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 a
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[94]
The moment you act like a rational being.[95]
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._
H’m, 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[96] 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._
SCENE TENTH.
_A summer day. Far up in the North. A hut in the forest. The
door, with a large wooden bar, stands open. Reindeer-horns
over it. A flock of goats by the wall of the hut._
_A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN, fair-haired and comely, sits spinning
outside in the sunshine._
THE WOMAN.
[_Glances down the path and sings._]
Maybe both the winter and spring will pass by,
And the next summer too, and the whole of the year;—
But thou wilt come one day, that know I full well;
And I will await thee, as I promised of old.[97]
[_Calls the goats, spins, and sings again._
God strengthen thee, whereso thou goest in the world!
God gladden thee, if at his footstool thou stand!
Here will I await thee till thou comest again;
And if thou wait up yonder, then there we’ll meet, my friend!
SCENE ELEVENTH.
_In Egypt. Daybreak. MEMNON’S STATUE amid the sands._
_PEER GYNT enters on foot, and looks around him for a while._
PEER GYNT.
Here I might fittingly start on my wanderings.—
So now, for a change, I’ve become an Egyptian;
But Egyptian on the basis of the Gyntish I.
To Assyria next I will bend my steps.
To begin right back at the world’s creation
Would lead to nought but bewilderment.
I will go round about[98] all the Bible history;
Its secular traces I’ll always be coming on;
And to look, as the saying goes, into its seams,
Lies entirely outside both my plan and my powers.
[_Sits upon a stone._
Now I will rest me, and patiently wait
Till the statue has sung its habitual dawn-song.
When breakfast is over, I’ll climb up the pyramid;
If I’ve time, I’ll look through its interior afterwards.
Then I’ll go round the head of the Red Sea by land;
Perhaps I may hit on King Potiphar’s grave.—
Next I’ll turn Asiatic. In Babylon I’ll seek for
The far-renowned harlots and hanging gardens,—
That’s to say, the chief traces of civilisation.
Then at one bound to the ramparts of Troy.
From Troy there’s a fareway by sea direct
Across to the glorious ancient Athens;—
There on the spot will I, stone by stone,
Survey the Pass that Leonidas guarded.
I will get up the works of the better philosophers,
Find the prison where Socrates suffered, a martyr——;
Oh no, by-the-bye—there’s a war there at present——!
Well, my studies in Hellas must e’en be postponed.
[_Looks at his watch._
It’s really too bad, such an age as it takes
For the sun to rise. I am pressed for time.
Well then, from Troy—it was there I left off——
[_Rises and listens._
What is that strange sort of murmur that’s rushing——?
[_Sunrise._
MEMNON’S STATUE.
[_Sings._]
From the demigod’s ashes there soar, youth-renewing,
Birds ever singing.
Zeus the Omniscient
Shaped them contending.
Owls of wisdom,
My birds, where do they slumber?
Thou must die if thou rede not
The song’s enigma!
PEER.
How strange now,—I really fancied there came
From the statue a sound. Music, this, of the Past.
I heard the stone-accents now rising, now sinking.—
I will register it, for the learned to ponder.
[_Notes in his pocket-book_
“The statue did sing. I heard the sound plainly,
But didn’t quite follow the text of the song.
The whole thing, of course, was hallucination.—
Nothing else of importance observed to-day.”
[_Proceeds on his way._
SCENE TWELFTH.
_Near the village of Gizeh. The great SPHINX carved out of the
rock. In the distance the spires and minarets of Cairo._
_PEER GYNT enters; he examines the SPHINX attentively, now
through his eyeglass, now through his hollowed hand._
PEER GYNT.
Now, where in the world have I met before
Something half forgotten that’s like this hobgoblin?
For met it I have, in the north or the south.
Was it a person? And, if so, who?
That Memnon, it afterwards crossed my mind,
Was like the Old Man of the Dovrë, so called,
Just as he sat there, stiff and stark,
Planted on end on the stumps of pillars.—
But this most curious mongrel here,
This changeling, a lion and woman in one,—
Does he come to me, too, from a fairy-tale,
Or from a remembrance of something real?
