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.
There, too, my ethics won the day.
I saw the traffic was a wrong one
For people of a certain age.
One may drop off before one dreams of it.
And then there were the thousand pitfalls
Laid by the philanthropic camp;
Besides, of course, the hostile cruisers,
And all the wind-and-weather risks.
All this together won the day.
I thought: Now, Peter,[74] reef your sails:
See to it you amend your faults!
So in the South I bought some land,
And kept the last meat-importation,
Which chanced to be a superfine one.
They throve so, grew so fat and sleek,
That ’twas a joy to me, and them too.
Yes, without boasting, I may say
I acted as a father to them,—
And found my profit in so doing.
I built them schools, too, so that virtue
Might uniformly be maintained at
A certain general _niveau_,[74]
And kept strict watch that never its
Thermometer should sink below it.
Now, furthermore, from all this business
I’ve beat a definite retreat;—
I’ve sold the whole plantation, and
It’s tale of live-stock, hide and hair.
At parting, too, I served around,
To big and little, gratis grog,[74]
So men and women all got drunk,
And widows got their snuff as well.
So that is why I trust,—provided
The saying is not idle breath:
Whoso does not do ill, does good,—
My former errors are forgotten,
And I, much more than most, can hold
My misdeeds balanced by my virtues.
VON EBERKOPF.
[_Clinking glasses with him._]
How strengthening it is to hear
A principle thus acted out,
Freed from the night of theory,
Unshaken by the outward ferment!
PEER.
[_Who has been drinking freely during the preceding
passages._]
We Northland men know how to carry
Our battle through! The key to the art
Of life’s affairs is simply this:
To keep one’s ear close shut against
The ingress of one dangerous viper.
MR. COTTON.
What sort of viper, pray, dear friend?
PEER.
A little one that slyly wiles you
To tempt the irretrievable.
[_Drinking again._
The essence of the art of daring,
The art of bravery in act,
Is this: To stand with choice-free foot
Amid the treacherous snares of life,—
To know for sure that other days
Remain beyond the day of battle,—
To know that ever in the rear
A bridge for your retreat stands open.
This theory has borne me on,
Has given my whole career its colour;
And this same theory I inherit,
A race-gift, from my childhood’s home.
MONSIEUR BALLON.
You are Norwegian?
PEER.
Yes, by birth;
But cosmopolitan in spirit.
For fortune such as I’ve enjoyed
I have to thank America.
My amply-furnished library
I owe to Germany’s later schools.
From France, again, I get my waistcoats,
My manners, and my spice of wit,—
From England an industrious hand,
And keen sense for my own advantage.
The Jew has taught me how to wait.
Some taste for _dolce far niente_[75]
I have received from Italy,—
And one time, in a perilous pass,
To eke the measure of my days,
I had recourse to Swedish steel.
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
[_Lifting up his glass._]
Ay, Swedish steel——?
VON EBERKOPF.
The weapon’s wielder
Demands our homage first of all!
[_They clink glasses and drink with him. The wine begins
to go to his head._
MR. COTTON.
All this is very good indeed;—
But, sir,[75] I’m curious to know
What with your gold you think of doing.
PEER.
[_Smiling._]
H’m; doing? Eh?
ALL FOUR.
[_Coming closer._]
Yes, let us hear!
PEER.
Well, first of all, I want to travel.
You see, that’s why I shipped you four,
To keep me company, at Gibraltar.
I needed such a dancing-choir
Of friends around my gold-calf-altar——
VON EBERKOPF.
Most witty!
MR. COTTON.
Well, but no one hoists
His sails for nothing but the sailing.
Beyond all doubt, you have a goal;
And that is——?
PEER.
To be Emperor.[76]
ALL FOUR.
What?
PEER.
[_Nodding._]
Emperor!
THE FOUR.
Where?
PEER.
O’er all the world.
MONSIEUR BALLON.
But how, friend——?
PEER.
By the might of gold!
That plan is not at all a new one;
It’s been the soul of my career.
Even as a boy, I swept in dreams
Far o’er the ocean on a cloud.
I soared with train and golden scabbard,—
And flopped down on all-fours again.
But still my goal, my friends, stood fast.—
There is a text, or else a saying,
Somewhere, I don’t remember where,
That if you gained the whole wide world,
But lost _yourself_, your gain were but
A garland on a cloven skull.
That is the text—or something like it;
And that remark is sober truth.
VON EBERKOPF.
But what then is the Gyntish Self?
