself, as the saying goes, fairly cleaned out[137]——

THE OLD MAN.

You surely can’t mean it? His Highness a beggar?

PEER.

Completely. His Highness’s ego’s in pawn.
And it’s all your fault, you accursed trolls!
That’s what comes of keeping bad company.

THE OLD MAN.

So there came my hope toppling down from its perch again!
Good-bye! I had best struggle on to the town——

PEER.

What would you do there?

THE OLD MAN.

I will go to the theatre.
The papers are clamouring for national talents——

PEER.

Good luck on your journey; and greet them from me.
If I can but get free, I will go the same way.
A farce I will write them, a mad and profound one;
Its name shall be: “Sic transit gloria mundi.”

[_He runs off along the road; the OLD MAN shouts after
him._

SCENE NINTH.

[_At a cross-road._]

PEER GYNT.

Now comes the pinch, Peer, as never before!
This Dovrish _Enough_ has passed judgment upon you.
The vessel’s a wreck; one must float with the spars.
All else; but to go to the scrap-heap—no, no!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.
[_At the cross-road._]

Well now, Peer Gynt, have you found your voucher?

PEER.

Is this, then, the cross-road? Well, that is short work!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

I can see on your face, as it were on a sign-board,
The gist of the paper before I have read it.

PEER.

I got tired of the hunt;—one might lose one’s way——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Yes; and what does it lead to, after all?

PEER.

True enough; in the wood, and by night as well——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

There’s an old man, though, trudging. Shall we call him here?

PEER.

No, let him go. He is drunk, my dear fellow!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

But perhaps he might——

PEER.

Hush; no—let him alone!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Well, shall we begin then?

PEER.

One question—just one:
What is it, at bottom, this “being oneself”?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

A singular question, most odd in the mouth
Of a man who but now——

PEER.

Come, a straightforward answer.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

To be oneself is: to slay oneself.
But on you that answer is doubtless lost;
And therefore we’ll say: to stand forth everywhere
With Master’s intention displayed like a sign-board.

PEER.

But suppose a man never has come to know
What Master meant with him?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

He must divine it.

PEER.

But how oft are divinings beside the mark,—
Then one’s carried “ad undas”[138] in middle career.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

That is certain, Peer Gynt; in default of divining
The cloven-hoofed gentleman finds his best hook.

PEER.

This matter’s excessively complicated.—
See here! I no longer plead being myself;—
It might not be easy to get it proven.
That part of my case I must look on as lost.
But just now, as I wandered alone o’er the heath,
I felt my conscience-shoe pinching me;
I said to myself: After all, you’re a sinner——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

You seem bent on beginning all over again——

PEER.

No, very far from it; a _great_ one I mean;
Not only in deeds, but in words and desires.
I’ve lived a most damnable life abroad——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Perhaps; I must ask you to show me the schedule!

PEER.

Well well, give me time; I will find out a parson,
Confess with all speed, and then bring you his voucher.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Ay, if you can bring me that, then it is clear
You may yet escape from the casting-ladle.
But Peer, I’d my orders——

PEER.

The paper is old;
It dates no doubt from a long past period;—
At one time I lived with disgusting slackness,
Went playing the prophet, and trusted in Fate.
Well, may I try?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

But——!

PEER.

My dear, good man,
I’m sure you can’t have so much to do.
Here, in this district, the air is so bracing,
It adds an ell to the people’s ages.
Recollect what the Justedal parson wrote:
“It’s seldom that any one dies in this valley.”

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

To the next cross-roads then; but not a step further.

PEER.

A priest I must catch, if it be with the tongs.
[_He starts running._

SCENE TENTH.

_A heather-clad hillside with a path following the windings of
the ridge._

PEER.

This may come in useful in many ways,
Said Esben as he picked up a magpie’s wing.
Who could have thought one’s account of sins
Would come to one’s aid on the last night of all?
Well, whether or no, it’s a ticklish business;
A move from the frying-pan[139] into the fire;—
But then there’s a proverb of well-tried validity
Which says that as long as there’s life there is hope.

_A LEAN PERSON in a priest’s cassock, kilted-up high,
and with a birding-net over his shoulder, comes
hurrying along the ridge._

PEER.

Who goes there? A priest with a fowling-net!
Hei, hop! I’m the spoilt child of fortune indeed!
Good evening, Herr Pastor! the path is bad——

THE LEAN ONE.