From a fairy-tale? Ho, I remember the fellow!
Why, of course it’s the Boyg, that I smote on the skull,—
That is, I dreamt it,—I lay in fever.—
[_Going closer._
The self-same eyes, and the self-same lips;—
Not quite so lumpish; a little more cunning;
But the same, for the rest, in all essentials.—
Ay, so that’s it, Boyg; so you’re like a lion
When one sees you from behind and meets you in the day-time!
Are you still good at riddling? Come, let us try.
Now we shall see if you answer as last time!
[_Calls out towards the SPHINX._
Hei, Boyg, who are you?
A VOICE.
[_Behind the SPHINX._]
Ach, Sphinx, wer bist du?
PEER.
What! Echo answers in German! How strange!
THE VOICE.
Wer bist du?
PEER.
It speaks it quite fluently too!
That observation is new, and my own.
[_Notes in his book._
“Echo in German. Dialect, Berlin.”
[_BEGRIFFENFELDT comes out from behind the SPHINX._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
A man!
PEER.
Oh, then it was _he_ that was chattering.
[_Notes again._
“Arrived in the sequel at other results.”
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_With all sorts of restless antics._]
Excuse me, mein Herr[99]——! Eine Lebensfrage——![99]
What brings you to this place precisely to-day?
PEER.
A visit. I’m greeting a friend of my youth.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
What? The Sphinx——?
PEER.
[_Nods._]
Yes, I knew him in days gone by.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Famos![100]—And that after such a night!
My temples are hammering as though they would burst!
You know him, man! Answer! Say on! Can you tell
What he is?
PEER.
What he is? Yes, that’s easy enough.
He’s _himself_.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_With a bound._]
Ha, the riddle of life lightened forth
In a flash to my vision!—It’s certain he is
Himself?
PEER.
Yes, he says so, at any rate.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Himself! Revolution! thine hour is at hand!
[_Takes off his hat._
Your name, pray, mein Herr?[100]
PEER.
I was christened Peer Gynt.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_In rapt admiration._]
Peer Gynt! Allegoric! I might have foreseen it.—
Peer Gynt? That must clearly imply: The Unknown,—
The Comer whose coming was augured to me——
PEER.
What, really? And now you are here to meet——
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Peer Gynt! Profound! Enigmatic! Incisive!
Each word, as it were, an abysmal lesson!
What are you?
PEER.
[_Modestly._]
I’ve always endeavoured to be
Myself. For the rest, here’s my passport, you see.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Again that mysterious word at the bottom.
[_Seizes him by the wrist._
To Cairo! The Interpreters’ Kaiser is found!
PEER.
Kaiser?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Come on!
PEER.
Am I really known——?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Dragging him away._]
The Interpreters’ Kaiser—on the basis of Self!
SCENE THIRTEENTH.
_In Cairo. A large courtyard, surrounded by high walls and
buildings. Barred windows; iron cages._
_THREE KEEPERS in the courtyard. A FOURTH comes in._
THE NEWCOMER.
Schafmann, say, where’s the director gone?
A KEEPER.
He drove out this morning some time before dawn.
THE FIRST.
I think something must have occurred to annoy him;
For last night——
ANOTHER.
Hush, be quiet; he’s there at the door!
[_BEGRIFFENFELDT leads PEER GYNT in, locks the gate, and
puts the key in his pocket._
PEER.
[_To himself._]
Indeed an exceedingly gifted man;
Almost all that he says is beyond comprehension.
[_Looks around._
So this is the Club of the Savants, eh?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Here you will find them, every man jack of them;—
The group of Interpreters threescore and ten;[101]
Of late it has grown by a hundred and sixty——
[_Shouts to the KEEPERS._
Mikkel, Schlingelberg, Schafmann, Fuchs,—
Into the cages with you at once!
THE KEEPERS.
We!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Who else, pray? Get in, get in!
