Peer Gynt and Brand

by Henrik Ibsen

  ‘He lived so that, through him, illiterates might leave a mark’.

  PEER [in a state of near collapse]:

  What should I …? What am I …? Oh, Lord! Hold fast!

  Whatever You want me to be – Turk, sinner,

  or mountain troll – there was a thing that burst –

  I nearly became a trolls’ dinner.

  [Screams.]

  Can’t quite call You to mind, sorry!

  ‘Our Lord is the guardian of fools.’ Some story.

  Sinks down unconscious.

  BEGRIFFENFELDT [with a wreath of straw in his hand sits down on top of PEER, straddling him]:

  See how his filth becomes him now.

  Ausser sich.54 A straw wreath for his brow.

  [Crams the wreath – it looks obscenely rakish – on PEER’s head and proclaims:]

  Long may he last – Self’s emperor!

  SCHAFMANN [from the cage]:

  Es lebe hoch der grosse Peer!55

  Act Five

  SCENE 1

  On board a ship in the North Sea off the coast of Norway. Sunset. Stormy weather. PEER, a sturdy old man with ice-grey hair and beard, is standing on the quarter deck. He is dressed partly in the manner of a mariner, with a pea jacket and sea boots. His clothing shows signs of wear. He himself is weatherbeaten, and his expression, over the years, has grown harder. The CAPTAIN is standing next to the HELMSMAN. The CREW are for’ard.

  PEER [resting his arms on the ship’s rail, gazing intently towards land]:

  And there’s the Halling ridge in his winter coat. He’s putting on

  a display, the old fellow, using the last of the sun.

  Behind, at an angle, I see there’s the Hardanger glacier, his twin.

  He’s not yet shed his mantle of green ice.

  Folgefonn, now, she’s always lain,

  looking virginal in the purest frozen linen.

  Don’t dance about so, two old men with one old woman.

  Stand as you’ve always stood, granite peaks firmly in place.

  CAPTAIN [shouting to the crew for’ard]:

  Two men at the helm! Make ready the signal-lantern.

  PEER: It’s a gusting wind.

  CAPTAIN:   Ay, there’s a storm building.

  PEER:        Will I

  be able to spy Rondane from this far out to sea?

  CAPTAIN: Unlikely, I would say; it stands behind Fonnen.

  PEER: How about Blåhøi, then?

  CAPTAIN: No, but from high in the rigging,

  in clear weather, you can just make out Galdhøpiggen …

  PEER: And Hårteigen?56

  CAPTAIN [pointing]:

  Where my finger …

  PEER:      That’s about right.

  CAPTAIN: It seems you know the region.

  PEER: When I shipped out

  I sailed past here but in the other direction.

  [Spits and stares towards the coastline.]

  There’s a blueness of light in those black rifts, I’ve remembered,

  those deep valleys that are as narrow as trenches, embedded,

  and, at the base of it all, the open fjord –

  that’s where folk in fact live,

  [Looks directly at the captain.]

  their biggings scattered.

  CAPTAIN: Aye, as they say, far between, far apart.

  PEER: Think we’ll be in before dawn?

  CAPTAIN:   Aye, thereabout,

  provided we don’t get storm-force these next hours.

  PEER: Cloud’s thickening in the west.

  CAPTAIN:   So it appears.

  PEER: When I settle up with you for my passage

  I have in mind a little something for the crew.

  CAPTAIN: They’ll appreciate that.

  PEER:   Nothing much to show,

  mind you. I’ve had gold but gold’s disappeared,

  for I’ve enjoyed fate’s kinds of usage

  more than once. You saw what I brought on board,

  reminders of lost wealth.

  CAPTAIN:   A more than adequate hoard

  to set you up in style when we arrive.

  PEER:   I’ve no kin,

  there’s no one waiting for the ugly rich old man.

  At least there’ll be no welcoming committee

  when we come alongside the quay.

  CAPTAIN: Storm’s here!

  PEER:   Hold on to what I’ve said.