Ah yes; but what wouldn’t one do for a soul?

PEER.

Aha! then there’s some one bound heavenwards?

THE LEAN ONE.

No;
I hope he is taking a different road.

PEER.

May I walk with Herr Pastor a bit of the way?

THE LEAN ONE.

With pleasure; I’m partial to company.

PEER.

I should like to consult you——

THE LEAN ONE.

__Heraus!__[140] Go ahead!

PEER.

You see here before you a good sort of man.
The laws of the state I have strictly observed,
Have made no acquaintance with fetters or bolts;—
But it happens at times that one misses one’s footing
And stumbles——

THE LEAN ONE.

Ah yes; that occurs to the best of us.

PEER.

Now these trifles you see——

THE LEAN ONE.

Only trifles?

PEER.

Yes;
From sinning _en gros_[140] I have ever refrained.

THE LEAN ONE.

Oh then, my dear fellow, pray leave me in peace;—
I’m not the person you seem to think me.—
You look at my fingers: What see you in them?

PEER.

A nail-system somewhat extremely developed.

THE LEAN ONE.

And now? You are casting a glance at my feet?

PEER.
[_Pointing._]

That’s a natural hoof?

THE LEAN ONE.

So I flatter myself.

PEER.
[_Raises his hat._]

I’d have taken my oath you were simply a parson;
And I find I’ve the honour——. Well, best is best;—
When the hall door stands wide,—shun the kitchen way;
When the king’s to be met with,—avoid the lackey.

THE LEAN ONE.

Your hand! You appear to be free from prejudice.
Say on then, my friend; in what way can I serve you?
Now you mustn’t ask me for wealth or power;
I couldn’t supply them although I should hang for it.
You can’t think how slack the whole business is;—
Transactions have dwindled most pitiably.
Nothing doing in souls; only now and again
A stray one——

PEER.

The race has improved so remarkably?

THE LEAN ONE.

No, just the reverse; it’s sunk shamefully low;—
The majority end in a casting-ladle.

PEER.

Ah yes—I have heard that ladle mentioned;
In fact, ’twas the cause of my coming to you.

THE LEAN ONE.

Speak out!

PEER.

If it were not too much to ask,
I should like——

THE LEAN ONE.

A harbour of refuge? eh?

PEER.

You’ve guessed my petition before I have asked.
You tell me the business is going awry;
So I daresay you will not be over-particular.

THE LEAN ONE.

But, my dear——

PEER.

My demands are in no way excessive.
I shouldn’t insist on a salary;
But treatment as friendly as things will permit.

THE LEAN ONE.

A fire in your room?

PEER.

Not too much fire;—and chiefly
The power of departing in safety and peace,—
The right, as the phrase goes, of freely withdrawing
Should an opening offer for happier days.

THE LEAN ONE.

My dear friend, I vow I’m sincerely distressed;
But you cannot imagine how many petitions
Of similar purport good people send in,
When they’re quitting the scene of their earthly activity.

PEER.

But now that I think of my past career,
I feel I’ve an absolute claim to admission——

THE LEAN ONE.

’Twas but trifles, you said——

PEER.

In a certain sense;—
But, now I remember, I’ve trafficked in slaves——

THE LEAN ONE.

There are men that have trafficked in wills and souls,
But who bungled it so that they failed to get in.

PEER.

I’ve shipped Bramah-figures in plenty to China.

THE LEAN ONE.

Mere wish-wash again! Why, we laugh at such things.
There are people that ship off far gruesomer figures
In sermons, in art, and in literature,
Yet have to stay out in the cold——

PEER.

Ah, but then,
Do you know—I once went and set up as a prophet!

THE LEAN ONE.

In foreign parts? Humbug! Why most people’s _Sehen
Ins Blaue_[141] ends in the casting-ladle.
If you’ve no more than that to rely upon,
With the best of good will, I can’t possibly house you.

PEER.

But hear this: In a shipwreck—I clung to a boat’s keel,—
And it’s written: A drowning man grasps at a straw,—
Furthermore it is written: You’re nearest yourself,—
So I half-way divested a cook of his life.

THE LEAN ONE.

