All language subtitles for Peer Gynt - 1977 Open University Productions - produced and directed by John Selwyn Gilbert

Haggent is a wide-ranging dramatic poem

not originally meant for the stage about

a Norwegian character who finds in the

end that self-sufficiency is not enough.

We present his return home and his last

days with reminders of his youth.

[Music]

May I

dance with your daughter? You may,

but first we must go inside and greet

the people of the house.

God speed your work.

Don't turn me away.

You sent for me and so you must take me.

[Music]

Wait for me.

Wait for me.

Yes, I'll wait.

How can I be happy with such a pig of a

son? What is the family left now from

the days when your grandfather was a

wealthy man?

Where are the sacks of silver left by

old Raasmuskint? Your father gave them

feet, wasted them like sand, bought land

in every parish, traveled in gilded

carriages. Where's what he wasted at the

great winter feast when every guest

threw glass and bottle over his shoulder

to splinter against the wall?

Oh, if only I knew I'd not been too

strict with that land.

[Music]

Where are you going? Seawwoods. So far

and far beyond.

[Music]

[Applause]

There's howling scarve in his winter

fur. An old man pluming himself in the

evening sun.

Ul his brother stands behind him,

hoodied still in his ice green cloak.

Folk lies so innocent, like a virgin in

her white lily. It's no use you trying

to turn your heads. You won't touch her,

you old man of stone. Another hand to

the wheel. A hyster lantern.

Oh, she's blowing up hard.

We'll have a storm tonight. Can you see

the rondo from the sea? No, of course

not. Hidden behind the snowfield and

Hort

over there. Ah, yes, of course. You seem

to know these parts. Yeah. When I sailed

from Norway, I passed this way. The

dregs of memory say in the glass. Will

we be in by daybreak? Oh, just about. If

the night's not too bad. Oh, it's

thickening in the west. It is. Remind me

when I settle with you. I'd like to give

something to the crew. Oh, that's very

generous of you.

They're mostly poor men. You all have

wives and youngsters at home, huh? Wives

and children. Are they married? Married?

Yes. Every man married

someone waiting to give them a good

welcome.

As good as poor people can give.

Tell me when they when they come home.

What will happen? Their wives will give

them a little extra something for once.

Candles on the table. Maybe two and a

drram will sit snugly around the hearth.

Their children gathered around them.

They'll bless you for your promise.

Well, I'm damned if I will. Do you think

I'm mad? Why should I pay for other

men's children? There's no one waiting

for old pair of gint. Well, you do as

you please. It's your money. Yes. Yes,

it's mine. You give me my bill as cabin

passenger from Panama and a tot for the

crew and that's all. Excuse me. I'm

other business to eat. The storm's

coming on.

No one ever thinks of old pagint. The

candles on the table. Yeah, I'll put out

those candles.

I'll make them all drunk. One of those

fools shall go ashore sober. They'll

come home drunk to their wives and

children. They'll swear at them. Knock

them about. All their love destroyed.

Wreck to win it. Help. How to stop it.

Anyone on the wreck? I can see free.

Quick. Lower a boat. See Phil before we

cast out. Well, you're not afraid of

getting wet, are you? That's impossible

in a sea like this. They're screaming

again. Well, look, there's a lull. You

cook, will you try? I I'll give you

money. Not if you gave me £20. Oh, you

dogs. You cowards. Don't you realize

those men have wives and children at

home? They are sitting waiting for them.

There's virtue in patience. I bring her

about. The Rex turned over.

[Music]

How silent it is suddenly. Well, if they

were married, this world's richer by

three new widows.

I have no respect for the powers above,

but I'm guiltless. Oh, you bloody

storyteller. How you can lie.

Well, on the day of judgment, I can

swear I stood ready and willing with

money in my hand.

But what good will will that do? If

vengeance should strike down the boss

and or the cook, I'll be sucked down to

my death with the rest of them.

If only I were younger.

Well,

there's still time. They shall learn in

the parish that old Pearint has come

riding back over the sea.

Good evening.

Who are you? Your fellow passenger.

I thought I was the only one. The

mistaken impression now corrected.

Strange I should see you for the first

time tonight.

I never appear in the daytime.

Hey, what a storm. Yes. Beautiful.

Beautiful. The waves are running as high

as houses. It makes my mouth water.

Think of the wrecks they'll be tonight.

Think of the corpses drifting ashore. Oh

god, preserve us. Have you ever seen a

man strangled or drowned or hanged?

What? I laugh, but I laugh at most of

them bite out their tongues. Get away

from me. Just one question. Suppose we,

for example, should strike on a rock and

sink in the darkness. You think there's

a danger? I don't really know what I

ought to say. But suppose now I should

float and you should sink. Oh, rubbish.