  If any of the crew is truly in need

  I’ll not grudge my cash.

  CAPTAIN:   That is handsome indeed.

  Most are hard up, with wives and children at home.

  The ship’s wages, I fear, barely support them;

  so that with a bit of extra cash in pocket

  it could be such a homecoming as few would forget.

  PEER: They’ve wives and children, have they? They’re wedded!

  CAPTAIN: Wedded, ay wedded, the whole crew,

  though how could you be expected to know?

  The one in the tightest corner is the cook.

  Hunger in his house is well and truly at work.

  PEER: So, there is always someone watching and waiting

  and who rejoices when they come through the door.

  CAPTAIN: Indeed, as is the custom among the poor.

  PEER: And if they come towards evening, well, what more?

  What manner of greeting?

  CAPTAIN: Then, I imagine, the wife would bring out

  something that’s perhaps a bit tastier to eat,

  and a bit more of it.

  PEER: The oil lamp would be lit?

  CAPTAIN: Two, even; and she’d fetch him a dram of aquavit.

  PEER: They sit there, the two of them, side by side; for once

  they’ve a decent fire; the children shout and prance,

  they interrupt each other happily a lot?

  CAPTAIN: Yes, thanks to your benevolence …

  PEER [bringing his hands hard down on the ship’s rail]:

  They can forget that!

  Not a single piece of my coin shall go to the sustenance

  of other folks’ children. I’ll not be led that dance!

  I’ve done bitter hard labour for the little I’ve got.

  Let no man await Peer Gynt with his hand out.

  CAPTAIN: But, sir, the money is indeed yours, still

  to give or withhold. That is the owner’s right.

  PEER: And no one else’s! As soon as we’re berthed, I’ll

  give you what I owe: the money

  due for my passage from Panama,

  sole use of cabin. I’ll grant each man on board

  a shot of brandy, soon as the anchor’s heard.

  If I give more then hit me on the mouth hard.

  CAPTAIN: It’s a receipt you’ll get, sir, not a beating.

  Excuse me now: the wind’s at storm-force as we feared.

  He moves for’ard. It has become dark; lights are lit in the cabin. The sea-swell increases. Thick clouds and fog.

  PEER: Those beggars can work it, keeping a brat-pack in a poor home;

  they know how to stay in folks’ minds as a joy to come

  after so long a parting,

  to voyage tugging the hearts of loved ones in their wake.

  There’s never a single soul that I’ve left waiting.

  The lighted oil lamp – let it grow bleared,

  the room darkening, a malodorous wick.

  I’ll think of something richly detrimental

  to these wastrels one and all.

  I’ll make them drunk: not one of the whole boiling

  but shall come home to his wife reeling and yelling,

  calling on God to damn him and his heirs,

  smashing fist on tabletop and hurling chairs,

  driving wife and children out of their wits,

  the woman in fear of death, clutching her bairns close,

  stu
mbling out of the house.

  [The ship heels heavily; PEER lurches, then has difficulty staying upright.]

  The ship has the staggers. The sea heaves as if it’s

  in somebody’s pay.

  It’s always its old self, cussed and contrary,

  in these northern shipping lanes. Now it hits

  full across the bows! What’s that I heard?

  LOOKOUT [for’ard]:

  Wreck ahoy! Wreck to leeward!

  CAPTAIN [amidships giving commands]:

  Helm hard a’starboard! Hard up against the wind!

  HELMSMAN: Are there folk aboard?

  LOOKOUT: Can see three through the spray.

  PEER: Swing out the stern boat! Lower away!

  CAPTAIN: Swamped almost before we’d launched her, she’d be!

  Goes for’ard.

  PEER: Who’d have that on his mind

  at such a time? If you’re human you do it –

  so what if you get a bit wet?

  BOSUN: Can’t be done, not in this swell.

  PEER: They’re screaming yet! I felt the wind, just now, abate!

  Cook, there! You’ll dare? Do it, I’ll pay you well.