It were all one to me if a kitchen-maid
You had half-way divested of something else.
What sort of stuff is this half-way jargon,
Saving your presence? Who, think you, would care
To throw away dearly-bought fuel, in times
Like these, on such spiritless rubbish as this?
There now, don’t be enraged; ’twas your sins that I scoffed at;
And excuse my speaking my mind so bluntly.—
Come, my dearest friend, banish this stuff from your head,[142]
And get used to the thought of the casting-ladle.
What would you gain if I lodged you and boarded you?
Consider; I know you’re a sensible man.
Well, you’d keep your memory; that’s so far true;—
But the retrospect o’er recollection’s domain
Would be, both for heart and for intellect,
What the Swedes call “Mighty poor sport”[143] indeed.
You have nothing either to howl or to smile about;
No cause for rejoicing nor yet for despair;
Nothing to make you feel hot or cold;
Only a sort of a something to fret over.

PEER.

It is written: It’s never so easy to know
Where the shoe is tight that one isn’t wearing.

THE LEAN ONE.

Very true; I have—praise be to so-and-so!—
No occasion for more than a single odd shoe.
But it’s lucky we happened to speak of shoes;
It reminds me that I must be hurrying on;—
I’m after a roast that I hope will prove fat;
So I really mustn’t stand gossiping here.—

PEER.

And may one inquire, then, what sort of sin-diet
The man has been fattened on?

THE LEAN ONE.

I understand
He has been himself both by night and by day,
And that, after all, is the principal point.

PEER.

Himself? Then do such folks belong to your parish?

THE LEAN ONE.

That depends; the door, at least, stands ajar for them.
Remember, in two ways a man can be
Himself—there’s a right and wrong side to the jacket.
You know they have lately discovered in Paris
A way to take portraits by help of the sun.
One can either produce a straightforward picture
Or else what is known as a negative one.
In the latter the lights and the shades are reversed,
And they’re apt to seem ugly to commonplace eyes;
But for all that the likeness is latent in them,
And all you require is to bring it out.
If, then, a soul shall have pictured itself
In the course of its life by the negative method,
The plate is not therefore entirely cashiered,—
But without more ado they consign it to me.
For ulterior treatment I take it in hand,
And by suitable methods effect its development.
I steam it, I dip it, I burn it, I scour it,
With sulphur and other ingredients like that,
Till the image appears which the plate was designed for,—
That, namely, which people call positive.
But for one who, like you, has smudged himself out,
Neither sulphur nor potash avails in the least.

PEER.

I see; one must come to you black as a raven
To turn out a white ptarmigan? Pray what’s the name
Inscribed ’neath the negative counterfeit
That you’re now to transfer to the positive side?

THE LEAN ONE.

The name’s Peter[144] Gynt.

PEER.

Peter Gynt? Indeed?
Is Herr Gynt himself?

THE LEAN ONE.

Yes, he vows he is.

PEER.

Well, he’s one to be trusted, that same Herr Peter.

THE LEAN ONE.

You know him, perhaps?

PEER.

Oh yes, after a fashion;—
One knows all sorts of people.

THE LEAN ONE.

I’m pressed for time;
Where saw you him last?

PEER.

It was down at the Cape.

THE LEAN ONE.

Di Buona Speranza?

PEER.

Just so; but he sails
Very shortly again, if I’m not mistaken.

THE LEAN ONE.

I must hurry off then without delay.
I only hope I may catch him in time!
That Cape of Good Hope—I could never abide it;—
It’s ruined by missionaries from Stavanger.
[_He rushes off southwards._

PEER.

The stupid hound! There he takes to his heels
With his tongue lolling out. He’ll be finely sold.
It delights me to humbug an ass like that.
He to give himself airs, and to lord it forsooth!
He’s a mighty lot, truly, to swagger about!
He’ll scarcely grow fat at his present trade;—
He’ll soon drop from his perch with his whole apparatus.—
H’m, I’m not over-safe in the saddle either;
I’m expelled, one may say, from self-owning nobility.[145]
[_A shooting star is seen; he nods after it._
Greet all friends from Peer Gynt, Brother Starry-Flash!
To flash forth, to go out, and be naught at a gulp—

[_Pulls himself together as though in terror, and goes
deeper in among the mists; stillness for awhile;
then he cries_:

Is there no one, no one in all the whirl,—
In the void no one, and no one in heaven—!

