LITMIR.BIZ

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but it’s scarce worth talking of

       when one thinks what dreadful things

       might have come of such a leap —!

      [Stops suddenly, looks at him open-mouthed and wide-eyed; cannot find words for some time, but at last bursts out:]

      Oh, you devil’s story-teller,

       Cross of Christ, how you can lie!

       All this screed you foist upon me,

       I remember now, I knew it

       when I was a girl of twenty.

       Gudbrand Glesne it befell,

       never you, you —

      Peer

      Me as well.

       Such a thing can happen twice.

      Åse [exasperated]

      Yes, a lie, turned topsy-turvy,

       can be prinked and tinselled out,

       decked in plumage new and fine,

       till none knows its lean old carcass.

       That is just what you’ve been doing,

       vamping up things, wild and grand,

       garnishing with eagles’ backs

       and with all the other horrors,

       lying right and lying left,

       filling me with speechless dread,

       till at last I recognised not

       what of old I’d heard and known!

      Peer

      If another talked like that

       I’d half kill him for his pains.

      Åse [weeping]

      Oh, would God I lay a corpse;

       would the black earth held me sleeping!

       Prayers and tears don’t bite upon him.—

       Peer, you’re lost, and ever will be!

      Peer

      Darling, pretty little mother,

       you are right in every word;—

       don’t be cross, be happy —

      Åse

      Silence!

       Could I, if I would, be happy,

       with a pig like you for son?

       Think how bitter I must find it,

       I, a poor defenceless widow,

       ever to be put to shame!

      [Weeping again.]

      How much have we now remaining

       from your grandsire’s days of glory?

       Where are now the sacks of coin

       left behind by Rasmus Gynt?

       Ah, your father lent them wings,—

       lavished them abroad like sand,

       buying land in every parish,

       driving round in gilded chariots.

       Where is all the wealth he wasted

       at the famous winter-banquet,

       when each guest sent glass and bottle

       shivering ’gainst the wall behind him?

      Peer

      Where’s the snow of yester-year?

      Åse

      Silence, boy, before your mother!

       See the farmhouse! Every second

       window-pane is stopped with clouts.

       Hedges, fences, all are down,

       beasts exposed to wind and weather,

       fields and meadows lying fallow,

       every month a new distraint —

      Peer

      Come now, stop this old-wife’s talk!

       Many a time has luck seemed dropping,

       and sprung up as high as ever!

      Åse

      Salt-strewn is the soil it grew from.

       Lord, but you’re a rare one, you,—

       just as pert and jaunty still,

       just as bold as when the pastor,

       newly come from Copenhagen,

       bade you tell your Christian name,

       and declared that such a headpiece

       many a prince down there might envy;

       till the cob your father gave him,

       with a sledge to boot, in thanks

       for his pleasant, friendly talk.—

       Ah, but things went bravely then!

       Provost, captain, all the rest,

       dropped in daily, ate and drank,

       swilling, till they well-nigh burst.

       But ’tis need that tests one’s neighbour.

       Still it grew and empty here

       from the day that “Gold-bag Jon”

       started with his pack, a pedlar.

      [Dries her eyes with her apron.]

      Ah, you’re big and strong enough,

       you should be a staff and pillar

       for your mother’s frail old age,—

       you should keep the farm-work going,

       guard the remnants of your gear;—

      [Crying again.]

      oh, God help me, small’s the profit

       you have been to me, you scamp!

       Lounging by the hearth at home,

       grubbing in the charcoal embers;

       or, round all the country, frightening

       girls away from merry-makings —

       shaming me in all directions,

       fighting with the worst rapscallions —

      Peer [turning away from her]

      Let me be.

      Åse [following him]

      Can you deny

       that you were the foremost brawler

       in the mighty battle royal

       fought the other day at Lunde,

       when you raged like mongrels mad?

       Who was it but you that broke

       Blacksmith Aslak’s arm for him,—

       or at any rate that wrenched one

       of his fingers out of joint?

      Peer

      Who has filled you with such prate?

      ÅSE [hotly]

      Cottar Kari heard the yells!

      Peer [rubbing his elbow]

      Maybe, but ’twas I that howled.

      Åse

      You?

      Peer

      Yes, mother,— I got beaten.

      Åse

      What d’you say?

      Peer

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