It's just a hypothesis. But when a man

stands with one foot in the grave, he

sometimes tends to be generous. Oh,

money? No. No. But if you would be so

kind as to bequeath me your valuable

body.

What? Just your corpse. You understand

to help my researches. Come away from

me. My dear fellow consider to your

advantage. I'll open you up and let in

the light. I want to discover the source

of your dreams. I want to find out how

you're put together. Away. But my dear

fellow, a drowned body. You blasphemous

man. You're provoking the storm. You

look at the sea. We may be drowned at

any moment. I see you're in no mood for

discussion. But time, they say, changes

everything.

We'll meet when you're sinking, if not

before. Perhaps then you'll be more in

the humor. Horrible fellows these

scientists are. You dumb free thinker.

A word with you, my good man. That other

passenger. What kind of a madman is he?

Do I know of no other passenger? No

other passenger? Well, who went into the

cabin just now? Ship's dog. Land close

ahead. My trunk. My strong box. Get my

things on deck. Away with more important

things to do. No, Captain. What I was

saying just blown away the fossils gone

under the

shield.

Help.

Help. A boat. Help.

I'm drowning.

Oh Lord, save me. That's what it says in

the Bible. Oh God have mercy. Let me

reach the land.

Let go. Let go. I'll hit you. I'll hit

you. Let go of this boat. Won't take

two. I'll kick you down. No. Get off.

You get off. No. No. Look. Off with that

hand.

Spare me, sir. Think of my childhood

home.

Oh, I need my life more than you. I'm

still childless. Deb, you've lived. I'm

young. Oh, go on. Get on with it.

You're dragging me down. Oh, have pity

for God's sake. No one will mourn for

you. I'm going to drown. Hold you by

your hair. Quick, Cook, say your

prayers. Can't remember. Come on, Cook.

Give us this day. Oh, no. Not that. Give

us this day. Same old song. It's clear

what you were. pass this day on.

Amen. Well, you were yourself till the

very end.

How well

there's life.

There's hope. Good morning. Oh, I heard

shouting. How nice to find you. Well,

did I prophesy correctly? Let go. Let

go. This boat is only big enough for

one. I'm swimming with my left leg. I'll

stay afloat if I can just hold on with

my fingers. Now, about that corpse of

yours. Shut up. It's all you've got

left. Be quiet. Just as you wish.

What are you doing? I'm being quiet.

Look, I am going mad.

Who are you? A friend. Yes. What else?

Tell me.

What do you think?

[Applause]

The devil? Oh,

is it his way to light the lantern on

life's long pilgrimage of fear? Ah, so

you're a messenger of light, my friend.

Have you even once a year known the true

anguish of the soul? Well, of course,

one's afraid when danger threatens. Yes,

but have you once in life won the

victory which only defeat can bring?

Look, if you've come to open a door, it

was stupid not to have come before.

What's the point of coming now when the

sea's about to swallow me up? Would you

have found this victory in the warmth

and comfort of your hearth side? No, I

suppose not. But I thought you were only

joking. Oh, where I come from, laughter

is rated as highly as tears.

The tragic mask is not for everyday

wear.

You frighten me. Get away.

[Music]

I must get ashore.

I will not die. Oh, don't worry. You

won't die in the middle of the last act.

Now, my dear friends, let me remind you

about this dead man's pilgrimage

on earth.

He came, as you all know, from Good

Brandto and moved here when he was no

more than a boy.

And you remember, till the day he died,

he always kept his right hand in his

pocket.

Yet you all know, although he sought to

hide it, that hand we never saw bore but

three fingers.

I well recall one morning years ago it

was in time of war. Recruiting officers

had come to Lunda and old grayheaded

captain sat with the sergeants and the

burger master behind the table.

Lad after lad was measured, given his

shilling and sworn in as a soldier. The

room was full.

And in the yard outside, the winter air

was filled with young men's laughter.

Then

a name was called,

and a new lad stepped in. He

faltered towards the table, his right

hand swayd in a bloodstained cloth.

He told of an accident. A sickle had

slipped and cut off one of his fingers

close to the stump.

The silence

filled the room.

He felt the scorn.

Then the captain, an old gray man,

slowly rose.

He spat, pointed towards the door and

said, "Go

and as he walked,"

men shrank on either side.

Some six months later,

he came to live among us

with his mother,

his betrothed,

and a newborn child.

He leased a patch of land up on the

hills. He married, built his house,

broke the hard ground.

His vision was narrow.

Beyond the tiny circle of those who

stood close to him,

he saw nothing.

Those words that should have resounded

in his heart

to him

rang meaningless

like tinkling symbols.

And from the day when the captain spat

and rose and pointed,

he carried his judgment on his brow and

his three fingers hidden in his pocket.