[_He comes forward again further down, throws his hat
upon the ground, and tears at his hair. By degrees a
stillness comes over him._

So unspeakably poor, then, a soul can go
Back to nothingness, into the grey of the mist.
Thou beautiful earth, be not angry with me
That I trampled thy grasses to no avail.
Thou beautiful sun, thou hast squandered away
Thy glory of light in an empty hut.
There was no one within it to hearten and warm;—
The owner, they tell me, was never at home.
Beautiful sun and beautiful earth,
You were foolish to bear and give light to my mother.
The spirit is niggard and nature lavish;
And dearly one pays for one’s birth with one’s life.—
I will clamber up high, to the dizziest peak;
I will look once more on the rising sun,
Gaze till I’m tired o’er the promised land;
Then try to get snowdrifts piled up over me.
They can write above them: “Here _No One_ lies buried”;
And afterwards,—then——! Let things go as they can.

CHURCH-GOERS.
[_Singing on the forest path._]

Oh, morning thrice blest,
When the tongues of God’s kingdom
Struck the earth like to flaming steel!
From the earth to his dwelling
Now the heirs’ song ascendeth
In the tongue of the kingdom of God.

PEER.
[_Crouches as in terror._]

Never look there! _there_ all’s desert and waste.—
I fear I was dead long before I died.

[_Tries to slink in among the bushes, but comes upon the
cross-roads._

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Good morning, Peer Gynt! Where’s the list of your sins?

PEER.

Do you think that I haven’t been whistling and shouting
As hard as I could?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

And met no one at all?

PEER.

Not a soul but a tramping photographer.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Well, the respite is over.

PEER.

Ay, everything’s over.
The owl smells the daylight. Just list to the hooting!

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

It’s the matin-bell ringing——

PEER.
[_Pointing._]

What’s that shining yonder?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Only light from a hut.

PEER.

And that wailing sound——?

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

But a woman singing.

PEER.

Ay, there—there I’ll find
The list of my sins——

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.
[_Seizing him._]

Set your house in order!

[_They have come out of the underwood, and are standing
near the hut. Day is dawning._

PEER.

Set my house in order? It’s there! Away.
Get you gone! Though your ladle were huge as a coffin,
It were too small, I tell you, for me and my sins.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.

Well, to the third cross-road, Peer; but then——.
[_Turns aside and goes._

PEER.
[_Approaches the hut._]

Forward and back, and it’s just as far.
Out and in, and it’s just as strait.
[_Stops._
No!—like a wild, an unending lament,
Is the thought: to come back, to go in, to go home.
[_Takes a few steps on, but stops again._
Round about, said the Boyg!
[_Hears singing in the hut._
Ah no; this time at least
Right through, though the path may be never so strait!

[_He runs towards the hut; at the same moment SOLVEIG
appears in the doorway, dressed for church, with a
psalm-book wrapped in a kerchief, and a staff in her
hand. She stands there erect and mild._

PEER.
[_Flings himself down on the threshold._]

Hast thou doom for a sinner, then speak it forth!

SOLVEIG.

He is here! He is here! Oh, to God be the praise!

[_Stretches out her arms as though groping for him._

PEER.

Cry out all my sins and my trespasses!

SOLVEIG.

In nought hast thou sinned, oh my own only boy.
[_Gropes for him again, and finds him._

THE BUTTON-MOULDER.
[_Behind the house._]

The sin-list, Peer Gynt?

PEER.

Cry aloud my crime!

SOLVEIG.
[_Sits down beside him._]

Thou hast made all my life as a beautiful song.
Blessëd be thou that at last thou hast come!
Blessëd, thrice blessëd our Whitsun-morn meeting!

PEER.

Then I am lost!

SOLVEIG.

There is one that rules all things.

PEER.
[_Laughs._]

Lost! Unless thou canst answer riddles.

SOLVEIG.

Tell me them.

PEER.

Tell them! Come on! To be sure!
Canst thou tell where Peer Gynt has been since we parted?

SOLVEIG.

Been?

PEER.

With his destiny’s seal on his brow;
Been, as in God’s thought he first sprang forth!
Canst thou tell me? If not, I must get me home,—
Go down to the mist-shrouded regions.

SOLVEIG.
[_Smiling._]

Oh, that riddle is easy.

PEER.

Then tell what thou knowest!
Where was I, as myself, as the whole man, the true man?
Where was I, with God’s sigil upon my brow?

SOLVEIG.

In my faith, in my hope, and in my love.[146]

PEER.
[_Starts back._]

What sayest thou——? Peace! These are juggling words.
Thou art mother thyself to the man that’s there.

