Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/269

 No Kaiser are you; you are nought but an onion. I' m going to peel you now, my good Peer! You won't escape either by begging or howling.

[Takes an onion and strips off one coat after another.

There lies the outermost layer, all torn; That's the shipwrecked man on the jolly-boat's keel. Here's the passenger layer, scanty and thin;— And yet in its taste there's a tang of Peer Gynt. Next underneath is the gold-digger ego; The juice is all gone—if it ever had any. This coarse-grained layer with the hardened skin Is the peltry hunter by Hudson's Bay. The next one looks like a crown;—oh, thanks! We'll throw it away without more ado. Here's the archæologist, short but sturdy, And here is the Prophet, juicy and fresh. He stinks, as the Scripture has it, of lies, Enough to bring the water to an honest man's eyes. This layer that rolls itself softly together Is the gentleman, living in ease and good cheer. The next one seems sick. There are black streaks upon it;— Black symbolises both parsons and niggers.

[Pulls off several layers at once.

What an enormous number of swathings! Is not the kernel soon coming to light?

[Pulls the whole onion to pieces.

I'm blest if it is! To the innermost centre, It's nothing but swathings—each smaller and smaller.— Nature is witty! [Throws the fragments away. The devil take brooding! If one goes about thinking, one's apt to stumble.