  You need the funds.

  COOK: Not if you gave me twenty English pounds!

  PEER: Cowards! You fritted curs! You’re all the same!

  These poor folk will have wives and children at home

  caught between hope and dread. Can’t you think of them?

  BOSUN: A bit of patience never did anyone harm.

  CAPTAIN: Hold her off from the breakers!

  BOSUN:   The wreck’s been

  swept somewhere astern.

  PEER: And now I can hear nothing but wind and sea.

  BOSUN: Well, if those poor fellows were wedded, as you say,

  there’s three freshly baked widows on the shelf today.

  The storm increases. PEER makes his way aft.

  PEER: No kind of bond exists between people any more,

  certainly not Christianity as it’s now taught everywhere;

  little of practical value gets done; and, as for prayer,

  as for the ‘everlasting arms’, folk couldn’t care less.

  In weather like tonight our Lord is dangerous.

  The brutes aboard this ship should consider that:

  it’s risky to meddle with forces elephantine

  as if you were merely tying back a loose buntline.

  Instead they spit

  in the face of His commandments. I on the other hand

  have a clear conscience about these latest events.

  I can prove, if need be, that I pulled cash from my pants

  and thrust it in their faces. Save those poor wretches, I cried!

  ‘An easy conscience makes for an easy bed’,

  that certainly holds good while you’re on land,

  but it’s not worth a fleck of foam on board,

  where a good man is pitched among the thieves.

  Privacy, at sea, is something that’s unheard

  of; you’re with a rabble, deck to keel.

  If God’s judgement – anytime now – strikes down

  bosun and cook, why, then, I also drown.

  Who notices one sausage when there’s scores to fill?

  You go down with the rabble when the vessel dives.

  My great mistake in life is that I’ve been

  too ready to oblige, too pliable.

  Brutish ingratitude repays my trouble.

  If I were younger I’d review the course

  of my whole life, change to another horse,

  or briefly have a go at being boss.

  Still time for that, I imagine; will not the word

  fly round the village and up the fjord

  that Peer’s at last set down from his aery road

  over and across the world’s oceans? I’ll

  win back the farm by fair means or foul;

  I shall rebuild it; it will gleam like a castle.

  But no one who spurned me shall come into the hall.

  Outside the gate they shall stand, twisting their greasy caps,

  whingeing and pleading with their wretched hopes.

  But none shall have a shilling of what’s mine.

  They saw that I writhed repeatedly under fate’s goad.

  There must surely be others whom I can goad in return.

  A STRANGE PASSENGER appears beside PEER, out of the darkness, and gives him a friendly greeting.

  PASSENGER: Good evening!

  PEER:   Evening. Don’t believe I’ve seen …

  PASSENGER: I am the companion of your voyage.

  PEER:      I have been

  the sole passenger throughout the entire trip;

  the captain assured me of that.

  PASSENGER:   A slight misapprehension,

  happily resolved between us. I should mention …

  PEER: But how, then, did you keep

  for so long out of sight?

  PASSENGER: I have walked only by night.

  PEER: You’ve been ill, is that it?

  Even now, you’re as white as a sheet.

  PASSENGER: Thank you, but I am perfectly well.

  PEER: And we have this terrible storm the while.

  PASSENGER: I would call it more glorious than terrible.

  PEER: Glorious?

  PASSENGER:   Yes, my friend; it makes my teeth drool

  with the ecstasy of it! The dwellings it could uproot,

  the carnage it will consummate this night,

  the blue-white corpses that it will fling ashore.

  PEER: Heaven protect us!

  PASSENGER:   Three forms of death excite

  our gaze: by water, noose and garrotte.

  PEER: Now you go much too far!

  PASSENGER: The corpses grin but their laughter is contained;

  and most have bitten through their tongues, you’ll find.

  PEER: I want no more of this!

  PASSENGER:   One question, then:

  suppose we are wrecked this night and you drown

  while I bob up …

  PEER:   What rubbish!