SOLVEIG.

Ay, that I am; but who is his father?
Surely he that forgives at the mother’s prayer.

PEER.
[_A light shines in his face; he cries_:]

My mother; my wife; oh, thou innocent woman!—
In thy love—oh, there hide me, hide me!

[_Clings to her end hides his face in her lap. A long
silence. The sun rises._

SOLVEIG.
[_Sings softly._]

Sleep thou, dearest boy of mine!
I will cradle thee, I will watch thee——
The boy has been sitting on his mother’s lap.
They two have been playing all the life-day long.

The boy has been resting at his mother’s breast
All the life-day long. God’s blessing on my joy!

The boy has been lying close in to my heart
All the life-day long. He is weary now.

Sleep thou, dearest boy of mine!
I will cradle thee, I will watch thee.

THE BUTTON-MOULDER’S VOICE.
[_Behind the house._]

At the last cross-road we will meet again, Peer;
And _then_ we’ll see whether——; I say no more.

SOLVEIG.
[_Sings louder in the full daylight._]

I will cradle thee, I will watch thee;
Sleep and dream thou, dear my boy!

-----

Footnotes:

-----

Footnote 109:

Mountains and glaciers.

Footnote 110:

Mountains and glaciers.

Footnote 111:

So in original.

Footnote 112:

“Angst”—literally, “dread” or “terror”—probably means here
something like “conviction of sin.” The influence of the
Danish theologian, Sören Kierkegård, may be traced in this
passage.

Footnote 113:

Literally, “Are set on screws.”

Footnote 114:

“Tolder,” the biblical “publican.”

Footnote 115:

See footnote, p. 95.

Footnote 116:

A mountain in the Jotunheim. The name means “glittering peak.”

Footnote 117:

“Den tid den sorg”—literally, “That time that sorrow” or
“care.”

Footnote 118:

Literally “the bushel.” See note, p. 11.

Footnote 119:

See Appendix.

Footnote 120:

See footnote, p. 114.

Footnote 121:

See footnote, p. 95.

Footnote 122:

“Digter”; means also “poet.”

Footnote 123:

See footnotes, pp. 29 and 30.

Footnote 124:

In the original, “Personlighed”—personality.

Footnote 125:

This and the following line, literally translated, run thus:
“Life, as it’s called, has a fox behind its ear. But when one
grasps at him, Reynard takes to his heels.” “To have a fox
behind the ear” is a proverbial expression for insincerity,
double-dealing.

Footnote 126:

See footnote, p. 171.

Footnote 127:

See footnote, p. 212.

Footnote 128:

See Introduction.

Footnote 129:

“Pöl,” otherwise “Svovlpöl”—the sulphur pool of hell.

Footnote 130:

See footnote, p. 229.

Footnote 131:

Literally, “With Peter and Paul.”

Footnote 132:

The Royal Mint is at Kongsberg, a town in southern Norway.

Footnote 133:

See footnote, p. 218.

Footnote 134:

“Hun gik nu for koldt vand og lud”—literally, “to live on cold
water and lye”—to live wretchedly and be badly treated.

Footnote 135:

Literally, “Wrote my motto behind your ear.”

Footnote 136:

Clearly the troll-substitute for “in black and white.”

Footnote 137:

Literally, “On a naked hill.”

Footnote 138:

So in original.

Footnote 139:

Literally, “the ashes.”

Footnote 140:

So in original.

Footnote 141:

So in original.

Footnote 142:

Literally, “knock out that tooth.”

Footnote 143:

“Bra litet rolig.”

Footnote 144:

So in original.

Footnote 145:

“_Selv_ejer-Adlen.” “Selvejer” (literally, “self-owner”) means
a freeholder, as opposed to a “husmand” or tenant. There is of
course a play upon words in the original.

Footnote 146:

“I min Tro, i mit Håb og i min Kjærlighed.”

We have entirely sacrificed the metre of the line, feeling it
impossible to mar its simplicity by any padding. “Kjærlighed”
also means “charity,” in the biblical sense.

-----

THE END.

APPENDIX.

[The stories of Peer Gynt and Gudbrand Glesnë both occur in Asbjörnsen’s “Reindeer-hunting in the Rondë Hills” (_Norske Huldre-Eventyr og Folkesagn_, Christiania, 1848). They are told by the peasant guides or gillies who accompany a shooting-party into the mountains—the first by Peer Fugleskjelle, the second by Thor Ulvsvolden. Our translation of Asbjörnsen’s “Peer Gynt” is based on Mr. H. L. Brækstad’s version, published in _Round the Yule Log_, London, 1881.]