When the world twirls around, we must twirl with it too.
[_Forces them into a cage._
He’s arrived this morning, the mighty Peer;—
The rest you can guess,—I need say no more.
[_Locks the cage door, and throws the key into a well._
PEER.
But, my dear Herr Doctor and Director, pray——?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Neither one nor the other! I was before——
Herr Peer, are you secret? I must ease my heart——
PEER.
[_With increasing uneasiness._]
What is it?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Promise you will not tremble.
PEER.
I will do my best, but——
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Draws him into a corner, and whispers._]
The Absolute Reason
Departed this life at eleven last night.
PEER.
God help me——!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Why, yes, it’s extremely deplorable.
And as I’m placed, you see, it is doubly unpleasant;
For this institution has passed up to now
For what’s called a madhouse.
PEER.
A madhouse, ha!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Not _now_, understand!
PEER.
[_Softly, pale with fear._]
Now I see what the place is!
And the man is mad;—and there’s none that knows it!
[_Tries to steal away._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Following him._]
However, I hope you don’t misunderstand me?
When I said he was dead, I was talking stuff.
He’s beside himself. Started clean out of his skin,—
Just like my compatriot Münchausen’s fox.
PEER.
Excuse me a moment——
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Holding him back._]
I meant like an eel;—
It was not like a fox. A needle through his eye;—
And he writhed on the wall——
PEER.
Where can rescue be found?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
A snick round his neck, and whip! out of his skin!
PEER.
He’s raving! He’s utterly out of his wits!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Now it’s patent, and can’t be dissimulated,
That this from-himself-going must have for result
A complete revolution by sea and land.
The persons one hitherto reckoned as mad,
You see, became normal last night at eleven,
Accordant with Reason in its newest phase.
And more, if the matter be rightly regarded,
It’s patent that, at the aforementioned hour,
The sane folks, so called, began forthwith to rave.
PEER.
You mentioned the hour, sir; my time is but scant——
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Your time, did you say? There you jog my remembrance!
[_Opens a door and calls out._
Come forth all! The time that shall be is proclaimed!
Reason is dead and gone; long live Peer Gynt!
PEER.
Now, my dear good fellow——!
[_The LUNATICS come one by one, and at intervals, into
the courtyard._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Good morning! Come forth,
And hail the dawn of emancipation!
Your Kaiser has come to you!
PEER.
Kaiser?
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Of course!
PEER.
But the honour’s so great, so entirely excessive——
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Oh, do not let any false modesty sway you
At an hour such as this.
PEER.
But at least give me time——
No, indeed, I’m not fit; I’m completely dumbfounded!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
A man who has fathomed the Sphinx’s meaning!
A man who’s himself!
PEER.
Ay, but that’s just the rub.
It’s true that in everything I am myself;
But here the point is, if I follow your meaning,
To be, so to phrase it, outside oneself.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Outside? No, there you are strangely mistaken!
It’s here, sir, that one is oneself with a vengeance;
Oneself, and nothing whatever besides.
We go, full sail, as our very selves.
Each one shuts himself up in the barrel of self,
In the self-fermentation he dives to the bottom,—
With the self-bung he seals it hermetically,
And seasons the staves in the well of self.
No one has tears for the other’s woes;
No one has mind for the other’s ideas.
We’re our very selves, both in thought and tone,
Ourselves to the spring-board’s uttermost verge,—
And so, if a Kaiser’s to fill the Throne,
It is clear that you are the very man.
PEER.
O would that the devil——!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Come, don’t be cast down;
Almost all things in nature are new at the first.
“Oneself”;—come, here you shall see an example;
I’ll choose you at random the first man that comes——
[_To a gloomy figure._
Good-day, Huhu? Well, my boy, wandering round
For ever with misery’s impress upon you?
HUHU.[102]
Can I help it, when the people,
Race[103] by race, dies untranslated.[104]
[_To PEER GYNT._
You’re a stranger; will you listen?
PEER.
[_Bowing._]
Oh, by all means!
HUHU.
