The SCENE represents a pretty garden irregularly but tastefully laid out; in the background are seen the fjord and the islands. To the left is the house, with a verandah and an open dormer window above; to the right in the foreground an open summer-house with a table and benches. The landscape lies in bright afternoon sunshine. It is early summer; the fruit-trees are in flower.
When the Curtain rises, MRS. HALM, ANNA, and MISS JAY are sitting on the verandah, the first two engaged in embroidery, the last with a book. In the summer-house are seen FALK, LIND, GULDSTAD, and STIVER: a punch-bowl and glasses are on the table. SVANHILD sits alone in the background by the water.
FALK [rises, lifts his glass, and sings].
Sun-glad day in garden shady
Was but made for thy delight:
What though promises of May-day
Be annulled by Autumn's blight?
Apple-blossom white and splendid
Drapes thee in its glowing tent,—
Let it, then, when day is ended,
Strew the closes storm-besprent.
CHORUS OF GENTLEMEN.
Let it, then, when day is ended, etc.
FALK.
Wherefore seek the harvest's guerdon
While the tree is yet in bloom?
Wherefore drudge beneath the burden
Of an unaccomplished doom?
Wherefore let the scarecrow clatter
Day and night upon the tree?
Brothers mine, the sparrows' chatter
Has a cheerier melody.
CHORUS.
Brothers mine, the sparrow's chatter, etc.
FALK.
Happy songster! Wherefore scare him
From our blossom-laden bower?
Rather for his music spare him
All our future, flower by flower;
Trust me, 'twill be cheaply buying
Present song with future fruit;
List the proverb, "Time is flying;—"
Soon our garden music's mute.
CHORUS.
List the proverb, etc.
FALK.
I will live in song and gladness,—
Then, when every bloom is shed,
Sweep together, scarce in sadness,
All that glory, wan and dead:
Fling the gates wide! Bruise and batter,
Tear and trample, hoof and tusk;
I have plucked the flower, what matter
Who devours the withered husk!
CHORUS.
I have plucked the flower, etc.
[They clink and empty their glasses.
FALK [to the ladies].
There—that's the song you asked me for; but pray
Be lenient to it—I can't think to-day.
GULDSTAD.
Oh, never mind the sense—the sound's the thing.
MISS JAY [looking round].
But Svanhild, who was eagerest to hear—?
When Falk began, she suddenly took wing
And vanished—
ANNA [pointing towards the back].
No, for there she sits—I see her.
MRS. HALM [sighing].
That child! Heaven knows, she's past my comprehending!
MISS JAY.
But, Mr. Falk, I thought the lyric's ending
Was not so rich in—well, in poetry,
As others of the stanzas seemed to be.
STIVER.
Why yes, and I am sure it could not tax
Your powers to get a little more inserted—
FALK [clinking glasses with him].
You cram it in, like putty into cracks,
Till lean is into streaky fat converted.
STIVER [unruffled].
Yes, nothing easier—I, too, in my day
Could do the trick.
GULDSTAD.
Dear me! Were you a poet?
MISS JAY.
My Stiver! Yes!
STIVER.
Oh, in a humble way.
MISS JAY [to the ladies].
His nature is romantic.
MRS. HALM.
Yes, we know it.
STIVER.
Not now; it's ages since I turned a rhyme.
FALK.
Yes varnish and romance go off with time.
But in the old days—?
STIVER.
Well, you see, 'twas when
I was in love.
FALK.
Is that time over, then?
Have you slept off the sweet intoxication?
STIVER.
I'm now engaged—I hold official station—
That's better than in love, I apprehend!
FALK.
Quite so! You're in the right my good old friend.
The worst is past—vous voila bien avance—
Promoted from mere lover to fiance.
STIVER [with a smile of complacent recollection].
It's strange to think of it—upon my word,
I half suspect my memory of lying—
[Turns to FALK.
But seven years ago—it sounds absurd!—
I wasted office hours in versifying.
FALK.
What! Office hours—!
STIVER.
Yes, such were my transgressions.
GULDSTAD [ringing on his glass].
Silence for our solicitor's confessions!
STIVER.
But chiefly after five, when I was free,
I'd rattle off whole reams of poetry—
Ten—fifteen folios ere I went to bed—
FALK.
I see—you gave your Pegasus his head,
And off he tore—
STIVER.
On stamped or unstamped paper—
'Twas all the same to him—he'd prance and caper—
FALK.
The spring of poetry flowed no less flush?
But how, pray, did you teach it first to gush?
STIVER.
By aid of love's divining-rod, my friend!
Miss Jay it was that taught me where to bore,
My fiancee—she became so in the end—
For then she was—
FALK.
Your love and nothing more.
STIVER [continuing].
'Twas a strange time; I could not read a bit;
I tuned my pen instead of pointing it;
And when along the foolscap sheet it raced,
It twangled music to the words I traced;—
At last by letter I declared my flame
To her—to her—
FALK.
Whose fiancee you became.
STIVER.
In course of post her answer came to hand—
The motion granted—judgment in my favour!
FALK.
And you felt bigger, as you wrote, and braver,
To find you'd brought your venture safe to land!
STIVER.
Of course.
FALK.
And you bade the Muse farewell?
