[Leaps forward, but runs his head against a rock, falls, and remains stretched on the ground.

SCENE FIFTH.

A hillside, wooded with great soughing trees. Stars are gleaming through the leaves; birds are singing in the tree-tops.

A Green-clad Woman is crossing the hillside; Peer Gynt follows her, with all sorts of lover-like antics.

The Green-clad One.
[Stops and turns round.]
Is it true?
Peer.
[Drawing his finger across his throat.]
As true as my name is Peer;—
As true as that you are a lovely woman!
Will you have me? You’ll see what a fine man I’ll be;
You shall neither tread the loom nor turn the spindle.
You shall eat all you want, till you’re ready to burst.
I never will drag you about by the hair——
The Green-clad One.
Nor beat me!
Peer.
No, can you think I would!
We kings’ sons never beat women and such.
The Green-clad One.
You’re a king’s son?son?
Peer.
Yes.
The Green-clad One.
I’m the Dovrë-King’s daughter.
Peer.
Are you! See there, now, how well that fits in!
The Green-clad One.
Deep in the Rondë has father his palace.
Peer.
My mother’s is bigger, or much I’m mistaken.
The Green-clad One.
Do you know my father? His name is King Brosë.[50]
Peer.
Do you know my mother? Her name is Queen Åsë.
The Green-clad One.
When my father is angry the mountains are riven.
Peer.
They reel when my mother by chance falls a-scolding.
The Green-clad One.
My father can kick e’en the loftiest roof-tree.[51]
Peer.
My mother can ride through the rapidest river.
The Green-clad One.
Have you other garments besides those rags?
Peer.
Ho, you should just see my Sunday clothes!
The Green-clad One.
My week-day gown is of gold and silk.
Peer.
It looks to me liker tow and straws.
The Green-clad One.
Ay, there is one thing you must remember:—
This is the Rondë-folk’s use and wont:
All our possessions have two-fold form.
When shall you come to my father’s hall,
It well may chance that you’re on the point
Of thinking you stand in a dismal moraine.
Peer.
Well now, with us it’sit’s precisely the same.
Our gold will seem to you litter and trash!
And you’ll think, mayhap, every glittering pane
Is nought but a bunch of old stockings and clouts.
The Green-clad One.
Black it seems white, and ugly seems fair.
Peer.
Big it seems little, and dirty seems clean.
The Green-clad One.
[Falling on his neck.]
Ay, Peer, now I see that we fit, you and I!
Peer.
Like the leg and the trouser, the hair and the comb.
The Green-clad One.
[Calls away over the hillside.]
Bridal-steed! Bridal-steed! Come, bridal-steed mine!

[A gigantic pig comes running in with a rope’s end for a bridle and an old sack for a saddle. Peer Gynt vaults on its back, and seats the Green-clad One in front of him.

Peer.
Hark-away! Through the Rondë-gate gallop we in!
Gee-up, gee-up, my courser fine!
The Green-clad One.
[Tenderly.]
Ah, but lately I wandered and moped and pined—
One never can tell what may happen to one!
Peer.
[Thrashing the pig and trotting off.]
You may know the great by their riding gear!

SCENE SIXTH.

The Royal Hall of the King of the Dovrë-Trolls. A great assembly of Troll-courtiers, Gnomes, and Brownies. The Old Man of the Dovrë sits on the throne, crowned, and with his sceptre in his hand. His CHILDREN and NEAREST RELATIONS are ranged on both sides. Peer Gynt stands before him. Violent commotion in the hall.