Lend your ear then.—
Eastward far, like brow-borne garlands,
Lie the Malabarish seaboards.
Hollanders and Portugueses
Compass all the land with culture.
There, moreover, swarms are dwelling
Of the pure-bred Malabaris.
These have muddled up the language,
They now lord it in the country.—
But in long-departed ages
There the orang-outang was the ruler.
He, the forest’s lord and master,
Freely fought and snarled in freedom.
As the hand of nature shaped him,
Just so grinned he, just so gaped he.
He could shriek unreprehended;
He was ruler in his kingdom.—
Ah, but then the foreign yoke came,
Marred the forest-tongue primeval.
Twice two hundred years of darkness[105]
Brooded o’er the race of monkeys;
And, you know, nights so protracted
Bring a people to a standstill.—
Mute are now the wood-notes primal;
Grunts and growls are heard no longer;—
If we’d utter our ideas,
It must be by means of language.
What constraint on all and sundry!
Hollanders and Portugueses,
Half-caste race and Malabaris,
All alike must suffer by it.—
I have tried to fight the battle
Of our real, primal wood-speech,—
Tried to bring to life its carcass,—
Proved the people’s right of shrieking,—
Shrieked myself, and shown the need of
Shrieks in poems for the people.—
Scantly, though, my work is valued.—
Now I think you grasp my sorrow.
Thanks for lending me a hearing;—
Have you counsel, let me hear it!
PEER.
[_Softly._]
It is written: Best be howling
With the wolves that are about you.
[_Aloud._
Friend, if I remember rightly,
There are bushes in Morocco,
Where orang-outangs in plenty
Live with neither bard nor spokesman;—
Their speech sounded Malabarish;—
It was classical and pleasing.
Why don’t you, like other worthies,
Emigrate to serve your country?
HUHU.
Thanks for lending me a hearing;—
I will do as you advise me.
[_With a large gesture._
East! thou hast disowned thy singer!
West! thou hast orang-outangs still!
[_Goes._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Well, was he himself? I should rather think so.
He’s filled with his own affairs, simply and solely.
He’s himself in all that comes out of him,—
Himself, just because he’s beside himself.
Come here! Now I’ll show you another one
Who’s no less, since last evening, accordant with Reason.
[_To a FELLAH, with a mummy on his back._
King Apis, how goes it, my mighty lord?
THE FELLAH.
[_Wildly, to PEER GYNT._]
Am I King Apis?
PEER.
[_Getting behind the Doctor._]
I’m sorry to say
I’m not quite at home in the situation;
But I certainly gather, to judge by your tone——
THE FELLAH.
Now you too are lying.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Your Highness should state
How the whole matter stands.
THE FELLAH.
Yes, I’ll tell him my tale.
[_Turns to PEER GYNT._
Do you see whom I bear on my shoulders?
His name was King Apis of old.
Now he goes by the title of mummy,
And withal he’s completely dead.
All the pyramids yonder he builded,
And hewed out the mighty Sphinx,
And fought, as the Doctor puts it,
With the Turks, both to rechts and links.
And therefore the whole of Egypt
Exalted him as a god,
And set up his image in temples,
In the outward shape of a bull.—
But _I_ am this very King Apis,
I see that as clear as day;
And if you don’t understand it,
You shall understand it soon.
King Apis, you see, was out hunting,
And got off his horse awhile,
And withdrew himself unattended
To a part of my ancestor’s land.
But the field that King Apis manured
Has nourished _me_ with its corn;
And if further proofs are demanded,
Know, I have invisible horns.
Now, isn’t it most accursëd
That no one will own my might!
By birth I am Apis of Egypt,
But a fellah in other men’s sight.
Can you tell me what course to follow?—
Then counsel me honestly.—
The problem is how to make me
Resemble King Apis the Great.
PEER.
Build pyramids then, your highness,
And carve out a greater Sphinx,
And fight, as the Doctor puts it,
With the Turks, both to rechts and links.
THE FELLAH.
Ay, that is all mighty fine talking!
