Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (116 page)

SCENE SEVENT
H

[A moonlight night. The palm-grove outside ANITRA’S tent.]
[PEER GYNT is sitting beneath a tree, with an Arabian lute in his hands. His beard and hair are clipped; he
looks considerably younger.]

PEER GYNT
[plays and sings]
I double-locked my Paradise,
and took its key with me.
The north-wind bore me seaward ho!
while lovely women all forlorn
wept on the ocean strand.
Still southward, southward clove my keel
the salt sea-currents through.
Where palms were swaying proud and fair,
a garland round the ocean-bight,
I set my ship afire.
I climbed aboard the desert ship,
a ship on four stout legs.
It foamed beneath the lashing whip —
oh, catch me; I’m a flitting bird; —
I’m twittering on a bough!
Anitra, thou’rt the palm-tree’s must;
that know I now full well!
Ay, even the Angora goat-milk cheese
is scarcely half such dainty fare,
Anitra, ah, as thou!
[He hangs the lute over his shoulder, and comes forward.]
Stillness! Is the fair one listening?
Has she heard my little song?
Peeps she from behind the curtain,
veil and so forth cast aside? —
Hush! A sound as though a cork
from a bottle burst amain!
Now once more! And yet again!
Love-sighs can it be? or songs? —
No, it is distinctly snoring. —
Dulcet strain! Anitra sleepeth!
Nightingale, thy warbling stay!
Every sort of woe betide thee,
if with gurgling trill thou darest —
but, as says the text: Let be!
Nightingale, thou art a singer;
ah, even such an one am I.
He, like me, ensnares with music
tender, shrinking little hearts.
Balmy night is made for music;
music is our common sphere;
in the act of singing, we are
we, Peer Gynt and nightingale.
And the maiden’s very sleeping
is my passion’s crowning bliss; —
for the lips protruded o’er the
beaker yet untasted quite —
but she’s coming, I declare!
After all, it’s best she should.

ANITRA
[from the tent]
Master, call’st thou in the night?

PEER
Yes indeed, the Prophet calls.
I was wakened by the cat
with a furious hunting-hubbub —

ANITRA
Ah, not hunting-noises, Master;
it was something much, much worse.

PEER
What, then, was’t?

ANITRA
Oh, spare me!

PEER
Speak.

ANITRA
Oh, I blush to —

PEER
[approaching]
Was it, mayhap,
that which filled me so completely
when I let you have my opal?

ANITRA
[horrified]
Liken thee, O earth’s great treasure,
to a horrible old cat!

PEER
Child, from passion’s standpoint viewed,
may a tom-cat and a prophet
come to very much the same.

ANITRA
Master, jest like honey floweth
from thy lips.

PEER
My little friend,
you, like other maidens, judge
great men by their outsides only.
I am full of jest at bottom,
most of all when we’re alone.
I am forced by my position
to assume a solemn mask.
Duties of the day constrain me;
all the reckonings and worry
that I have with one and all,
make me oft a cross-grained prophet;
but it’s only from the tongue out. —
Fudge, avaunt! En tete-a-tete
I’m Peer — well, the man I am.
Hei, away now with the prophet;
me, myself, you have me here!
[Seats himself under a tree, and draws her to him.]
Come, Anitra, we will rest us
underneath the palm’s green fan-shade!
I’ll lie whispering, you’ll lie smiling;
afterwards our roles exchange we;
then shall your lips, fresh and balmy,
to my smiling, passion whisper!

ANITRA
[lies down at his feet]
All thy words are sweet as singing,
though I understand but little.
Master, tell me, can thy daughter
catch a soul by listening?

PEER
Soul, and spirit’s light and knowledge,
all in good time you shall have them.
When in east, on rosy streamers
golden types print: Here is day, —
then, my child, I’ll give you lessons;
you’ll be well brought-up, no fear.
But, ‘mid night’s delicious stillness,
it were stupid if I should,
with a threadbare wisdom’s remnants,
play the part of pedagogue. —
And the soul, moreover, is not,
looked at properly, the main thing.
It’s the heart that really matters.

ANITRA
Speak, O Master! When thou speakest,
I see gleams, as though of opals!

PEER
Wisdom in extremes is folly;
coward blossoms into tyrant;
truth, when carried to excess,
ends in wisdom written backwards.
Ay, my daughter, I’m forsworn
as a dog if there are not
folk with o’erfed souls on earth
who shall scarce attain to clearness.
Once I met with such a fellow,
of the flock the very flower;
and even he mistook his goal,
losing sense in blatant sound. —
See the waste round this oasis.
Were I but to swing my turban,
I could force the ocean-flood
to fill up the whole concern.
But I were a blockhead, truly,
seas and lands to go creating.
Know you what it is to live?

ANITRA
Teach me!