This was no patriot

for church and state.

He was a barren tree,

but on his mountain side

in the narrow circle of home

where his work lay,

there he was great because

he was himself.

The metal of which God made him rang

most true

until the end.

And firmly I believe

this man is not a

in the eyes

of God.

Now that's what I call Christianity.

There's nothing there that can distress

anybody.

If I were not standing here with my

staff, I could well believe it was I who

lay here sleeping and hearing as it were

in a vision myself so praised.

How good it is to be assured by the

voice of authority. As a man so, so

shall he reap. One must be oneself and

look after oneself and one's own in all

things, whether great or small. And if

your luck runs out, then at least you've

the honor of having lived your life in

accordance with the best principles.

Forward

or back?

It's equally far outside or in. I'm

still confined.

Go round, said the boy.

I must do that here.

Oh, the scripture says, "Of dust thou

art made, and the first thing in life is

to fill one's belly,

foxes,

onions, that won't get me far. I have to

be cunning and lay some snares. There's

a river here, so I won't go thirsty.

When I die, as die, I must I'll crawl

under a tree, blown down by the wind,

and cover myself with leaves like a

bear, and carve on the bark in big bold

letters.

Here lies Pergint, a decent chap,

emperor of all the beasts of the forest.

Emperor,

you old fraud. You're no emperor. You're

just a

an onion.

Well, now

little pear, I'm going to peel you, and

you won't escape by weeping or praying.

The outermost layer is withered and

torn.

Now that's a shipwrecked man on the

upturn ke

here. Mean and thin is the passenger.

He still tastes a little of old pagant.

Inside that is the digger of gold.

Its juice is gone if ever it had any.

This next layer has shaped like a crown.

No, thank you. Throw that away. No

questions asked.

This layer now that curls so gently

is the cberite living for pleasure and

ease.

Well, this next one looks sick and

streak with black. It could mean a

priest or it could mean a What a

terrible lot of layers there are.

Oh, I must surely soon come to the

heart.

There isn't one. Just a series of

shelves all the way through getting

smaller and smaller.

Nature is witty.

Life is a fox.

When you think you've got her, she slips

through your grasp and becomes something

else

or nothing at all.

That hut on the mall.

Surely I've seen it somewhere before.

The antlers growing above the door.

Nails and planks

to lock out nagging hobgoblin thoughts.

The house is ready for

my love.

[Music]

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 what the other has

lost.

The game that can 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

false. 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. Gray balls

of thread. Thread. Rubbish. Would you

trip your father?

We are a trumpet call.

You should have sounded us.

See how your sloth has shrunk and

withered us.

The worm has gnawed us through and

through. Well, you weren't born in vain.

Lie there. You'll make 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 lame

and waited.

We were never silent.

Curse you. Curse you.

Curse you.

Did I have time to make up rhymes?

We are tears. You never wept. We could

have melted the sharp ice tears. Now

they fester deep in your breast. 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 strangler 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 where you've

thrown me into a snow drift. I'm soaking

and frozen. You've come the wrong way.

Oh, Pear, where's the castle? The fiends

led you astray.

Well met, old man.

Good evening, friend. You're in a hurry.

Where are you going? Oh, a funeral feast

indeed. Forgive me. Your name isn't by

any chance Pear. No, Pear. Pair Gint

they call me. Well, that's lucky. You're

the man I have to collect tonight. I

have to collect. What business have you

with me? As you can see, I'm a button

molder. You must go into my casting

later. 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 christristenings, as at funerals, one

chooses the day, but the guest of honor

receives no warning. Yes, of course.

My mind's in a world. Then you are as I

told you a button molder. Yeah, of

course.

I see.

So this is the

the end of my journey.

My my good friend. This is most unfair.

I'm not a real sinner. That's 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're 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. Well, 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. Oh, 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

molds a button that's useless, for

example, without a loop. What did you do

in such a case? Threw it away. Oh yes,

I've forgotten. John Gint 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

waste coat 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. This is the

most solded parimony. Uh, anything but

that. I'll 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 the hat.

Couldn't you send me down to serve for a

while with the

him with the hoof? Well, I've heard that

the suffering there is only spiritual.

That at least ought to be fairly

tolerable. But how this other business?

To end one's days as a speck of dust in

someone else's body, to be melted down,

to be pear gint no more. Oh, that fills

my soul with revulsion. My dear Pear,

there's really no need to get so upset.

You've never been yourself. What does it

matter if you I have never been. I could

almost laugh. When have I ever been

anything but myself? No, no, but moldy,

you are guessing blindly. If you were to

look into my heart, you would see Pint

and only him. No more, no less. It's

impossible. I have my orders. Look, it

is written. Thou shalt claim Pint. He

has defied the master's intention. He is

waste and must go to the casting lake.