A fellah! A hungry louse!
I, who scarcely can keep my hovel
Clear even of rats and mice.
Quick, man,—think of something better,
That’ll make me both great and safe,
And further, exactly like to
King Apis that’s on my back!
PEER.
What if your highness hanged you,
And then, in the lap of earth,
’Twixt the coffin’s natural frontiers,
Kept still and completely dead.
THE FELLAH.
I’ll do it! My life for a halter!
To the gallows with hide and hair!—
At first there will be some difference,
But that time will smooth away.
[_Goes off and prepares to hang himself._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
There’s a personality for you, Herr Peer,—
A man of method——
PEER.
Yes, yes; I see——;
But he’ll really hang himself! God grant us grace!
I’ll be ill;—I can scarcely command my thoughts!
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
A state of transition; it won’t last long.
PEER.
Transition? To what? With your leave—I must go——
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Holding him_.]
Are you crazy?
PEER.
Not yet——. Crazy? Heaven forbid!
[_A commotion. The Minister HUSSEIN[106] forces his way
through the crowd._
HUSSEIN.
They tell me a Kaiser has come to-day.
[_To PEER GYNT._
It is you?
PEER.
[_In desperation._]
Yes, that is a settled thing!
HUSSEIN.
Good.—Then no doubt there are notes to be answered?
PEER.
[_Tearing his hair._]
Come on! Right you are, sir;—the madder the better!
HUSSEIN.
Will you do me the honour of taking a dip?
[_Bowing deeply._
I am a pen.
PEER.
[_Bowing still deeper._]
Why then I am quite clearly
A rubbishy piece of imperial parchment.
HUSSEIN.
My story, my lord, is concisely this:
They take me for a pounce-box,[107] and I am a pen.
PEER.
My story, Sir Pen, is, to put it briefly:
I’m a blank sheet of paper that no one will write on.
HUSSEIN.
No man understands in the least what I’m good for;
They all want to use me for scattering sand with!
PEER.
I was in a woman’s keeping a silver-clasped book;—
It’s one and the same misprint to be either mad or sane!
HUSSEIN.
Just fancy, what an exhausting life.
To be a pen and never taste the edge of a knife!
PEER.
[_With a high leap._]
Just fancy, for a reindeer to leap from on high—
To fall and fall—and never feel the ground beneath your hoofs!
HUSSEIN.
A knife! I am blunt;—quick, mend me and slit me!
The world will go to ruin if they don’t mend my point for me!
PEER.
A pity for the world which, like other self-made things,
Was reckoned by the Lord to be so excellently good.
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
Here’s a knife!
HUSSEIN.
[_Seizing it._]
Ah, how I shall lick up the ink now!
Oh, what rapture to cut oneself!
[_Cuts his throat._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_Stepping aside._]
Pray do not sputter.
PEER.
[_In increasing terror._]
Hold him!
HUSSEIN.
Ay, hold me! That is the word!
Hold! Hold the pen! On the desk with the paper——!
[_Falls._
I’m outworn. The postscript—remember it, pray:
He lived and he died as a fate-guided pen.[108]
PEER.
[_Dizzily._]
What shall I——! What am I? Thou mighty——hold fast!
I am all that thou wilt,—I’m a Turk, I’m a sinner——
A hill-troll——; but help;—there was something that burst——!
[_Shrieks._
I cannot just hit on thy name at the moment;—
Oh, come to my aid, thou—all madmen’s protector!
[_Sinks down insensible._
BEGRIFFENFELDT.
[_With a wreath of straw in his hand, gives a bound
and sits astride of him._]
Ha! See him in the mire enthronëd;—
Beside himself——To crown him now!
[_Presses the wreath on PEER GYNT’S head, and shouts_:
Long life, long life to Self-hood’s Kaiser!
SCHAFMANN.
[_In the cage._]
Es lebe hoch der grosse Peer!
-----
Footnotes:
-----
Footnote 65:
In the original, “Master Cotton.”
Footnote 66:
A Swede. The name means “trumpet-blast.”
