The Original Peter
Posted by Philipp Brieler on 2/22/20086 days to the Peter Grimes premiere!
Montagu Slater’s libretto to Peter Grimes is based on the poem The Borough by the English poet and naturalist George Crabbe (1754–1832). Itself based on Crabbe’s personal experiences and first published in 1810, the poem consists of 24 sections, or “letters,” describing various aspects of life in the Borough and telling the stories of a number of its inhabitants. Letter XXII, some 3000 words in length, deals with the tale of Peter Grimes. Here’s an excerpt, roughly corresponding to the prologue of the opera.
One day such draughts the cruel fisher made,
He could not vend them in his borough-trade,
But sail’d for London-mart: the boy was ill,
But ever humbled to his master’s will;
And on the river, where they smoothly sail’d,
He strove with terror and awhile prevail’d;
But new to danger on the angry sea,
He clung affrighten’d to his master’s knee:
The boat grew leaky and the wind was strong,
Rough was the passage and the time was long;
His liquor fail’d, and Peter’s wrath arose—
No more is known—the rest we must suppose,
Or learn of Peter.—Peter says, he “spied
The stripling’s danger and for harbour tried;
Meantime the fish, and then th’ apprentice died.”
The pitying women raised a clamour round,
And weeping said, “Thou hast thy ’prentice drown’d.”
Now the stern man was summon’d to the hall,
To tell his tale before the burghers all:
He gave th’ account; profess’d the lad he loved,
And kept his brazen features all unmoved.
The mayor himself with tone severe replied,
“Henceforth with thee shall never boy abide;
Hire thee a freeman, whom thou durst not beat,
But who, in thy despite, will sleep and eat:
Free thou art now!—again shouldst thou appear,
Thou’lt find thy sentence, like thy soul, severe.”
Alas! for Peter not a helping hand,
So was he hated, could he now command;
Alone he row’d his boat, alone he cast
His nets beside, or made his anchor fast;
To hold a rope or hear a curse was none—
He toil’d and rail’d; he groan’d and swore alone.
Thus by himself compell’d to live each day,
To wait for certain hours the tide’s delay;
At the same times the same dull views to see,
The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted tree;
The water only, when the tides were high,
When low, the mud half-cover’d and half-dry;
The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks,
And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks;
Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float,
As the tide rolls by the impeded boat.
To read the complete poem, go to www.gutenberg.org.