Peer.
You’re surely not meaning to melt me up,
With Dick, Tom, and Hal,[131] into something new?
The Button-moulder.
That just what I do mean, and nothing else.
We’ve done it already to plenty of folks.
At Kongsberg[132] they do just the same with coin
That’s been current so long that its impress is lost.
Peer.
But this is the wretchedest miserliness!
My dear good friend, let me get off free;—
A loopless button, a worn out farthing,—
What is that to a man in your Master’s position?
The Button-moulder.
Oh, so long as, and seeing, the spirit is in you,
You always have value as so much metal.
Peer.
No, I say! No! With both teeth and claws
I’ll fight against this! Sooner anything else!
The Button-moulder.
But what else? Come now, be reasonable.
You know you’re not airy enough for heaven——
Peer.
I’m not hard to content; I don’t aim so high;—
But I won’t be deprived of one doit of my Self.
Have me judged by the law in the old-fashioned way!
For a certain time place me with Him of the Hoof;—
Say a hundred years, come the worst to the worst;
That, now, is a thing that one surely can bear;
They say that the torment is moral no more,
So it can’t be so pyramid-like after all.
It is, as ’tis written, a mere transition;
And as the fox said: One waits; there comes
An hour of deliverance; one lives in seclusion,
And hopes in the meantime for happier days.—
But this other notion—to have to be merged,
Like a mote, in the carcass of some outsider,—
This casting-ladle business, this Gynt-cessation,—
It stirs up my innermost soul in revolt!
The Button-moulder.
Bless me, my dear Peer, there is surely no need
To get so wrought up about trifles like this.
Yourself you never have been at all;—
Then what does it matter, your dying right out?
Peer.
Have I not been——? I could almost laugh!
Peer Gynt, then, has been something else, I suppose!
No, Button-moulder, you judge in the dark.
If you could but look into my very reins,
You’d find only Peer there, and Peer all through,—
Nothing else in the world, no, nor anything more.
The Button-moulder.
It’s impossible. Here I have got my orders.
Look, here it is written: Peer Gynt shalt thou summon.
He has set at defiance his life’s design;
Clap him into the ladle with other spoilt goods.
Peer.
What nonsense! They must mean some other person.
Is it really Peer? It’s not Rasmus, or Jon?
The Button-moulder.
It is many a day since I melted them.
So come quietly now, and don’t waste my time.
Peer.
I’ll be damned if I do! Ay, ’twould be a fine thing
If it turned out to-morrow some one else was meant.
You’d better take care what you’re at, my good man!
Think of the onus you’re taking upon you——
The Button-moulder.
I have it in writing——
Peer.
At least give me time!
The Button-moulder.
What good would that do you?
Peer.
I’ll use it to prove
That I’ve been myself all the days of my life;
And that’s the question that’s in dispute.
The Button-moulder.
You’ll prove it? And how?
Peer.
Why, by vouchers and witnesses.
The Button-moulder.
I’m sadly afraid Master will not accept them.
Peer.
Impossible! However, enough for the day[133]—!
My dear man, allow me a loan of myself;
I’ll be back again shortly. One is born only once,
And one’s self, as created, one fain would stick to.
Come, are we agreed?
The Button-moulder.
Very well then, so be it.
But remember, we meet at the next cross-roads.
[Peer Gynt runs off.

SCENE EIGHTH.

A further point on the heath.

Peer.
[Running hard.]
Time is money, as the Scripture says.
If I only knew where the cross-roads are;—
They may be near and they may be far.
The earth burns beneath me like red-hot iron.
A witness! A witness! Oh, where shall I find one?
It’s almost unthinkable here in the forest.
The world is a bungle! A wretched arrangement,
When a right must be proved that is patent as day!

An Old Man, bent with age, with a staff in his hand and a bag on his back, is trudging in front of him.