PEER GYNT.

In the old days there lived in Kvam a hunter, whose name was Peer Gynt. He was always up in the mountains shooting bears and elks; for in those days there were more forests on the mountains to harbour such wild beasts. One time, late in the autumn, long after the cattle had been driven home, Peer set out for the hills. Every one had left the uplands except three sæter-girls. When Peer came up towards Hövring, where he was to pass the night in a sæter, it was so dark that he could not see his fist before him, and the dogs fell to barking and baying so that it was quite uncanny. All of a sudden he ran against something, and when he put his hand out he felt it was cold and slippery and big. Yet he did not seem to have strayed from the road, so he couldn’t think what this could be; but unpleasant it was at any rate.

“Who is it?” asked Peer, for he felt it moving.

“Oh, it’s the Boyg,”[147] was the answer.

Peer was no wiser for this, but skirted along it for a bit, thinking that somewhere he must be able to pass. Suddenly he ran against something again, and when he put out his hand, it too was big, and cold, and slippery.

“Who is it?” asked Peer Gynt.

“Oh, it’s the Boyg,” was the answer again.

“Well, straight or crooked, you’ll have to let me pass,” said Peer; for he understood that he was walking in a ring, and that the Boyg had curled itself round the sæter. Thereupon it shifted a little, so that Peer got past. When he came inside the sæter, it was no lighter there than outside. He was feeling along the wall for a place to hang up his gun and his bag; but as he was groping his way forward he again felt something cold, and big, and slippery. — “Who is it?” shouted Peer.

“Oh, it’s the great Boyg,” was the answer. Where-ever he put his hands out or tried to get past, he felt the Boyg encircling him.

“It’s not very pleasant to be here,” thought Peer, “since this Boyg is both out and in; but I think I can make short work of the nuisance.”

So he took his gun and went out again, groping his way till he found the creature’s head.

“What are you?” asked Peer.

“Oh, I am the big Boyg from Etnedale,” said the Troll-Monster. Peer did not lose a moment, but fired three shots right into its head.

“Fire another,” said the Boyg. But Peer knew better; if he had fired another shot, the bullet would have rebounded against himself.

Thereupon Peer and his dogs took hold of the Troll-Monster and dragged him out, so that they could get into the sæter. Meanwhile there was jeering and laughing in all the hills around.

“Peer Gynt dragged hard, but the dogs dragged harder,” said a voice.

Next morning he went out stalking. When he came out on the uplands he saw a girl, who was calling some sheep up a hillside. But when he came to the place the girl was gone and the sheep too, and he saw nothing but a great flock of bears.

“Well, I never saw bears in a flock before,” thought Peer to himself. When he came nearer, they had all disappeared except one.

“Look after your pig:
Peer Gynt is out
with his gun so big,”[148]

shouted a voice over in a hillock.

“Oh, it’ll be a bad business for Peer, but not for my pig; for he hasn’t washed himself to-day,” said another voice in the hill. Peer washed his hands with the water he had, and shot the bear. There was more laughter and jeering in the hill.

“You should have looked after your pig!” cried a voice.

“I didn’t remember he had a water-jug between his legs,” answered the other.

Peer skinned the bear and buried the carcass among the stones, but the head and the hide he took with him. On his way home he met a fox.

“Look at my lamb, how fat it is,” said a voice in a hill.

“Look at that gun[149] of Peer’s, how high it is,” said a voice in another hill, just as Peer took aim and shot the fox. He skinned the fox and took the skin with him, and when he came to the sæter he put the heads on the wall outside, with their jaws gaping. Then he lighted a fire and put a pot on to boil some soup, but the chimney smoked so terribly that he could scarcely keep his eyes open, and so he had to set wide a small window. Suddenly a Troll came and poked his nose in through the window; it was so long that it reached across the room to the fireplace.

“Here’s a proper snout for you to see,” said the Troll.

“And here’s proper soup for you to taste,” said Peer Gynt; and he poured the whole potful of soup over the Troll’s nose. The Troll ran away howling; but in all the hills around there was jeering and laughing and voices shouting—

“Soup-snout Gyri! Soup-snout Gyri!”