PEER.
The world behind my forehead’s arch,
In force of which I’m no one else
Than I, no more than God’s the Devil.
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
I understand now where you’re aiming!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
Thinker sublime!
VON EBERKOPF.
Exalted poet!
PEER.
[_More and more elevated._]
The Gyntish Self—it is the host
Of wishes, appetites, desires,—
The Gyntish Self, it is the sea
Of fancies, exigencies, claims,
All that, in short, makes _my_ breast heave,
And whereby I, as I, exist.
But as our Lord requires the clay
To constitute him God o’ the world,
So I, too, stand in need of gold,
If I as Emperor would figure.
MONSIEUR BALLON.
You have the gold, though?
PEER.
Not enough.
Ay, maybe for a nine-days’ flourish,
As Emperor _à la_[77] Lippe-Detmold.
But I must be myself _en bloc_,[77]
Must be the Gynt of all the planet,
Sir Gynt[77] throughout, from top to bottom!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
[_Enraptured._]
Possess the earth’s most exquisite beauty!
VON EBERKOPF.
All century-old Johannisberger!
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
And all the blades of Charles the Twelfth!
MR. COTTON.
But first a profitable opening
For business——
PEER.
That’s already found;
Our anchoring here supplied me with it.
To-night we set off, northward ho!
The papers I received on board
Have brought me tidings of importance——.
[_Rises with uplifted glass._
It seems that Fortune ceaselessly
Aids him who has the pluck to seize it——
THE GUESTS.
Well? Tell us——!
PEER.
Greece is in revolt.
ALL FOUR.
[_Springing up._]
What! Greece——?
PEER.
The Greeks have risen in Hellas.
THE FOUR.
Hurrah!
PEER.
And Turkey’s in a fix!
[_Empties his glass._
MONSIEUR BALLON.
To Hellas! Glory’s gate stands open!
I’ll help them with the sword of France!
VON EBERKOPF.
And I with war-whoops—from a distance.
MR. COTTON.
And I as well—by taking contracts!
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
Lead on! I’ll find again in Bender
The world-renowned spur-strap-buckles![78]
MONSIEUR BALLON.
[_Falling on PEER GYNT’S neck._]
Forgive me, friend, that I at first
Misjudged you quite!
VON EBERKOPF.
[_Pressing his hands._]
I, stupid hound,
Took you for next door to a scoundrel!
MR COTTON.
Too strong that; only for a fool——
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
[_Trying to kiss him._]
I, Uncle, for a specimen
Of Yankee riff-raff’s meanest spawn——!
Forgive me——!
VON EBERKOPF.
We’ve been in the dark——
PEER.
What stuff is this?
VON EBERKOPF.
We now see gathered
In glory all the Gyntish host
Of wishes, appetites, and desires——!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
[_Admiringly._]
So this is being Monsieur[79] Gynt!
VON EBERKOPF.
[_In the same tone._]
This I call being Gynt with honour!
PEER.
But tell me——?
MONSIEUR BALLON.
Don’t you understand?
PEER.
May I be hanged if I begin to!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
What? Are you not upon your way
To join the Greeks, with ship and money——?
PEER.
[_Contemptuously._]
No, many thanks! I side with strength,
And lend my money to the Turks.
MONSIEUR BALLON.
Impossible!
VON EBERKOPF.
Witty, but a jest!
PEER.
[_After a short silence, leaning on a chair and
assuming a dignified mien._]
Come, gentlemen, I think it best
We part before the last remains
Of friendship melt away like smoke.
Who nothing owns will lightly risk it.
When in the world one scarce commands
The strip of earth one’s shadow covers,
One’s born to serve as food for powder.
But when a man stands safely landed,
As I do, then his stake is greater.
Go you to Hellas. I will put you
Ashore, and arm you gratis too.
The more you eke the flames of strife,
The better will it serve my purpose.
Strike home for freedom and for right!
Fight! storm! make hell hot for the Turks;—
And gloriously end your days
Upon the Janissaries lances.—
But _I_—excuse me——
[_Slaps his pocket._
I have cash,
And am myself, Sir Peter Gynt.[80]
[_Puts up his sunshade, and goes into the grove, where
the hammocks are partly visible._]
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
The swinish cur!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
No taste for glory——!
MR. COTTON.
Oh, glory’s neither here nor there;
But think of the enormous profits
We’d reap if Greece should free herself.
MONSIEUR BALLON.