The Old Man.
[Stops.]
Dear, kind sir—a trifle to a houseless soul!
Peer.
Excuse me; I’ve got no small change in my pocket——
The Old Man.
Prince Peer! Oh, to think we should meet again——!
Peer.
Who are you?
The Old Man.
You forget the Old Man in the Rondë?
Peer.
Why, you’re never——?
The Old Man.
The King of the Dovrë, my boy!
Peer.
The Dovrë-King? Really? The Dovrë-King? Speak!
The Old Man.
Oh, I’ve come terribly down in the world——!
Peer.
Ruined?
The Old Man.
Ay, plundered of every stiver.
Here am I tramping it, starved as a wolf.
Peer.
Hurrah! Such a witness doesn’t grow on the trees.
The Old Man.
My Lord Prince, too, has grizzled a bit since we met.
Peer.
My dear father-in-law, the years gnaw and wear one.—
Well well, a truce to all private affairs,—
And pray, above all things, no family jars.
I was then a sad madcap——
The Old Man.
Oh yes; oh yes;—
His Highness was young; and what won’t one do then?
But his Highness was wise in rejecting his bride.
He saved himself thereby both worry and shame,
For since then she’s utterly gone to the bad——
Peer.
Indeed!
The Old Man.
She has led a deplorable life;[134]
And, just think,—she and Trond are now living together.
Peer.
Which Trond?
The Old Man.
Of the Valfjeld.
Peer.
It’s he? Aha;
It was he I cut out with the sæter-girls.
The Old Man.
But my grandson has shot up both stout and tall,
And has flourishing children all over the land——
Peer.
Now, my dear man, spare us this flow of words;—
I’ve something quite different troubling my mind.—
I’ve got into rather a ticklish position,
And am greatly in need of a witness or voucher;—
That’s how you could help me best, father-in-law,
And I’ll find you a trifle to drink my health.
The Old Man.
You don’t say so; can I be of use to his Highness?
You’ll give me a character, then, in return?
Peer.
Most gladly. I’m somewhat hard pressed for cash,
And must cut down expenses in every direction.
Now hear what’s the matter. No doubt you remember
That night when I came to the Rondë a-wooing——
The Old Man.
Why, of course, my Lord Prince!
Peer.
Oh, no more of the Prince!
But no matter. You wanted, by sheer brute force,
To bias my sight, with a slit in the lens,
And to change me about from Peer Gynt to a troll.
What did I do then? I stood out against it,—
Swore I would stand on no feet but my own;
Love, power, and glory at once I renounced,
And all for the sake of remaining myself.
Now this fact, you see, you must swear to in Court——
The Old Man.
No, I’m blest if I can.
Peer.
Why, what nonsense is this?
The Old Man.
You surely don’t want to compel me to lie?
You pulled on the troll-breeches, don’t you remember,
And tasted the mead——
Peer.
Ay, you lured me seductively;—
But I flatly declined the decisive test,
And that is the thing you must judge your man by.
It’s the end of the ditty that all depends on.
The Old Man.
But it ended, Peer, just in the opposite way.
Peer.
What rubbish is this?
The Old Man.
When you left the Rondë,
You inscribed my motto upon your escutcheon.[135]
Peer.
What motto?
The Old Man.
The potent and sundering word.
Peer.
The word?
The Old Man.
That which severs the whole race of men
From the troll-folk: Troll! To thyself be enough!
Peer.
[Recoils a step.]
Enough!
The Old Man.
And with every nerve in your body,
You’ve been living up to it ever since.
Peer.
What, I? Peer Gynt?
The Old Man.
[Weeps.]
It’s ungrateful of you!
You’ve lived as a troll, but have still kept it secret.
The word I taught you has shown you the way
To swing yourself up as a man of substance;—
And now you must needs come and turn up your nose
At me and the word you’ve to thank for it all.
Peer.
Enough! A hill-troll! An egoist!
This must be all rubbish; that’s perfectly certain!
The Old Man.
[Pulls out a bundle of old newspapers.]
I daresay you think we don’t take in the papers?
Wait; here I’ll show you in red and black[136]
How the “Bloksberg Post” eulogises you;
And the “Heklefjeld Journal” has done the same
Ever since the winter you left the country.—
Do you care to read them? You’re welcome,welcome, Peer.
Here’s an article, look you, signed “Stallion-hoof.”
And here too is one: “On Troll-Nationalism.”
The writer points out and lays stress on the truth
That horns and a tail are of little importance,
So long as one has but a strip of the hide.
“Our enough,” he concludes, “gives the hallmark of trolldom
To man,”—and proceeds to cite you as an instance.
Peer.
A hill-troll? I?
The Old Man.
Yes, that’s perfectly clear.
Peer.
Might as well have stayed quietly where I was?
Might have stayed in the Rondë in comfort and peace?
Saved my trouble and toil and no end of shoe-leather?
Peer Gynt—a troll? Why, it’s rubbish! It’s stuff!
Good-bye! There’s a halfpenny to buy you tobacco.
The Old Man.
Nay, my good Prince Peer!
Peer.
Let me go! You’re mad,
Or else doting. Off to the hospital with you!
The Old Man.
Oh, that is exactly what I’m in search of.
But, as I told you, my grandson’s offspring
Have become overwhelmingly strong in the land,
And they say that I only exist in books.
The saw says: One’s kin are unkindest of all;
I’ve found to my cost that that saying is true.
It’s cruel to count as mere figment and fable——
Peer.
My dear man, there are others who share the same fate.
The Old Man.
And ourselves we’ve no Mutual Aid Society,
No alms-box or Penny Savings Bank;—
In the Rondë, of course, they’d be out of place.
Peer.
No, that curs’d: To thyself be enough was the word there!
The Old Man.
Oh, come now, the Prince can’t complain of the word.
And if he could manage by hook or by crook——
Peer.
My man, you have got on the wrong scent entirely;
I’m myself, as the saying goes, fairly cleaned out[137]——
The Old Man.
You surely can’t mean it? His Highness a beggar?
Peer.
Completely. His Highness’s ego’s in pawn.
And it’s all your fault, you accursed trolls!
That’s what comes of keeping bad company.
The Old Man.
So there came my hope toppling down from its perch again!
Good-bye! I had best struggle on to the town——
Peer.
What would you do there?
The Old Man.
I will go to the theatre.
The papers are clamouring for national talents——
Peer.
Good luck on your journey; and greet them from me.
If I can but get free, I will go the same way.
A farce I will write them, a mad and profound one;
ItsIts name shall be: “Sic transit gloria mundi.”