  PASSENGER:      Just suppose;

  indulge me; if, while you’re halfway down,

  you get frantically generous, start to disown,

  because of remorse …

  PEER [clutching his pocket]:

  My money, ha!

  PASSENGER:   Your money, no. What I would wish of your

  largesse is your cadaver, highly respected sir.

  PEER: This is disgusting.

  PASSENGER:   Merely the corpse, no more.

  It will inspire my scientific work.

  PEER:      Vile clown!

  PASSENGER: But, my dear man, you too will gain.

  I’ll rip up to the light your secret seams;

  perhaps in you I shall find the plexus of dreams

  believed not to exist …

  PEER:   Get thee hence, I command!

  PASSENGER: … analyse its contents.

  Do please agree. With one so freshly drowned …

  PEER: Blasphemous tempter, whipper-up of deluge,

  or is that thought too wild? Wild winds at large,

  towering waves, all among other portents:

  you seem intent on bringing death upon us.

  PASSENGER: You’re clearly in no mood to discuss plans.

  But, then, the whirligig of time’s the thing.

  [Takes his leave in a most amiable manner.]

  Perhaps, when you’re going down for the third time,

  we’ll meet again and do some bargaining.

  Perhaps you’ll then be in a better frame

  of mind.

  Enters the cabin.

  PEER:   What weird blinkers

  these scientists wear; self-obsessed Free-thinkers.

  [To the BOSUN, as he goes past] />
  A word, my friend.

  From what madhouse did he abscond,

  my strangely disposed fellow passenger?

  BOSUN: You are the only stranger here.

  PEER: This is going from bad to worse, I fear.

  [To an ABLE SEAMAN, who is leaving the cabin]

  Who just entered through the cabin door?

  SEAMAN: All I saw enter was the ship’s dog, sir.

  Continues on his way.

  LOOKOUT [screams]:

  Breakers ahead!

  PEER:   My suitcase! My travelling chest!

  All my belongings to be saved first!

  BOSUN: We’ve worse things to think of. Out of the way!

  PEER: Aye aye, bosun, just nonsense, harmless play,

  my little joke. Of course I’ll help the cook.

  CAPTAIN: The jib’s blown to tatters!

  HELMSMAN:   The foresail’s in shreds!

  BOSUN [yelling]:

  She’s aground any minute!

  CAPTAIN:   The masts will be down on our heads!

  The ship drives on to the rocks. Terrible sounds. Dreadful confusion.

  SCENE 2

  Inshore amongst reefs half-covered in surf; the ship is wedged, broken-backed. In the fog you can just make out a ship’s dinghy, which contains two men. A wave capsizes it; a scream is heard; after that a brief silence. Then the keel of the upturned dinghy can be seen. PEER’s head emerges near the boat.

  PEER: Ahoy, ashore! Row out and save me!

  The Good Book says you must! Believe me!

  Clings desperately to the dinghy’s keel. The COOK’s head emerges on the opposite side.

  COOK: Lord, spare me for my starving band

  of little children! Help me safe to land!

  Clings to the keel.

  PEER: Let go!

  COOK: No, you!

  PEER: I’ll break …

  COOK: … your neck!

  PEER: I’ll drub your bones, I’ll stop your breath!

  Let go, this thing won’t bear us both.

  COOK: I know! Gerroff!

  PEER:   No! You gerroff!

  They struggle; one of the COOK’s hands is injured; with the other he still clings desperately to the keel.

  PEER: Let go, I say!

  COOK:   Sir, spare my life,

  I beg! My children! My poor wife!

  PEER: My life’s more valuable than yours,

  I haven’t yet begotten heirs.

  COOK: You’ve lived your life; I’ve mine to live; I …

  PEER: Sink, damn you, sink! You’re too heavy.

  COOK: Oh spare me, sir, in the Lord’s name.

  You’ve nobody to grieve at home.

  [Screams and lets go.]

  I’m going!

  PEER [seizing a fistful of hair]:

  While I’ve got your hair