I saw myself a conqueror,
By lovely Grecian maids encircled.
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
Grasped in my Swedish hands, I saw
The great, heroic spur-strap-buckles!
VON EBERKOPF.
I my gigantic Fatherland’s
Culture saw spread o’er earth and sea——!
MR. COTTON.
The worst’s the loss in solid cash.
God dam![81] I scarce can keep from weeping!
I saw me owner of Olympus.
If to its fame the mountain answers,
There must be veins of copper in it,
That could be opened up again.
And furthermore, that stream Castalia,[82]
Which people talk so much about,
With fall on fall, at lowest reckoning,
Must mean a thousand horse-power good——
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
Still I will go! My Swedish sword
Is worth far more than Yankee gold!
MR. COTTON.
Perhaps; but, jammed into the ranks,
Amid the press we’d all be drowned;
And then where would the profit be?
MONSIEUR BALLON.
Accurst! So near to fortune’s summit,
And now stopped short beside its grave!
MR. COTTON.
[_Shakes his fist towards the yacht._]
That long black chest holds coffered up
The nabob’s golden nigger-sweat——!
VON EBERKOPF.
A royal notion! Quick! Away!
It’s all up with his empire now!
Hurrah!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
What would you?
VON EBERKOPF.
Seize the power!
The crew can easily be bought.
On board then. I annex the yacht!
MR. COTTON.
You—what——?
VON EBERKOPF.
I grab the whole concern!
[_Goes down to the jolly-boat._
MR. COTTON.
Why then self-interest commands me
To grab my share.
[_Goes after him._
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
What scoundrelism!
MONSIEUR BALLON.
A scurvy business—but—_enfin_![83]
[_Follows the others._
TRUMPETERSTRÅLE.
I’ll have to follow, I suppose,—
But I protest to all the world——![84]
[_Follows._
SCENE SECOND.
_Another part of the coast. Moonlight with drifting clouds. The
yacht is seen far out, under full steam._
_PEER GYNT comes running along the beach; now pinching his arms,
now gazing out to sea._
PEER.
A nightmare!—Delusion!—I’ll soon be awake!
She’s standing to sea! And at furious speed!—
Mere delusion! I’m sleeping! I’m dizzy and drunk!
[_Clenches his hands._
It’s not possible I should be going to die!
[_Tearing his hair._
A dream! I’m determined it shall be a dream!
Oh, horror! It’s only too real, worse luck!
My brute-beasts of friends——! Do but hear me, oh Lord!
Since though art so wise and so righteous——! Oh judge——!
[_With upstretched arms._
It is _I_, Peter[85] Gynt! Oh, our Lord, give but heed!
Hold thy hand o’er me, Father; or else I must perish!
Make them back the machine! Make them lower the gig!
Stop the robbers! Make something go wrong with the rigging!
Hear me! Let other folks’ business lie over!
The world can take care of itself for the time!—
I’m blessed if he hears me! He’s deaf as his wont is!
Here’s a nice thing! A God that is bankrupt of help!
[_Beckons upwards._
Hist; I’ve abandoned the nigger-plantation!
And missionaries I’ve exported to Asia!
Surely one good turn should be worth another!
Oh, help me on board——!
[_A jet of fire shoots into the air from the yacht,
followed by thick clouds of smoke; a hollow report
is heard. PEER GYNT utters a shriek, and sinks down
on the sands. Gradually the smoke clears away; the
ship has disappeared._
PEER.
[_Softly, with a pale face._]
That’s the sword of wrath!
In a crack to the bottom, every soul, man and mouse!
Oh, for ever blest be the lucky chance——
[_With emotion._
A chance? No, no, it was more than a chance.
I was to be rescued and they to perish.
Oh, thanks and praise for that thou hast kept me,
Hast cared for me, spite of all my sins!—
[_Draws a deep breath._
What a marvellous feeling of safety and peace
It gives one to know oneself specially shielded!
But the desert! What about food and drink?
Oh, something I’m sure to find. _He’ll_ see to that.
There’s no cause for alarm;—
[_Loud and insinuatingly._
_He_ would never allow
A poor little sparrow like me to perish!
Be but lowly of spirit. And give him time.
Leave it all in the Lord’s hands; and don’t be cast down.—
[_With a start of terror._
Can that be a lion that growled in the reeds——?
[_His teeth chattering._
No, it wasn’t a lion.
[_Mustering up courage._
A lion, forsooth!
Those beasts, they’ll take care to keep out of the way.