I'm damned if I will.

It'll be a fine thing if it turned out

tomorrow he met me somebody else. Well,

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. You'll prove

it. How?

Witnesses, testimonies. I'm afraid the

master won't accept them. Oh, surely he

must.

I won't be long. Well, 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.

They may be near.

They may be far.

Oh, a witness.

A witness. Where will I find one? Spare

a penny kind, sir. A homeless old man. I

haven't any change. Huh? Prince Pear.

Well, well, so we meet again. Who are

you? Well, don't you remember the old

man of the mountains? The king of the

Rhonda.

King of the Ronda? Hey. Well, I'm afraid

I'll come down in the world. Ruined,

robbed of every penny. I the roads

begging for food.

A witness.

My dear sir, men like you don't grow on

trees.

Yeah, your highness has aged since last

we met. I was a bit of a mad cap in

those days. Your honey was young and

youth will be used. Oh, my dear

father-in-law, don't less worry about

that. I've got into rather a difficult

situation. 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 could 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 peagant into a

troll. Now, how did I react? I resisted.

I renounce 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. I can't do that. What do

you mean?

You put on troll britches, a sample me.

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? Ah, you

left the Ronda 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've lived your life by the

principle. Not me. Oh, it is so

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 tell up your nose at it. Peg to

troll an ego is. Most definitely.

Rubbish. I'll be off with you. Oh dear.

Kind Prince Pear. My dear sir, you are

barking up the wrong tree.

I am completely broke. Your harness a

beggar? Yes. Oh dear.

Oh, there's another hope gone. Oh,

goodbye. I best be moving on.

Well,

good luck to you.

Well, now, P, have you found your

witnesses? A crossroad already?

Oh, that didn't take long. I can see

from your face that you failed. Wow. 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 No, come on. Answer me. To be

oneself is to kill oneself.

But I suppose that explanation's 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, Pagant. And in this bad instinct,

he with the hoof has his best angel.

Right.

I abandon my claim of having been

myself. No, no, no, no.

A moment ago on the moore,

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. Give me time. I'll

find a priest, make a confession, and

bring you a certificate. Yes. If you can

bring me that, you will certainly avoid

the casting label. 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 cassuk.

Who never 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 fouling net? I mean, luck. Good

evening, your reverence. Good evening.

Awkward going, isn't it? Indeed, but uh

what wouldn't one do for a soul? Someone

on their 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. It's only trials. 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 hoove 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 it isn't too much to ask, I'd

like a place of refuge. You guessed. I

don't ask much. I could even do without

a salary. Just good conditions. A warm

room?

Not too warm. And if possible, freedom

to come and go as I please, dear friend.

Pains me to say this, but you can't

imagine how many similar applications I

receive from persons departing their

earthly life. You know, but think of the

wicked life I've led. Who said they were

trifles? But now I remember I trafficked

in slaves and 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 made of something else? No. Put

these ideas right out of your head.

Resign yourself to the casting ladle.

What? What good would I do to you if I

offered you board and lodging? Think a

minute. You're a sensible man. You'd

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 or for laughter, 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

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 direct 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 potach 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 Gint. Peter Gint.

And is Mr. Gint 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 Of Good

Hope. Yes, I though I understand he's

leaving very short. 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 Stbanger.

Pale shooting star, a greeting from

Pergint. 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 trod your

sweet grass to no avail.

Oh beautiful son,

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 son,

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 right above

here

lies

no on

and then

afterwards

let the world

take its course

[Music]

inspire to Sing in heaven

[Music]

and praise God glor

never look there that way lies waste and

desert

I was a dead man

long before I hide.

Good morning.

Where is your list of sins? I've shouted

and whistled

all over the mall. Met no one.

Only a traveling photographer.

Well, your time is up. Yes, everything's

up. The owl smells the light. Can you

hear him hooting? It's the bell for

matteds.

What's that shining there?

Only the light from a hut. What's that

sound like? Someone sighing. A woman

singing. There.

Yes, there I'll find my sins. Set thy

house in order. My house. It's there.

No way be gone. If your ladle were as

large as a coffin, it would be too small

for me and my sins.

Well, the third crossroads, P. 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 narrow the

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 be

empty. 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 Pagant been since you saw him

last? B with a 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 myself?

My true self,

my whole self.

In my faith, in my hope, and in my love.

What do you say?

Now you speak riddles.

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 thy 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've played together

the lifelong day you've lain on my

breast.

You've always been close to my heart.

Now you're tired.

You can rest.

[Music]

We shall meet at the last crossroads.

[Music]

I love my joy.

Sleep

now

and dream.

[Music]

Heat. Heat.

[Music]