peer gynt monologue essay

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Monologues

A monologue from the play by Henrik Ibsen

NOTICE: This monologue is reprinted from The Collected Functions of Henrik Ibsen, vol. iv: Peer Gynt. Trans. William and Charles Archer. Ny: Charles Scribner\s Sons, 1911.

PRIEST:

Now, if the soul moved to meet its doom

Here the dirt lies, as an empty pod

Now, my dear friends, we\ll speak a word or two

Concerning this dead man\s pilgrimage on earth.

He was not wealthy, nor was he wise

His voice was weak, his bearing was unmanly

This individual spoke his mind crestfallen and screwing up

He scarce was learn at his own fireside

He sidled into church, as though appealing

For keep, like various other men, for taking his place.

It was from Gudbrandsdale, you know, he came up.

When below he settled he was nevertheless a guy

And you keep in mind how, to the very previous

He retained his right hand concealed his pocket or purse.

That right hand in the pocket was your feature

That chiefly rubber-stamped his graphic on the head

And therewithal his writhing, his crestfallen

Shrinking coming from notice wheresoe\er he gone.

But , though he nonetheless pursued a path distant

And at any time seemed a stranger within our midst

You all know what he strove so hard to hide

The hands he muffled had 4 fingers only.

I well remember, many years ago

One morning, there were sessions organised at Lunde.

\Twas war-time, and the speak in every mouth

Turned on the country\s sufferings and its fate.

I was there observing. At the stand sat

The Captain, \twixt the Bailiff and the sergeants

Lad following lad was measured up and down

Passed, and enrolled, and taken for a soldier.

The bedroom was full, and in the green outside the house

Where thronged the small folks, deafening the laughter rang.

A name was called, and forth an additional stepped

1 pale since snow after the glacier\s edge.

They bade the youth advance, he reached the table

We noticed his right hand swaddled in a power

He gasped, he swallowed, battling after words

However though the Captain urged him, found zero voice.

My oh my yes, now! Then along with his cheek aflame

His tongue now faltering him, at this point stammering quickly

He mumbled something of any scythe that slipped

Simply by chance, and shore his finger towards the skin.

Straightway a silence fell upon the room.

Males bandied which means glances, that they made lips

They stoned the youngster with appears of quiet scorn.

This individual felt the hail-storm, although he found it not.

Then up the Captain stood, the grey old man

He spat, and directed forth, and thundered Go!

And the guy went. Upon both sides males fell back

Till through their midst he had to operate the gauntlet.

He come to the door, from there he took to flight

Up, up he went, through wood and over hillside

Up through the stone-screes, rough, precipitous.

He had his home up there among the mountains.

It was some 6 months later he came here

With mom, and hitched, and little child.

He leased some ground after the excessive hill-side

Right now there where the waste materials lands trend away to Lomb.

This individual married the first moment that this individual could

This individual built a residence, he pennyless the uncooperative soil

This individual throve, numerous a cultivated patch

Lose interest witness, bravely clad in waving rare metal.

At cathedral he kept his correct hand in his pocket

But sure I actually am in the home his fingertips nine

Toiled every whit as hard as others\ ten.

A single spring the torrent rinsed it all apart.

Their lives were able to escape. Ruined and stripped of

He started work to generate another eradicating

And, ere the fall months, smoke again arose

By a new, better-sheltered, mountain country home.

Sheltered? Coming from torrentnot from avalanche

Couple of years, and all under the snow put buried.

But nonetheless the avalanche could not dishearten his spirit.

He dug, and raked, and cartedcleared the ground

As well as the next winter months, ere the snow-blasts came up

A third the time has been the time hath been his small homestead reared.

Three sons he had, 3 bright and stirring kids

They must to school, and institution was far

And they must clamber, where hill-track failed

By narrow ledges past the headlong scree.

What performed he do? The oldest had to take care of

As best he may, and, where the path was worst

His father destined a string round him to stay him

The others on his back and biceps and triceps he lose interest.

Thus he toiled, year by year, till they were men.

At this point might he well have looked for some return.

In the New World, 3 prosperous men

Their school-going and their daddy have ignored.

He was short-sighted. Out over and above the group

Of those most near to him he nothing saw.

To him looked like meaningless while cymbals\ tinkling

Those phrases that for the heart will need to ring like steel.

His race, his fatherland, everything high and shining

Was ever, to his eye-sight, veiled in mist.

Nevertheless he was modest, humble, was this person

And since that sessions-day his doom oppressed him

As surely because his face were flushed with waste

And his several fingers hidden in his pocket or purse

Offender \gainst his country\s laws? Ay, true!

Although there is something that the rules outshineth

Sure as the snow-white tent of Glittertind

Has clouds, like larger rows of peaks, above that.

No patriot was he. Both intended for church and state

A fruitless forest. But presently there, on the upland ridge

In the small group of friends where he noticed his calling

There having been great, because he was himself.

His inborn note rang true on to the end.

His days were as a lute with moderate strings.

And therefore, peace be around thee, noiseless warrior

That fought the peasant\s small fight, and fell!

It is not necessarily ours to look the center and reins

That is zero task for dust, however for its ruler

Yet challenge I openly, firmly, speak my hope:

He scarce stands crippled now before his God!

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