Peer Gynt and Brand

by Henrik Ibsen

  WOMAN:     Yes. You can surely tell a pig by its hide.

  You’ve eyes, haven’t you? Can’t you see he has crippled shanks

  as you have a crippled mind?

  PEER:         You tell me that warped kid

  is some brat of mine?

  WOMAN:      He has grown quickly.

  PEER:             Vile snout of oinks,

  you dare blame me for him?

  WOMAN:          Why not, you get, you goat?

  You suit well.

  [Weeping]

        Is it my fault I’m not the girl you met

  among the meadows and hills, when I was virgin yet,

  and made your victim? When I gave birth last fall

  old Katten rubbed my back; small wonder I am foul.

  If you desire me fair, fair as I was before,

  it’s time you showed that wench in there the door.

  Put her out of mind as you remove her from sight.

  Do it, my dear love, and my face will look right!

  PEER: Get thee far hence, thou troll-witch!

  WOMAN:           See me do it.

  PEER: I’ll split thy skull to shivers!

  WOMAN:         Do that, you’ll rue it.

  Ho-ho, Peer Gynt, I’m proof against any dunt

  of blows you might rain down. Each single day

  I’ll nudge your door and leer at your content:

  you in your tender dalliance and play,

  playful tenderness mounting to full desire.

  I’ll lie between you and demand my share;

  or she and I will share; you’ll lie between us.

  Briefly, farewell; tomorrow we shall be wed.

  PEER: Out of my sight, thou damned obsceneness!

  WOMAN: Wait! I almost forgot: this child is yours to raise,

  light-footed one! Devil’s imp, greet your dad.

  CHILD [spitting at him]:

  Pfff! See me set my axe to him instead.

  WOMAN [kissing the child]:

  What a wise head there is on that small body.

  When grown he’ll be the spitting image of daddy.

  PEER [stamping his foot in wild vexation]:

  I wish – I wish – you were as far …

  WOMAN:        As we now are near?

  PEER [wringing his hands]:

  And this …

  WOMAN: … is born of idleness and vanity and lust.

  I pity you, Peer.

  PEER:    Better you pity her. Solveig! my best,

  my clearest, purest gold!

  WOMAN:       Ah, yes, as Old Nick says,

  it is the innocent who are hurt the most.

  His mother beat him for his father’s drunken ways.

  The CHILD throws his ale bowl at PEER. Then the WOMAN IN GREEN takes him abruptly by the hand and walks with him into the copse.

  PEER [after a protracted silence]:

  Best go round and about, the Boyg said. I need to do that here.

  My great house has toppled with an almighty din.

  I had enclosed her – her to whom I simply wished to be near,

  suddenly making desire ugly, turning joy into an old pain.

  Go around, make a detour. There is no straight path from you to her.

  Straight path? Strait gate? Isn’t there something given

  in the great Book concerning seventy times seven,

  something else about the direct route to heaven?

  But what – what does it say? I long ago lost the book,

  have forgotten most of it; nor can I look

  for any counsel here in this bleak yonder.

  Repentance? Doesn’t that take too much of your precious time

  with all to hazard: a meagre life of self-harm,

  breaking to fragments all those precious things –

  the delicate, the lovely, the calm – to which one clings,

  only to piece together what one has put asunder,

  mostly in vain. It’s as fragile as a clock:

  no matter what tinkering the thing won’t work.

  In order to let grow the plants you’ve sown

  be very careful not to tread them down.

  But what lies were expelled via that witch’s snout!

  Even though the abomination is no longer about,

  out of sight, alas, does not mean out of mind.

  Ugly thoughts have a way of hanging around:

  Ingrid, for one; and the three randy girls

  with whom I had a fine time on the hills.

  Will they also, with a kind of laughing anger,

  claim, like her, that they still belong here,

  here, in my embrace, to be lifted as one would lift a child

  with arms outstretched, so innocent, so fulfilled?

  Ah, Peer, if your arms were the length of a tree’s height –

  pine, spruce – you would still hold her too close, too tight,

  to let her go again without the taint of your lust!

  Somehow or other this must be sidled past

  without illicit gains but also without shipwreck.

  One must push certain things away; contrive they don’t creep back.

  [Takes a few steps towards the cabin, then stops.]

  Go back to her after all this? So ugly, so utterly ruined?

  Go back to her now, with that troll-pack so close behind?

  To speak to her yet be silent, still nursing the unconfessed …

  [He lets the axe drop.]

  And this the eve of the holy day! Trysting with Christ

  in my present state would be a mortal sin.

  SOLVEIG [appearing at the open half-door]:

  All finished there? Are you coming in?

  PEER [sotto voce]:

  Say rather, coming around.

  SOLVEIG:     What’s that …?

  PEER:         I said, stay where you are.

  It’s dark; and there’s something heavy out here.

  SOLVEIG: Then let me help. For that, two are better than one.

  PEER: Solveig, stay there. This burden I must bear alone.