[He runs off along the road; the Old Man shouts after him.

SCENE NINTH.

[At a cross-road.]

Peer Gynt.
Now comes the pinch, Peer, as never before!
This Dovrish Enough has passed judgment upon you.
The vessel’s a wreck; one must float with the spars.
All else; but to go to the scrap-heap—no, no!
The Button-moulder.
[At the cross-road.]
Well now, Peer Gynt, have you found your voucher?
Peer.
Is this, then, the cross-road? Well, that is short work!
The Button-moulder.
I can see on your face, as it were on a sign-board,
The gist of the paper before I have read it.
Peer.
I got tired of the hunt;—one might lose one’s way——
The Button-moulder.
Yes; and what does it lead to, after all?
Peer.
True enough; in the wood, and by night as well——
The Button-moulder.
There’s an old man, though, trudging. Shall we call him here?
Peer.
No, let him go. He is drunk, my dear fellow!
The Button-moulder.
But perhaps he might——
Peer.
Hush; no—let him alone!
The Button-moulder.
Well, shall we begin then?
Peer.
One question—just one:
What is it, at bottom, this “being oneself”?
The Button-moulder.
A singular question, most odd in the mouth
Of a man who but now——
Peer.
Come, a straightforward answer.
The Button-moulder.
To be oneself is: to slay oneself.
But on you that answer is doubtless lost;
And therefore we’ll say: to stand forth everywhere
With Master’s intention displayed like a sign-board.
Peer.
But suppose a man never has come to know
What Master meant with him?
The Button-moulder.
He must divine it.
Peer.
But how oft are divinings beside the mark,—
Then one’s carried “ad undas”[138] in middle career.
The Button-moulder.
That is certain, Peer Gynt; in default of divining
The cloven-hoofed gentleman finds his best hook.
Peer.
This matter’s excessively complicated.—
See here! I no longer plead being myself;—
It might not be easy to get it proven.
That part of my case I must look on as lost.
But just now, as I wandered alone o’er the heath,
I felt my conscience-shoe pinching me;
I said to myself: After all, you’re a sinner——