Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/266



And where is he now, this remarkable man?

He fared over seas to a foreign land; It went ill with him there, as one well might foresee;— It's many a year now since he was hanged.

Hanged! Ay, ay! Why, I thought as much; Our lamented Peer Gynt was himself to the last.

[Bows. Good-bye,—and best thanks for to-day's merry meeting. [Goes a few steps, but stops again. You joyous youngsters, you comely lasses,— Shall I pay my shot with a traveller's tale? Yes; do you know any? Nothing more easy.—  [He comes nearer; a look of strangeness comes over him.

I was gold-digging once in San Francisco. There were mountebanks swarming all over the town. One with his toes could perform on the fiddle; Another could dance a Spanish halling on his knees; A third, I was told, kept on making verses While his brain-pan was having a hole bored right through it.