They know it’s no joke to fall foul of their betters.
They have instinct to guide them;—they feel, what’s a fact,
That it’s dangerous playing with elephants.—
But all the same——. I must find a tree.
There’s a grove of acacias and palms over there;
If I once can climb up, I’ll be sheltered and safe,—
Most of all if I knew but a psalm or two.
[_Clambers up._
Morning and evening are not alike;
That text has been oft enough weighed and pondered.
[_Seats himself comfortably._
How blissful to feel so uplifted in spirit!
To think nobly is more than to know oneself rich.
Only trust in him. He knows well what share
Of the chalice of need I can bear to drain.
He takes fatherly thought for my personal weal;—
[_Casts a glance over the sea, and whispers with a sigh_:
But economical—no, that he isn’t!
SCENE THIRD.
_Night. An encampment of Moroccan troops on the edge of the
desert. Watch-fires, with SOLDIERS resting by them._
A SLAVE.
[_Enters, tearing his hair._]
Gone is the Emperor’s milk-white charger!
ANOTHER SLAVE.
[_Enters, rending his garments._]
The Emperor’s sacred robes are stolen!
AN OFFICER.
[_Enters._]
A hundred stripes upon the foot-soles
For all who fail to catch the robber!
[_The troopers mount their horses, and gallop away in
every direction._
SCENE FOURTH.
_Daybreak. The grove of acacias and palms._
_PEER GYNT in his tree with a broken branch in his hand, trying
to beat off a swarm of monkeys._
PEER.
Confound it! A most disagreeable night.
[_Laying about him._
Are you there again? This is most accursëd!
Now they’re throwing fruit. No, it’s something else.
A loathsome beast is your Barbary ape!
The Scripture says: Thou shalt watch and fight.
But I’m blest if I can; I am heavy and tired,
[_Is again attacked; impatiently_:
I must put a stopper upon this nuisance!
I must see and get hold of one of these scamps,
Get him hung and skinned, and then dress myself up,
As best I may, in his shaggy hide,
That the others may take me for one of themselves.—
What are we mortals? Motes, no more;
And it’s wisest to follow the fashion a bit.—
Again a rabble! They throng and swarm.
Off with you! Shoo! They go on as though crazy.
If only I had a false tail to put on now,—
Only something to make me a bit like a beast.—
What now? There’s a pattering over my head——!
[_Looks up._
It’s the grandfather ape,—with his fists full of filth——!
[_Huddles together apprehensively, and keeps still for a
while. The ape makes a motion; PEER GYNT begins
coaxing and wheedling him, as he might a dog._
Ay,—are you there, my good old Bus!
He’s a good beast, he is! He will listen to reason!
He wouldn’t throw;—I should think not, indeed!
It is me! Pip-pip! We are first-rate friends!
Ai-ai! Don’t you hear, I can talk your language?
Bus and I, we are kinsfolk, you see;—
Bus shall have sugar to-morrow——! The beast!
The whole cargo on top of me! Ugh, how disgusting!—
Or perhaps it was food! ’Twas in taste—indefinable;
And taste’s for the most part a matter of habit.
What thinker is it who somewhere says:
You must spit and trust to the force of habit?—
Now here come the small-fry!
[_Hits and slashes around him._
It’s really too bad
That man, who by rights is the lord of creation,
Should find himself forced to——! O murder! murder!
The old one was bad, but the youngsters are worse!
SCENE FIFTH.
_Early morning. A stony region, with a view out over the desert.
On one side a cleft in the hill, and a cave._
_A THIEF and a RECEIVER hidden in the cleft, with the Emperor’s
horse and robes. The horse, richly caparisoned, is tied to
a stone. Horsemen are seen afar off._
THE THIEF.
The tongues of the lances
All flickering and flashing,—
See, see!
THE RECEIVER.
Already my head seems
To roll on the sand-plain!
Woe, woe!
THE THIEF.
[_Folds his arms over his breast._]
My father he thieved;
So his son must be thieving.
THE RECEIVER.
My father received;
Still his son is receiving.[86]
THE THIEF.
Thy lot shalt thou bear still;
Thyself shalt thou be still.
THE RECEIVER.
[_Listening._]
Steps in the brushwood!
Flee, flee! But where?
THE THIEF.
The cavern is deep,
And the Prophet great!
[_They make off, leaving the booty behind them. The
horsemen gradually disappear in the distance._
PEER GYNT.
[_Enters, cutting a reed whistle._]