The Troll-courtiers.
Slay him! a Christian-man’s son has deluded
The Dovrë-King’s loveliest maid!
A Troll-imp.
May I hack him on the fingers?
Another.
May I tug him by the hair?
A Troll-maiden.
Hu, hei, let me bite him in the haunches!
A Troll-witch.
[With a ladle.]
Shall he be boiled into broth and bree?
Another Troll-witch.
[With a chopper.]
Shall he roast on a spit or be browned in a stewpan?
The Old Man of the Dovrë.
Ice to your blood, friends!
[Beckons his counsellors closer around him.
Don’t let us talk big.
We’ve been drifting astern in these latter years;
We can’t tell what’s going to stand or to fall,
And there’s no sense in turning recruits away.
Besides the lad’s body has scarce a blemish,
And he’s strongly-built too, if I see aright.
It’s true, he has only a single head;
But my daughter, too, has no more than one.
Three-headed trolls are gone clean out of fashion;
One hardly sees even a two-header now,
And even those heads are but so-so ones.
[To Peer Gynt.]
It’s my daughter, then, you demand of me?
Peer.
Your daughter and the realm to her dowry, yes.
The Old Man.
You shall have the half while I’m still alive,
And the other half when I come to die.
Peer.
I’m content with that.
The Old Man.
Ay, but stop, my lad;—
You also have some undertakings to give.
If you break even one, the whole pact’s at an end,
And you’ll never get away from here living.
First of all you must swear that you’ll never give heed
To aught that lies outside the Rondë-hills’ bounds;
Day you must shun, and deeds, and each sunlit spot.
Peer.
Only call me king, and that’s easy to keep.
The Old Man.
And next—now for putting your wits to the test.
[Draws himself up in his seat.
The Oldest Troll-courtier.
[To Peer Gynt.]
Let us see if you have a wisdom-tooth
That can crack the Dovrë-King’s riddle-nut!
The Old Man.
What difference is there ’twixt trolls and men?
Peer.
No difference at all, as it seems to me.
Big trolls would roast you and small trolls would claw you;—
With us it were likewise, if only they dared.
The Old Man.
True enough; in that and in more we’re alike.
Yet morning is morning, and even is even,
And there is a difference all the same.—
Now let me tell you wherein it lies:
Out yonder, under the shining vault,
Among men the saying goes: “Man“Man, be thyself!”
At home here with us, ’mid the tribe of the trolls,
The saying goes: “Troll, to thyself be—enough!”
The Troll-courtier.
[To Peer Gynt.]
Can you fathom the depth?
Peer.
It strikes me as misty.
The Old Man.
My son, that “Enough,” that most potent and sundering
Word, must be graven upon your escutcheon.
Peer.
[Scratching his head.]
Well, but——
The Old Man.
It must, if you here would be master!
Peer.
Oh well, let it pass; after all, it’s no worse——
The Old Man.
And next you must learn to appreciate
Our homely, everyday way of life.

[He beckons; two Trolls with pigs’-heads, white night-caps, and so forth, bring in food and drink.

