♪ the house is ready for pentecost ♪ ♪ my love is far away ♪ come back, come back come back to me ♪ ♪ if your burden is heavy oh, take your time ♪ ♪ i will wait i will wait for you ♪ one who remembered and one who forgot. one who has kept to what the other has lost. the game that could never be played again. oh, here was my empire and my crown.

wait for me. wait for me. yes. i'll wait. what is this sound of children weeping? weeping, but almost a song. thread balls are rolling at my feet. get away. you're blocking my path. we are thoughts. you should have thought us. you should have given us little feet. i gave birth to one once. it was a monster with a twisted leg. we should have flown like children's voices. here, we roll on the ground, grey balls of thread. thread. rubbish. would you trip your father? we are the of trumpet call. you should have sounded us.

see if--has shrunk and withers. the worm has gnawed us through and through. well, you weren't born in vain. lie there. you'll make the good manure. we are songs you should have sung. a thousand times you have stifled and strangled us. in the mind of your heart, we have lain and waited. we were never sung. curse you. curse you. curse you. did i have time to make up rhymes? we are tears you never weep. we could have melted the sharp ice spears. now the-- the wound has closed. our power has gone.

i wept once in the troll king's palace, but i got a tail on me just the same. we are deeds you left undone. the strangle of doubt has broken and crippled us. on the day of judgment, we shall be there to tell our story. take care. take care. would you damn me for things i haven't done? you're a fine driver. look who you've thrown me into a snowdrift. i'm soaking and frozen, you've come in a wrong way. oh, peer, where's the castle? the--led you a stray. well met, old man. good evening, friend. you're in a hurry? where are you going?

a funeral feast. indeed? forgive me. your name isn't by any chance, peer? yeah, peer. peer gynt, they call me. well, that's lucky. you're the man i have to collect tonight. have to collect? what business of you with me? as you can see, i'm a button moulder. you must go into my casting-ladle. what for? to be melted down. melted? yes. look. it's clean and empty. your grave is dug. your coffin is ready. tonight, the worms will feast in your body, but i have orders from my master to collect your soul without delay. but you can't, without warning. it's an ancient custom. at christening, as it funerals, one chooses the day, but the guest of honor receives no warning. i forgot. my mind's in awhirl. then you are? as i've told you, a button moulder. yeah, of course. i see.

so this is the end of my journey? my good friend, if this is most unfair, i'm not a real sinner. just the point. by the highest standards, you aren't a sinner. so you escape the horrors of torment and must go with others into the casting-ladle. as you've just told me with your own lips, you aren't what one could call a wholehearted sinner. scarcely even a minor one. now, you are talking sensibly. wait a moment, you're not virtuous either. i'm not claiming that. you're neither one or the other. a man needs strength and purpose to be a sinner. yes. but you weren't like that. you took your sinning lightly. i just splashed about on the surface. ah! we shall soon agree. the pool of fire is not for those who splash about on the surface. therefore, my friend, i am free to go as i came.

well, therefore, my friend, i must melt you down. you've learned some new tricks since i've been abroad. you've done it yourself. you know that one occasionally melts a button that's useless, for example, without a loop. what did you do in such a case? threw it away. yes, i've forgotten. jon gynt was famous for his improvidence, but the master you see is a thrifty man. he never rejects as worthless anything which he can use again as raw material. now, you were meant to be a shining button on the waistcoat of the world, but your loop broke. so you must be thrown back into the great pool. you don't intend to melt me down with other dead men. that's precisely what i intend. oh, this is the most sordid parsimony. no, no, anything but that, i will fight against it with all my strength. what else is there? you're hardly qualified to go to heaven. i'm not aiming as high as that. can you just send me down to serve for a while with him with the hoof. well, i've heard that the suffering there

is only spiritual, not at least thought to be fairly tolerable. but how this other business to end one's days with a speck of dust in someone else's body to be melted down, to be peer gynt no more? oh, that fills my soul with a revulsion. my dear peer, there's really no need to get so upset. you've never been yourself, what does it matter if you disappear? i have never been-- i could almost laugh. whenever i ever been anything but myself? no, no, button moulder, you are guessing blindly. if you would to look into my heart, you would see peer gynt and only him, no more, no less. it's impossible. i have my orders. look, it is written. "thou shall claim peer gynt. "he has defined the master's intention. he is waste and must go to the casting-ladle." i'm damned if i will. it will be fine thing if it turned out tomorrow, he meant somebody else. now, be careful, button moulder. consider the responsibilities. i have it in writing. well, at least give me time. what good would that do? time to prove that i have been myself all of my life.

prove it, how? witnesses, testimonies. i'm afraid the master won't accept them. oh, surely he must. i won't be long. one's only born once. very well, if you wish. but remember, we meet at the next crossroads. if only i knew where those crossroads were, i may be near, i may be far. a witness, a witness, where will i find one? spare a penny coin, sir, a homeless old man. i haven't any change. prince peer? well, well, and so we meet again. who are you? what, don't you remember the old man on the mountains? huh? the king of ronde. king of the ronde?