PEER
It is to be wafted
dry-shod down the stream of time,
wholly, solely as oneself.
Only in full manhood can I
be the man I am, dear child!
Aged eagle moults his plumage,
aged fogey lags declining,
aged dame has ne’er a tooth left,
aged churl gets withered hands, —
one and all get souls.
Youth! Ah, youth! I mean to reign,
as a sultan, whole and fiery, —
not on Gyntiana’s shores,
under trellised vines and palm-leaves, —
but enthroned in the freshness
of a woman’s virgin thoughts. —
See you now, my little maiden,
why I’ve graciously bewitched you, —
why I have your heart selected,
and established, so to speak,
there my being’s Caliphate?
All your longings shall be mine.
I’m an autocrat in passion!
You shall live for me alone.
I’ll be he who shall enthrall
you like gold and precious stones.
Should we part, then life is over, —
that is, your life, nota bene!
Every inch and fibre of you,
will-less, without yea or nay,
I must know filled full of me.
Midnight beauties of your tresses,
all that’s lovely to be named,
shall, like Babylonian gardens,
tempt your Sultan to his tryst.
After all, I don’t complain, then,
of your empty forehead-vault.
With a soul, one’s oft absorbed in
contemplation of oneself.
Listen, while we’re on the subject, —
if you like it, faith, you shall
have a ring about your ankle: —
‘twill be best for both of us.
I will be your soul by proxy;
for the rest — why, status quo.
[ANITRA snores.]
What! She sleeps! Then has it glided
bootless past her, all I’ve said? —
No; it marks my influence o’er her
that she floats away in dreams
on my love-talk as it flows.
[Rises, and lays trinkets in her lap.]
Here are jewels! Here are more!
Sleep, Anitra! Dream of Peer — .
Sleep! In sleeping, you the crown have
placed upon your Emperor’s brow!
Victory on his Person’s basis
has Peer Gynt this night achieved.

SCENE EIGHT
H

[A caravan route. The oasis is seen far off in the background.]
[PEER GYNT comes galloping across the desert on his white horse, with ANITRA before him on his saddle-bow.]

ANITRA
Let be, or I’ll bite you!

PEER
You little rogue!

ANITRA
What would you?

PEER
What would I? Play hawk and dove!
Run away with you! Frolic and frisk a bit!

ANITRA
For shame! An old prophet like you — !

PEER
Oh, stuff!
The prophet’s not old at all, you goose!
Do you think all this is a sign of age?

ANITRA
Let me go! I want to go home!

PEER
Coquette!
What, home! To father-in-law! That would be fine!
We madcap birds that have flown from the cage
must never come into his sight again.
Besides, my child, in the self-same place
it’s wisest never to stay too long;
for familiarity lessens respect; —
most of all when one comes as a prophet or such.
One should show oneself glimpse-wise, and pass like a dream.
Faith, ‘twas time that the visit should come to an end.
They’re unstable of soul, are these sons of the desert; —
both incense and prayers dwindled off towards the end.

ANITRA
Yes, but are you a prophet?

PEER
Your Emperor I am!
[Tries to kiss her.]
Why just see now how coy the wee woodpecker is!

ANITRA
Give me that ring that you have on your finger.

PEER
Take, sweet Anitra, the whole of the trash!

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

PEER
How blessed to know oneself loved to this pitch!
I’ll dismount! Like your slave, I will lead your palfrey!
[Hands her his riding-whip, and dismounts.]
There now, my rosebud, my exquisite flower!
Here I’ll go trudging my way through the sand,
till a sunstroke o’ertakes me and finishes me.
I’m young, Anitra; bear that in mind!
You mustn’t be shocked at my escapades.
Frolics and high-jinks are youth’s sole criterion!
And so, if your intellect weren’t so dense,
you would see at a glance, oh my fair oleander, —
your lover is frolicsome — ergo, he’s young!

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

PEER
Am I not? There, grab! I can leap like a buck!
Were there vine-leaves around, I would garland my brow.
To be sure I am young! Hei, I’m going to dance!
[Dances and sings.]
I am a blissful game-cock!
Peck me, my little pullet!
Hop-sa-sa! Let me trip it; —
I am a blissful game-cock!

ANITRA
You are sweating, my prophet; I fear you will melt; —
hand me that heavy bag hung at your belt.

PEER
Tender solicitude! Bear the purse ever; —
hearts that can love are content without gold!
[Dances and sings again.]
Young Peer Gynt is the maddest wag; —
he knows not what foot he shall stand upon.
Pooh, says Peer; — pooh, never mind!
Young Peer Gynt is the maddest wag!

ANITRA
What joy when the Prophet steps forth in the dance!

PEER
Oh, bother the Prophet! — Suppose we change clothes!
Heisa! Strip off!

ANITRA
Your caftan were too long,
your girdle too wide, and your stockings too tight —

PEER
Eh bien!
[Kneels down.]
But vouchsafe me a vehement sorrow, —
to a heart full of love, it is sweet to suffer!
Listen; as soon as we’re home at my castle —

ANITRA
In your Paradise; — have we far to ride?