All was quiet now for a while; but before long there was a great noise and hubbub outside again. Peer looked out and saw that there was a cart there, drawn by bears. They hoisted up the Troll-Monster, and carted him away into the mountain. Just then a bucket of water came down the chimney and put out the fire, so that Peer was left in the dark. Then a jeering and laughing began in all the corners of the room, and a voice said—

“It’ll go no better with Peer now than with the sæter-girls at Vala.”

Peer made up the fire again, took his dogs with him, shut up the house, and set off northward to the Vala sæter, where the three girls were. When he had gone some distance he saw such a glare of light that it seemed to him the sæter must be on fire. Just then he came across a pack of wolves; some of them he shot, and some he knocked on the head. When he came to the Vala sæter he found it pitch dark; there was no sign of any fire; but there were four strangers in the house carrying on with the sæter-girls. They were four Hill-Trolls, and their names were Gust of Værë, Tron of the Valfjeld, Tjöstöl Aabakken, and Rolf Eldförpungen. Gust of Værë was standing at the door to keep watch, while the others were in with the girls courting. Peer fired at Gust, but missed him, and Gust ran away. When Peer came inside he found the Trolls carrying on desperately with the girls. Two of the girls were terribly frightened and were saying their prayers, but the third, who was called Mad Kari, wasn’t afraid; she said they might come there for all she cared; she would like to see what stuff there was in such fellows. But when the Trolls found that Peer was in the room they began to howl, and told Eldförpungen to make up the fire. At that instant the dogs set upon Tjöstöl and pulled him over on his back into the fireplace, so that the ashes and sparks flew up all round him.

“Did you see my snakes, Peer?” asked Tron of the Valfjeld—that was what he called the wolves.

“You shall go the same way as your snakes,” said Peer, and shot him; and then he killed Aabakken with the butt-end of his rifle. Eldförpungen had escaped up the chimney. After this Peer took the girls back to their homes, for they didn’t dare to stay any longer up at the sæter.

Shortly before Christmas-time Peer set out again. He had heard of a farm on the Dovrefjeld which was invaded by such a number of Trolls every Christmas-eve that the people of the farm had to turn out and get shelter with some of their neighbours. He was anxious to go there, for he was very keen upon the Trolls. He dressed himself in some old ragged clothes, and took with him a tame white bear that he had, as well as an awl, some pitch, and waxed twine. When he came to the farm he went in and begged for houseroom.

“God help us!” said the farmer; “we can’t put you up. We have to clear out of the house ourselves, for every blessed Christmas-eve the whole place is full of Trolls.”

But Peer Gynt said he thought he should be able to clear the house of Trolls; and then he got leave to stay, and they gave him a pig’s skin into the bargain. The bear lay down behind the fireplace, and Peer took out his awl, and pitch, and twine, and set to making a big shoe, that took the whole pig’s skin. He put a strong rope in for laces, so that he could pull the shoe tight together at the top; and he had a couple of handspikes ready.

All of a sudden the Trolls came, with a fiddle and a fiddler; some began dancing, while others fell to eating the Christmas fare on the table; some fried bacon, and some fried frogs and toads, and other disgusting things: these were the Christmas dainties they had brought with them. In the meantime some of the Trolls found the shoe Peer had made; they thought it must be for a very big foot. Then they all wanted to try it on; and when each of them had put a foot into it, Peer tightened the rope, shoved one of the handspikes into it, and twisted it up till they were all stuck fast in the shoe.

Just then the bear put his nose out and smelt the fry.

“Will you have a sausage, white pussy?” said one of the Trolls, and threw a red-hot frog right into the bear’s jaws.

“Claw and smite Bruin!” said Peer Gynt.

And then the bear got into such a rage that he rushed at the Trolls and smote and clawed them all, and Peer Gynt took the other handspike and hammered away at them as if he wanted to beat their brains out. So the Trolls had to clear out, and Peer stayed and enjoyed himself on the Christmas cheer the whole feast-time. After that the Trolls were not heard of again for many years. The farmer had a light-coloured mare, and Peer advised him to breed from her, and let her foals in their turn run and breed among the hills there.

Many years afterwards, about Christmas-time, the farmer was out in the forest cutting wood for the feast-time, when a Troll came towards him and shouted—

“Have you got that big white pussy of yours yet?”

“Yes, she’s at home behind the stove,” said the farmer; “and she’s got seven kittens now, much bigger and fiercer than herself.”