  SOLVEIG: Then don’t stray too far …

  PEER:          Be patient, my own girl;

  far or near you must wait a fair while.

  SOLVEIG:            I shall.

  PEER walks away, following the wilderness path. SOLVEIG remains standing at the open half-door.

  SCENE 4

  AASE’s cabin at evening. A log fire is burning on the hearth, the only light in the room. The cat sits on a chair at the foot of the bed. AASE is lying in the bed, her hands moving restlessly on the bedcover.

  AASE: Is he not coming, Lord?

  For I am tired of waiting.

  No one to take him word;

  I with no power of writing.

  Tell him to hasten, Lord.

  So suddenly I’ve been stricken!

  Ah, was I then too hard

  when the child wouldn’t hearken?

  PEER enters.

  PEER: Mother!

  AASE:    My son! May God

  in His great goodness bless you!

  You’ve not come by the road?

  You’re dead if some foe sees you!

  PEER: My life – who cares about that

  now we’re together

  AASE: Well, Kari has words to eat.

  I must go far, and farther;

  like Simeon depart in peace.

  PEER: Mother, what are you saying?

  What kind of journey is this?

  AASE: Peer, dear son, I am dying.

  We have but a short time.

  PEER [draws away from her, moves a little distance apart]:

  I can bear no one’s burden.

  I thought, why not go home?

  Guilt will not so bear down.r />
  I was wrong. Are your hands cold,

  and your feet?

  AASE:     All will be over

  soon. When my eyes grow dulled

  close them gently for ever.

  My coffin also, see to my

  coffin; and let all be splendid.

  What am I saying?

  PEER:       There’ll be time

  to reconsider.

  AASE:     Look what those men did!

  They left me so little.

  PEER [pulling brusquely away yet again]:

           My fault –

  I’ve no need of reminders!

  AASE: Son, let us lay the guilt:

  ’twas drink, wherein all founders.

  Yes, you were drunk, way back,

  and not in right possession

  of your senses. You rode that buck

  in your brain. It stands to reason.

  PEER: Just as you say. We’ll forget –

  as you say – the whole sorry story.

  Such heaviness we’ll set

  aside for another day.

  [He sits down on the edge of the bed.]

  Just about homely things

  let us talk together;

  forgetful of past wrongs,

  a son with his mother.

  And, see here, the old cat

  is alive still and thriving.

  AASE: It yowls something dreadful at night.

  ’Tis a sign of …

  PEER [quickly changing the subject]:

        Village behaving,

  I take it?

  AASE [smiles faintly]:

      They say there’s a lass –

  no names – who pines for the mountain.

  PEER [hastily]:

  Mads Moen, how is he these days?

  He’s no wife to maintain.

  AASE: And she turns a deaf ear

  to her old folks, they tell me.

  Perhaps you should visit her;

  it might cure her melancholy.

  PEER: Aslak the smith: what’s become

  of Aslak?

  AASE:   That dirty no-good!

  I’d rather tell you the name

  of one who should be wooed.

  PEER: We’ve said that we’ll forget –

  as you say – the sorry story.

  Such heaviness we’ll set

  aside for a later day.

  Are you thirsty? Would you like a drink?

  Lie straight, can you? The bed should be longer.

  Good heavens, well here’s a thing!

  This was my bed as a youngster!

  So often you sat on the edge here,

  and sang those improvised verses,

  and spread my sheepskin with care –

  and your goodnight kisses …

  AASE: So you remember, dear lad!

  And how we played at sledding.

  We journeyed far on this bed,

  vast distances, riding and riding …

  PEER: Always when he was away,

  my father, such wonderful stories.

  And the pinnacle of our play,

  Mother, those wondrous horses!

  AASE: As if I could ever forget them.

  Kari’s cat was our accomplice

  in a contented dream.

  PEER: My bedroom, for us, became ice-

  castles west of the moon,

  east of where the sun rises,

  and that castle of enchanted stone

  with its gilded trellises:

  BOTH: Soria Moria!14

  PEER:       You took

  a stick for a whip-handle.

  AASE: And you in your travelling cloak –

  the sheepskin …

  PEER:      Distances dwindle!

  And yet you took such care

  of me then; and as we journeyed,

  your whip-hand and rein-hand so sure,

  ‘Not cold, Peer?’ gently inquired.

  God bless you, then, after all,

  you old fright; you were loving

  when all is said, and loved well.

  In pain? Do you need moving?

  AASE: My back, son; it’s this hard board.

  PEER: Stretch out, I’ll support you.

  There, now, is it less hard?

  Does anything still hurt you?

  AASE: I have to be on my way,

  son Peer; I long to be taken.

  PEER: A foolish thing to say,

  Ma; wrap yourself in the sheepskin.

  I’ll stay with you, sit here

  on the bedside. More make-believe

  is what’s called for.

  AASE:       No, Peer,

  it’s that sermon book I must have,

  my mind’s so troubled yet.

  PEER: ‘In Soria Moria Castle

  there is a great feast set.’