PEER
Oh, a thousand miles or —

ANITRA
Too far!

PEER
Oh, listen; —
you shall have the soul that I promised you once —

ANITRA
Oh, thank you; I’ll get on without the soul.
But you asked for a sorrow —

PEER
[rising]
Ay, curse me, I did!
A keen one, but short, — to last two or three days!

ANITRA
Anitra obeyeth the Prophet! — Farewell!
[Gives him a smart cut across the fingers, and dashes off, at a tearing gallop, back across the desert.]

PEER
[stands for a long time thunderstruck]
Well now, may I be — !

SCENE NINT
H

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

PEER GYNT
[throwing the turban far away from him]
There lies the Turk, then, and here stand I! —
These heathenish doings are no sort of good.
It’s lucky ‘twas only a matter of clothes,
and not, as the saying goes, bred in the bone. —
What tempted me into that galley at all?
It’s best, in the long run, to live as a Christian,
to put away peacock-like ostentation,
to base all one’s dealings on law and morality,
to be ever oneself, and to earn at the last
speech at one’s grave-side, and wreaths on one’s coffin.
[Walks a few steps.]
The hussy; — she was on the very verge
of turning my head clean topsy-turvy.
May I be a troll if I understand
what it was that dazed and bemused me so.
Well; it’s well that’s done: had the joke been carried
but one step on, I’d have looked absurd. —
I have erred; — but at least it’s a consolation
that my error was due to the false situation.
It wasn’t my personal self that fell.
‘Twas in fact this prophetical way of life,
so utterly lacking the salt of activity,
that took its revenge in these qualms of bad taste.
It’s a sorry business this prophetising!
One’s office compels one to walk in a mist;
in playing the prophet, you throw up the game
the moment you act like a rational being.
In so far I’ve done what the occasion demanded,
in the mere fact of paying my court to that goose.
But, nevertheless —
[Bursts out laughing.]
Hm, to think of it now!
To try to make time stop by jigging and dancing,
and to cope with the current by capering and prancing!
To thrum on the lute-strings, to fondle and sigh,
and end, like a rooster, — by getting well plucked!
Such conduct is truly prophetic frenzy. —
Yes, plucked! — Phew! I’m plucked clean enough indeed.
Well, well, I’ve a trifle still left in reserve;
I’ve a little in America, a little in my pocket;
so I won’t be quite driven to beg my bread. —
And at bottom this middle condition is best.
I’m no longer a slave to my coachman and horses;
I haven’t to fret about postchaise or baggage;
I am master, in short, of the situation. —
What path should I choose? Many paths lie before me;
and a wise man is known from a fool by his choice.
My business life is a finished chapter;
my love-sports, too, are a cast-off garment.
I feel no desire to live back like a crab.
“Forward or back, and it’s just as far;
out or in, and it’s just as strait,” —
so I seem to have read in some luminous work. —
I’ll try something new, then; ennoble my course;
find a goal worth the labour and money it costs.
Shall I write my life without dissimulation, —
a book for guidance and imitation?
Or stay — ! I have plenty of time at command; —
what if, as a travelling scientist,
I should study past ages and time’s voracity?
Ay, sure enough; that is the thing for me!
Legends I read e’en in childhood’s days,
and since then I’ve kept up that branch of learning. —
I will follow the path of the human race!
Like a feather I’ll float on the stream of history,
make it all live again, as in a dream, —
see the heroes battling for truth and right,
as an onlooker only, in safety ensconced, —
see thinkers perish and martyrs bleed,
see empires founded and vanish away, —
see world-epochs grow from their trifling seeds;
in short, I will skim off the cream of history. —
I must try to get hold of a volume of Becker,
and travel as far as I can by chronology. —
It’s true-my grounding’s by no means thorough,
and history’s wheels within wheels are deceptive; —
but pooh; the wilder the starting-point,
the result will oft be the more original. —
How exalting it is, now, to choose a goal,
and drive straight for it, like flint and steel!
[With quiet emotion.]
To break off all round one, on every side,
the bonds that bind one to home and friends, —
to blow into atoms one’s hoarded wealth, —
to bid one’s love and its joys good-night, —
all simply to find the arcana of truth, —
[Wiping a tear from his eye.]
that is the test of the true man of science! —
I feel myself happy beyond all measure.
Now I have fathomed my destiny’s riddle.
Now ‘tis but persevering through thick and thin!
It’s excusable, sure, if I hold up my head,
and feel my worth, as the man, Peer Gynt,
also called Human — life’s Emperor. —
I will own the sum-total of bygone days;
I’ll nevermore tread in the paths of the living.
The present is not worth so much as a shoe-sole;
all faithless and marrowless the doings of men;
their soul has no wings and their deeds no weight;
[Shrugs his shoulders.]
and women, — ah, they are a worthless crew!
[Goes off.]