hey, well, i'm afraid i come down in the world. ruined? robbed of every penny. i tramp the roads begging for food. a witness. my dear sir, men like you don't grow on trees. oh, your highness has aged since last we met. i was a bit of a mad cap in those days. well, your highness was young and youthful. but you, sir... oh, my dear father-in-law. don't let's worry about that. i've got into rather a difficult situation. yeah. i need a witness, and you can help me more than any man i know. i might even raise you the price of a drink. you mean, i be of service, your highness? yes, listen and i'll explain. do you remember the night i came as suitor to your palace? of course, i do. you wanted to slit my eye and distort my sight

and turn me from peer gynt into a troll. yeah. how did i react? i resisted. aye. i renounced the chances of love and glory and power simply so that i could remain myself. now, i want you to testify to that in court. no, i can't do that. what do you mean? you pulled on troll-breeches and sampled our mead. yes, but i resisted the final step. it's the last verse of the song that matters. it was just the opposite of what you say. what on earth do you mean? you left the ronde with my motto branded on your brow. motto? the words that set us apart. what words? those words that distinguish troll from man, troll be thyself, thyself alone. me a troll? ever since then with all your heart and soul, you lived your life by that principle. not me. peer gynt? oh, it is ungrateful. you've lived like a troll, but you've always kept it secret. it's made you into a successful man.

and now, you turn up your nose at it. peer gynt, a troll, an egoist? most definitely. oh, rubbish. well, be off with you. oh, dear, kind prince peer. my dear sir, you are barking up the wrong tree. ay? i am completely broke. your highness, a beggar? yes. oh, dear. there's another hope gone. goodbye. i best be moving along. well, good luck to you. well, now, peer, have you found your witnesses? the crossroad already? ooh, that didn't take long. i can see from your face that you failed. well, one grows tired of the hunt. yes. anyway, where does it lead? well, shall we be off?

one question. what does it mean to be oneself? that's a strange question from a man whom a moment ago-- no, come on, answer me. to be oneself is to kill oneself. but i suppose that explanation is wasted on you. let us say always to follow the master's intentions. yes, but what of a man who never knew what the master intended him to be? his instinct should guide him. yes, but instinct can sometimes lead you astray and then you're lost before you're halfway. very true, peer gynt. and in this bad instinct, he with the hoof has his best angel. right. i abandon my claim of having been myself. oh. no, no, no. a moment ago on the moor, i said to myself it is true you are a sinner. now, we're back where we started. no, no. i mean a great sinner. maybe. oh, yes, yes. look, give me time.

i'll find a priest to make a confession, bring you a certificate. yes, if you could bring me that you will certainly avoid the casting-ladle. but can i try? but... please. oh, please. you can't be all that busy. until the next crossroads then, but not a step further. i'll find a priest if i have to drag him by his cassock. whoever have guessed that a list of one's sins would prove a man's salvation on his last night? what's this? a priest with a fowling net. i'm in luck. good evening, your reverence. good evening. awkward going, isn't it? indeed. but what wouldn't one do for a soul? someone on the way to heaven? i trust not. your reverence, i should like to consult you. proceed. i'm a good man, always been law abiding,

never been inside. but you know how it is. sometimes, a man's foot slips, and he stumbles. ah, yes. that happens to the best of us. yeah, well, these trifles-- trifles? oh, yes, only trifles. i've never done anything really wicked. oh, my dear sir, you're wasting my time. i'm not the person you seem to think me. what are you looking at? is that hoof natural? so i flatter myself. and i thought you were only a priest, and i have the honor-- well, one mustn't look a gift horse in the-- i'm delighted. give me your hand. you seem remarkably unbiased. and now, my dear fellow, what can i do for you? you may open your heart to me. well, if isn't too much to ask, i'd like a-- a place of refuge, hmm? you guessed. i don't ask much.

i can even do without a salary, just good conditions. a wawalled room? not too walled. and if possible, freedom to come and go as i please. my dear friend, it pains me to say this, but you can't imagine how many similar applications i receive from persons departing their earthly life. no, but think of the wicked life i've led. you said they were trifles. but now, i remember. i trafficked in slaves. i shipped heathen idols to china. we laugh at such things. i once pretended to be a prophet. who hasn't? no, my dear sir, i'm sorry. but if you can't produce better credentials than these, i can't let you in. no, but listen, once in a shipwreck, i half-robbed a poor cook of his life. would you expect me to be impressed if you told me that you had half-robbed a kitchen maid of something else?

oh, put these ideas right out of your head. resign yourself to the casting-ladle. what good would i do to you if i offered you board and lodging? think a minute. you're a sensible man. you'll keep your memory. that's true enough. but what have you got to remember? i promise you the memory of things past would give you little joy. you'd find no cause for weeping everafter, no cause for rejoicing or despair, nothing to fire your heart or freeze your blood. your memories would merely be a source of irritation. i must be on my way. i have a joint to collect, a nice juicy roast. may i ask what sins fattened him up? i understand that all his life he had been himself. been himself? yes. and are those people automatically your parishioners? that depends.