“We’ll never come to you any more, then,” shouted the Troll.

“That Peer Gynt was a strange one,” said Anders. “He was such an out-and-out tale-maker and yarn-spinner, you couldn’t have helped laughing at him. He always made out that he himself had been mixed up in all the stories that people said had happened in the olden times.”

GUDBRAND GLESNË.

“There was a hunter in the West-Hills,” said Thor Ulvsvolden, “called Gudbrand Glesnë. He was married to the grandmother of the lad you saw at the sæter yesterday evening, and a first-rate hunter they say he was. One autumn he came across a huge buck. He shot at it, and from the way it fell he couldn’t tell but that it was stone dead. So he went up to it, and, as one often does, seated himself astride on its back, and was just drawing his knife to cleave the neck-bone from the skull. But no sooner had he sat down than up it jumped, threw its horns back, and jammed him down between them, so that he was fixed as in an arm-chair. Then it rushed away; for the bullet had only grazed the beast’s head, so that it had fallen in a swoon. Never any man had such a ride[150] as that Gudbrand had. Away they went in the teeth of the wind, over the ugliest glaciers and moraines. Then the beast dashed along the Gjende-edge; and now Gudbrand prayed to the Lord, for he thought he would never see sun or moon again. But at last the reindeer took to the water and swam straight across with the hunter on its back. By this time he had got his knife drawn, and the moment the buck set foot on shore, he plunged it into its neck, and it dropped dead. But you may be sure Gudbrand Glesnë wouldn’t have taken that ride again, not for all the riches in the world.

“I have heard a story like that in England, about a deer-stalker that became a deer-rider,” said Sir Tottenbroom.[151]

“Bliecher, in Jutland, tells a similar one,” I said.

“But what sort of a place was this Gjender-edge you spoke of, Thor?” he interrupted me.

“Gjende-edge, you mean?” asked Thor. “It’s the ridge[152] of a mountain lying between the Gjende-lakes, and so horribly narrow and steep that if you stand on it and drop a stone from each hand, they will roll down into the lakes, one on each side. The reindeer-hunters go over it in fine weather, otherwise it’s impassable; but there was a devil of a fellow up in Skiager—Ole Storebråten was his name—who went over it carrying a full-sized reindeer on his shoulders.”

“How high is it above the lakes?” asked Sir Tottenbroom.

“Oh, it’s not nearly so high as the Rondë-hills,” said Thor. “But it’s over seven hundred ells high.”

-----

Footnotes:

-----

Footnote 147:

See footnote, p. xxvi.

Footnote 148:

Literally, “with his tail.” A gun loosely slung over the shoulder
bears a certain resemblance to a tail sticking up in the air.

Footnote 149:

Literally, “tail.”

Footnote 150:

“Skyds”—conveyance.

Footnote 151:

An English sportsman who accompanied Asbjörnsen on his rambles.

Footnote 152:

“Rygge”—backbone, _arête_.

-----

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber’s Note

There are quite a few instances of missing punctuation. The conventional period following the character’s name is sometimes missing and has been added for consistency’s sake without further comment. Those missing from setting and stage direction are also added without comment, since there is no obvious purpose to be served by the omission. However, the restoration of punctuation missing from dialogue is noted below, since the punctuation is frequently expressive.

Volume I of this series included errata for each succeeding volume. Some, but not all, of the corrections indicated there had been made before the printing employed here. Those that remained unchanged have been corrected here, and noted as such.

Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.

14.8 something really grand[.] Added.

14.13 Who knows what may befall one[?] Added.

21.12 You beast[!] Added.

22.23 I’ll be heaven high[.] Added.

25.10 Oh, let them chatter[?/.] Replaced.

26.23 Up with you, Peer, my lad[.] Added.

33.4 Wherever he goes there is silence[;] Added.

47.26 for a carcase like his[.] Added.

48.26 With the bride[.] Added.

54.27 roll down to bewilder him[!] Added.

66.11 You’re a king’s son[?] Added.

67.24 with us it[’]s precisely the same. Inserted.

71.21 [“]Man, be thyself!” Added.

72.24 fly off with your home-brewed drinks[!] Added.

82.6 Let go will you, beast[!] Added.

83.3 Mother, help me, I die[!] Added.

84.29 the one only one[.] Added.

96.2 tempted my poor boy astray[!] Added.