The cow gives cakes and the bullock mead;
Ask not if its taste be sour or sweet;
The main matter is, and you mustn’t forget it,
It’s all of it home-brewed.
Peer.
[Pushing the things away from him.]
The devil fly off with your home-brewed drinks!drinks!
I’ll never get used to the ways of this land.
The Old Man.
The bowl’s given in, and it’s fashioned of gold.
Whoso own the gold bowl, him my daughter holds dear.
Peer.
[Pondering.]
It is written: Thou shalt bridle the natural man;—
And I daresay the drink may in time seem less sour.
So be it!
[Complies.
The Old Man.
Ay, that was sagaciously said.
You spit?
Peer.
One must trust to the force of habit.
The Old Man.
And next you must throw off your Christian-man’s garb;
For this you must know to our Dovrë’s renown:
Here all things are mountain-made, nought’s from the dale,
Except the silk bow at the end of your tail.
Peer.
[Indignant.]
I haven’t a tail!
The Old Man.
Then of course you must get one.
See my Sunday-tail, Chamberlain, fastened to him.
Peer.
I’ll be hanged if you do! Would you make me a fool?
The Old Man.
None comes courting my child with no tail at his rear.
Peer.
Make a beast of a man!
The Old Man.
Nay, my son, you mistake;
I make you a mannerly wooer, no more.
A bright orange bow we’ll allow you to wear,
And that passes here for the highest of honours.
Peer.
[Reflectively.]
It’s true, as the saying goes: Man’s but a mote.
And it’s wisest to follow the fashion a bit.
Tie away!
The Old Man.
You’re a tractable fellow, I see.
The Courtier.
Just try with what grace you can waggle and whisk it!
Peer.
[Peevishly.]
Ha, would you force me to go still further?
Do you ask me to give up my Christian faith?
The Old Man.
No, that you are welcome to keep in peace.
Doctrine goes free; upon that there’s no duty;
It’s the outward cut one must tell a troll by.
If we’re only at one in our manners and dress,
You may hold as your faith what to us is a horror.
Peer.
Why, in spite of your many conditions, you are
A more reasonable chap than one might have expected.
The Old Man.
We troll-folk, my son, are less black than we’re painted;[52]
That’s another distinction between you and us.—
But the serious part of the meeting is over;
Now let us gladden our ears and our eyes.
Music-maid, forth! Set the Dovrë-harp sounding!
Dancing-maid, forth! Tread the Dovrë-hall’s floor!
[Music and a dance.
The Courtier.
How like you it?
Peer.
Like it? H’m——
The Old Man.
Speak without fear!
What see you?
Peer.
Why something unspeakably grim:[53]
A bell-cow with her hoof on a gut-harp strumming.
A sow in socklets a-trip to the tune.
The Courtiers.
Eat him!
The Old Man.
His sense is but human, remember!
Troll-Maidens.
Hu, tear away both his ears and his eyes!
The Green-clad One.
[Weeping.]
Hu-hu! And this we must hear and put up with,
When I and my sister make music and dance.
Peer.
Oho, was it you? Well, a joke at the feast,
You must know, is never unkindly meant.
The Green clad One.
Can you swear it was so?
Peer.
Both the dance and the music
Were utterly charming, the cat claw me else.
The Old Man.
This same human nature’s a singular thing;
It sticks to people so strangely long.
If it gets a gash in the fight with us,
It heals up at once, though a scar may remain.
My son-in-law, now, is as pliant as any;
He’s willingly thrown off his Christian-man’s garb,
He’s willingly drunk from our chalice of mead,
He’s willingly fastened the tail to his back,—
So willing, in short, did we find him in all things,
I thought to myself the old Adam, for certain,
Had for good and all been kicked out of doors;
But lo! in two shakes he’s atop again!
Ay ay, my son, we must treat you, I see,
To cure this pestilent human nature.
Peer.
What will you do?
The Old Man.
In your left eye, first,
I’ll scratch you a bit, till you see awry;
But all that you see will seem fine and brave.
And then I’ll just cut your right window-pane out——
Peer.
Are you drunk?
The Old Man.
[Lays a number of sharp instruments on the table.]
See, here are the glazier’s tools.
Blinkers you’ll wear, like a raging bull.
Then you’ll recognise that your bride is lovely,—
And ne’er will your vision be troubled, as now,
With bell-cows harping and sows that dance.
Peer.
This is madman’s talk!
The Oldest Courtier.
It’s the Dovrë-King speaking;
’Tis he that is wise, and ’tis you that are crazy!
The Old Man.
Just think how much worry and mortification
You’ll thus escape from, year out, year in.
You must remember, your eyes are the fountain
Of the bitter and searing lye of tears.
Peer.
That’s true; and it says in our sermon-book:
If thine eye offend thee, then pluck it out.
But tell me, when will my sight heal up
Into human sight?
The Old Man.
Nevermore, my friend.
Peer.
Indeed! In that case, I’ll take my leave.
The Old Man.
What would you without?
Peer.
I would go my way.
The Old Man.
No, stop! It’s easy to slip in here,
But outward the Dovrë-King’s gate opens not.
Peer.
You wouldn’t detain me by force, I hope?
The Old Man.
Come now, just listen to reason, Prince Peer!
You have gifts for trolldom. He acts—does he not?—
Even now in a passably troll-like fashion?
And you’d fain be a troll?
Peer.
Yes, I would, sure enough.
For a bride, and a well-managed kingdom to boot,
I can put up with losing a good many things.
But there is a limit to all things on earth.
The tail I’ve accepted, it’s perfectly true;
But no doubt I can loose what the Chamberlain tied.
My breeches I’ve dropped; they were old and patched;
But no doubt I can button them on again.
And lightly enough I can slip my cable
From these your Dovrëfied ways of life.
I am willing to swear that a cow is a maid;
An oath one can always eat up again;—
But to know that one never can free oneself,
That one can’t even die like a decent soul;
To live as a hill-troll for all one’s days—
To feel that one never can beat a retreat,—
As the book has it, that’s what your heart is set on;
But that is a thing I can never agree to.
The Old Man.
Now, sure as I live, I shall soon lose my temper;
And then I am not to be trifled with.
You pasty-faced loon! Do you know who I am?
First with my daughter you make too free——
Peer.
There you lie in your throat!