Footnote 67:
In the original (early editions), “Werry well.”
Footnote 68:
So in original.
Footnote 69:
This may not be a very lucid or even very precise rendering of
Verdensborgerdomsforpagtning; but this line, and indeed the
whole speech, is pure burlesque; and the exact sense of
nonsense is naturally elusive.
Footnote 70:
So in original.
Footnote 71:
Literally, “pack-camel.”
Footnote 72:
So in original.
Footnote 73:
So in original.
Footnote 74:
So in original.
Footnote 75:
So in original.
Footnote 76:
In the original “kejser.” We have elsewhere used the word
“Kaiser,” but in this scene, and in Scenes 7 and 8 of this
act, the ordinary English form seemed preferable.
Footnote 77:
So in original.
Footnote 78:
An allusion to the spurs with which Charles XII. is said to
have torn the caftan of the Turkish Vizier who announced to
him that the Sultan had concluded a truce with Russia. The
boots and spurs, it would appear, have been preserved, but
with the buckles missing.
Footnote 79:
So in original.
Footnote 80:
So in original.
Footnote 81:
So in original.
Footnote 82:
Mr. Cotton seems to have confounded Olympus with Parnassus.
Footnote 83:
So in original.
Footnote 84:
An allusion to the attitude of Sweden during the Danish War of
1863-64, with special reference to the diplomatic notes of the
Minister for Foreign Affairs, Grev Manderström. He is also
aimed at in the character of Hussein in the last scene of this
act. See Introduction.
Footnote 85:
So in original.
Footnote 86:
This is not to be taken as a burlesque instance of the poet’s
supposed preoccupation with questions of heredity, but simply
as an allusion to the fact that, in the East, thieving and
receiving are regular and hereditary professions.
Footnote 87:
This proposal was seriously mooted about ten years after the
appearance of _Peer Gynt_.
Footnote 88:
Or “ego.”
Footnote 89:
In original, “Pundsterling og shilling.”
Footnote 90:
In the original, “De har snydt——hm; jeg mener syndet, mit
barn!”
Footnote 91:
In the previous edition we restored the exact wording of
Goethe’s line, “zieht uns hinan.” We ought to have understood
that the point of the speech lay in the misquotation.
Footnote 92:
Literally, “on the basis of.”
Footnote 93:
So in original.
Footnote 94:
Literally, “you’re looed” or “euchred.”
Footnote 95:
Literally, “behave as though sober and wakeful.”
Footnote 96:
Literally, “_spirituel_.”
Footnote 97:
_Sidst_—literally, “when last we met.”
Footnote 98:
“Gå udenom,” the phrase used by the Boyg, Act ii. sc. 7.
Footnote 99:
So in original.
Footnote 100:
So in original.
Footnote 101:
This is understood to refer to the authors of the Greek
version of the Old Testament, known as the Septuagint. We are
unable to account for the hundred and sixty recruits to their
company.
Footnote 102:
See Introduction.
Footnote 103:
Literally, “generation.”
Footnote 104:
Literally, “uninterpreted.”
Footnote 105:
An allusion to the long period of stagnation in the history of
Norway under the Danish rule—say, from 1400 to 1800.
Footnote 106:
See note, p. 140.
Footnote 107:
The pounce-box (for strewing “pounce” or sand on undried ink)
had not yet been quite superseded by blotting-paper.
Footnote 108:
“En påholden pen.” “Underskrive med påholden pen”—to sign by
touching a pen which is guided by another.
-----
ACT FIFTH.
SCENE FIRST.
_On board a ship on the North Sea, off the Norwegian coast.
Sunset. Stormy weather._
_PEER GYNT, a vigorous old man, with grizzled hair and beard,
is standing aft on the poop. He is dressed half
sailor-fashion, with a pea-jacket and long boots. His
clothing is rather the worse for wear; he himself is
weather-beaten, and has a somewhat harder expression.
The CAPTAIN is standing beside the steersman at the
wheel. The crew are forward._