there are two ways in which a man can be himself, the right way and the wrong way. you may know that a man in paris has discovered a way of taking portraits with the help of the sun. either one can produce a correct picture or else what they call a negative. now, if a human soul in the course of his life has created one of these negative pictures, the plate is not destroyed. they send it to me. i develop it. i soak it, and i dip it, i burn it, and i cleanse it with sulfur and similar ingredients until the picture appears which the plate was intended to give. but when a soul like you has smudged himself out, even sulfur and potash can achieve nothing. then one must come to you as black as a raven to be sent back as white as a dove. may i ask the name that is inscribed beneath this particular negative? the name is peter gynt. peter gynt. and is mr. gynt himself?

so he affirms. he's a reliable chap. you know him? sort of. my time is short. where did you see him last? at the cape. of good hope? yes. although, i understand he's leaving very shortly. then i must be off at once. i hope i'm in time to catch him. i never really liked that cape of good hope. it's always full of missionaries from stavanger. hail shooting star, a greeting from peer gynt. we flash for a moment and then our light is quenched and we disappear into the void forever. is there no one, no one in the universe, no one in the abyss, no one in heaven?

how unspeakably poor the soul can be when it enters the mists and returns to nothing? oh, beautiful earth, don't be angry with me that i charge your sweet grass to no avail. oh, beautiful sun, you squandered your golden light on an empty hut. there was no one within to receive your warmth and comfort. the owner, i know now, was never at home. oh, beautiful earth and beautiful sun, why did you bear my mother and give her light? life is such a terrible price to pay for birth.

i want to climb up to the highest peak. i want to see the sun rise once again. i want to gaze until i am tired at the promised land and then let the snows pile over me. and let them write above: "here lies no one." and then afterwards let the world take its course. ♪ oh, christ--

♪ oh, holy ghost, our souls inspire ♪ ♪ to sing in heavenly choir and praise most glorious name ♪ no, never look there. that way lies waste and desert. i was a dead man long before i died. good morning. where is your list of sins? i've shouted and whistled all of them all. met no one? only a travelling photographer. well, your time is up.

yes, everything is up. the owl smells the light. can you hear him hooting? it's the bell for matins. what's that shining there? only the light from a hut. that sound like someone's sighing. a woman singing. there. yes, there i'll find my sins. set thy house in order. my house, it's there. away, be gone. if your ladle were as a large as a coffin, it would be too small for me and my sins. well, the third crossroads, peer, but then... forward or back, it's equally far. outside or in, i'm still confined.

i hear like a wild, unending cry, "go in, go back, go home. go 'round," said the boy. no, this time, straight through, however narrowed a path may be. judge this sinner. oh, speak. it is he. it is he. oh, praise be to god. cry out my sins. you have sinned in nothing, my only child. the list, peer gynt. cry out my guilt. you have made my life into a song.

oh, bless you for coming back to me at last. blessed, oh, blessed be our meeting on this morning of pentecost. then i am lost. there is one who rules all. lost. unless you can answer riddles. tell me. tell you. yes, i will. where has peer gynt been since you saw him last? been? with the mark of destiny on his brow as he sprang forth in the mind of god. can you tell me that? if not, i must go to my home down in the land of mists. that riddle is easy. tell me, where was my self, my true self, my whole self? in my faith, in my hope and in my love.

what do you say? now, you speak riddles. ah, then you are the mother to that child. yes, i am. but who is its father? it is he who forgives when the mother prays. my mother, my wife, oh, thou pure woman. hide me in my love. oh, hide me, hide me. ♪ sleep, oh sleep, my dearest boy ♪ ♪ i will cradle you, i will guard you ♪ ♪ sleep, oh sleep, my love, my joy ♪

♪ sleep now and rest you sat on my lap. we played together. the livelong day you've lain on my breast. you've always been close to my heart. now you're tired. you can rest. [humming] we shall meet at the last crossroads, peer. ♪ sleep, oh sleep, my love, my joy ♪ ♪ sleep now and dream

if anyone takes the theater as peer gynt did the onion and tries to peel off its accretions one by one to get at the heart of what theater really is, he will no doubt find that the most recent accretion is scenery. scenery is here today but was not there 350 years ago. thereafter, the peeling is progressively harder. probably the auditorium would be the next to go. the theater is then out of doors. next might follow the stage as a raised platform to act upon. take that away and the player is on the ground. going relentlessly on, the player would have to be stripped of his costume and mask. remove these and there will probably fall apart two separate pieces, leaving nothing inside.

those two pieces would be the player and the audience. take these away and you have no theater. this was a co-production of miami-dade community college and british broadcasting corporation, british open university. captioning performed by aegis rapidtext