  In the big sled-rug nestle

  (we’re racing over the heath)

  and the velvet cushions.

  AASE: But am I invited?

  PEER:        We both,

  Mother, are important persons.

  [He hitches a rope to the chair on which the cat is lying, takes a stick in his hand and sits at the foot of the bed.]

  Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up!

  Say you’re not too cold, Mother.

  My word! Grane can skip –

  famed steed of the dragon-slayer!

  AASE: My son, what is it now

  that I hear ringing?

  PEER: ‘The harness bells, I trow.’

  AASE: It is a more hollow song.

  PEER: Why, now we’re crossing a fjord …

  AASE: It roars, and I’m still frightened.

  PEER: ‘Spruce trees chanting, for hard

  blows the wind over the heathland.’

  Lie still.

  AASE:   That welcome light,

  from where does it shine so bravely?

  PEER: ‘From that fine castle upon the height.’

  Music and dancing. Are they not lovely?

  AASE: They are indeed.

  PEER:        St Peter

  stands outside that portal.

  He says, ‘I must soon meet her,

  that fine lady of whom I hear tell.’

  AASE: So he greets us kindly?

  PEER: He does, and with great honour.

  The best wine to be found he

  sets aside for your dinner.

  AASE: D’you think they have cakes too?

  PEER: Cakes? Why, cakes a-plenty.

  The archdeacon’s wife says so:

  high tea awaiting your entry.

  AASE: What? You and me both

  to be welcomed there together

  by that fine lady of worth?

  PEER: Indeed we are, Mother.

  AASE: Well, well, such a joyful throng,

  such a joyous welcome,

  and for me, such a poor thing.

  PEER [cracks the whip]:

  Giddy-up, Grane, we’ll soon be home!

  AASE: Is it the right road we are on?

  PEER [once more cracking the whip]:

  Yes, and it is famed widely,

  ‘The Broad Highway’, as it is known.

  AASE: Must you drive quite so speedily?

  It does things to my poor head.

  PEER: But see, the castle’s nearer;

  it’s almost over, our ride.

  AASE: I’ll close my eyes for a while, dear.

  I’m in good hands, I know.

  PEER: Come on Grane, move your haunches!

  Towards the castle the great throngs go,

  like reversed avalanches.

  Hey! You who block our way,

  Gynt and Co. seek entry!

  Herr St Peter, what do you say?

  Mother’s a relict of the old gentry;

  and honest as they come. I won’t

  sing you my
own praises.

  I won’t be staying; content

  as I am to have been of service.

  Pour me a drink, I’ll gulp it.

  If not, not. I hand lies down

  like Old Nick from the pulpit,

  jovially, in his black gown.

  I called my mother an old hen

  – such brooding and pecking.

  Now I need you to take her in

  with nice etiquetting.

  There’s none better en route

  from the old neighbourhood,

  I can tell you that strong and hot.

  Bravo! Here’s kind old Father God.

  He’ll tell you what’s what, St Peter:

  [Adopting a deep and solemn voice]

  ‘That’s quite enough of that’ – you’ll see! –

  ‘I’m telling you straight, Herr Janitor,

  Mother Aase’s to be let in free!’

  [Laughs uproariously and turns to speak to his MOTHER.]

  Isn’t that what I prophesied –

  a progressive suggestion?

  [Suddenly afraid.]

  Why are your eyes so dead,

  Mother? Answer my question …

  [Goes to the head of the bed.]

  Speak, Mother: it’s Peer, your son!

  Don’t just lie there staring.

  [Gently lays his hand on her forehead; places the rope back on the chair; says, in a hushed voice.]

  Well, Grane, you can return

  to your ancient careering.

  [He leans over and closes AASE’s eyes.]

  My thanks, then, for those long games,

  the thrashings, the lullabies.

  You’re to thank me betimes

  for the nice ride.

  [Presses his cheek against her mouth.]

         That will suffice.

  KARI [enters]:

  Peer? You here? You keep well

  your heavy vigil. Sorrow and need

  become our kind. But I can’t tell

  whether she sleeps …

  PEER:        She sleeps. Aase is dead.

  KARI begins to weep over AASE’s body. PEER walks to and fro in the room for some considerable time. He stops beside the bed.

  PEER: I’ll try my luck, slip away.

  Please give my mother decent burial.

  KARI: Shall you travel far?

  PEER:          First to the sea.

  KARI: That far?

  PEER:     And from there further still.

  He leaves.

  Act Four

  SCENE 1

  On the southwest coast of Morocco. A grove of palm trees. A table laid for dinner; there are hammocks. Offshore lies a steam yacht flying both Norwegian and American flags. A dinghy is drawn up on the beach. The sun is sinking. PEER, a distinguished-looking middle-aged gentleman clad in an elegant travelling-suit with a gold pince-nez dangling on his breast, is presiding at table. MR COTTON, MONSIEUR BALLON, HERR VON EBERKOPF and HERR TRUMPETERSTRAALE are his guests. The meal is drawing to a close.