STIVER.
I've felt no lyric impulse, truth to tell,
From that day forth. My vein appeared to peter
Entirely out; and now, if I essay
To turn a verse or two for New Year's Day,
I make the veriest hash of rhyme and metre,
And—I've no notion what the cause can be—
It turns to law and not to poetry.
GULDSTAD [clinks glasses with him].
And trust me, you're no whit the worse for that!
[To Falk.
You think the stream of life is flowing solely
To bear you to the goal you're aiming at—
But here I lodge a protest energetic,
Say what you will, against its wretched moral.
A masterly economy and new
To let the birds play havoc at their pleasure
Among your fruit-trees, fruitless now for you,
And suffer flocks and herds to trample through
Your garden, and lay waste its springtide treasure!
A pretty prospect, truly, for next year!
FALK.
Oh, next, next, next! The thought I loathe and fear
That these four letters timidly express—
It beggars millionaires in happiness!
If I could be the autocrat of speech
But for one hour, that hateful word I'd banish;
I'd send it packing out of mortal reach,
As B and G from Knudsen's Grammar vanish.
STIVER.
Why should the word of hope enrage you thus?
FALK.
Because it darkens God's fair earth for us.
"Next year," "next love," "next life,"—my soul is vext
To see this world in thraldom to "the next."
'Tis this dull forethought, bent on future prizes,
That millionaires in gladness pauperises.
Far as the eye can reach, it blurs the age;
All rapture of the moment it destroys;
No one dares taste in peace life's simplest joys
Until he's struggled on another stage—
And there arriving, can he there repose?
No—to a new "next" off he flies again;
On, on, unresting to the grave he goes;
And God knows if there's any resting then.
MISS JAY.
Fie, Mr. Falk, such sentiments are shocking.
ANNA [pensively].
Oh, I can understand the feeling quite;
I am sure at bottom Mr. Falk is right.
MISS JAY [perturbed].
My Stiver mustn't listen to his mocking.
He's rather too eccentric even now.—
My dear, I want you.
STIVER [occupied in cleaning his pipe].
Presently, my dear.
GULDSTAD [to FALK].
One thing at least to me is very clear;—
And this is that you cannot but allow
Some forethought indispensable. For see,
Suppose that you to-day should write a sonnet,
And, scorning forethought, you should lavish on it
Your last reserve, your all, of poetry,
So that, to-morrow, when you set about
Your next song, you should find yourself cleaned out,
Heavens! how your friends the critics then would crow!
FALK.
D'you think they'd notice I was bankrupt? No!
Once beggared of ideas, I and they
Would saunter arm in arm the selfsame way—
[Breaking off.
But Lind! why, what's the matter with you, pray?
You sit there dumb and dreaming—I suspect you're
Deep in the mysteries of architecture.
LIND [collecting himself].
I? What should make you think so?
FALK.
I observe.
Your eyes are glued to the verandah yonder—
You're studying, mayhap, its arches' curve,
Or can it be its pillars' strength you ponder,
The door perhaps, with hammered iron hinges?
From something there your glances never wander.
LIND.
No, you are wrong—I'm just absorbed in being—
Drunk with the hour—naught craving, naught foreseeing.
I feel as though I stood, my life complete,
With all earth's riches scattered at my feet.
Thanks for your song of happiness and spring—
From out my inmost heart it seemed to spring.
[Lifts his glass and exchanges a glance, unobserved,
with ANNA.
Here's to the blossom in its fragrant pride!
What reck we of the fruit of autumn-tide?
[Empties his glass.
FALK [looks at him with surprise and emotion,
but assumes a light tone].
Behold, fair ladies! though you scorn me quite,
Here I have made an easy proselyte.
His hymn-book yesterday was all he cared for—
To-day e'en dithyrambics he's prepared for!
We poets must be born, cries every judge;
But prose-folks, now and then, like Strasburg geese,
Gorge themselves so inhumanly obese
On rhyming balderdash and rhythmic fudge,
That, when cleaned out, their very souls are thick
With lyric lard and greasy rhetoric.
[To LIND.
Your praise, however, I shall not forget;
We'll sweep the lyre henceforward in duet.
MISS JAY.
You, Mr. Falk, are hard at work, no doubt,
Here in these rural solitudes delightful,
Where at your own sweet will you roam about—
MRS. HALM [smiling].
Oh, no, his laziness is something frightful.
MISS JAY.
What! here at Mrs. Halm's! that's most surprising—
Surely it's just the place for poetising—
[Pointing to the right.
That summer-house, for instance, in the wood
Sequestered, name me any place that could
Be more conducive to poetic mood—
FALK.
Let blindness veil the sunlight from mine eyes,
I'll chant the splendour of the sunlit skies!
Just for a season let me beg or borrow
A great, a crushing, a stupendous sorrow,
And soon you'll hear my hymns of gladness rise!
But best, Miss Jay, to nerve my wings for flight,
Find me a maid to be my life, my light—
For that incitement long to heaven I've pleaded;
But hitherto, worse luck, it hasn't heeded.
MISS JAY.
What levity!
MRS. HALM.
Yes, most irreverent!
FALK.
Pray don't imagine it was my intent
To live with her on bread and cheese and kisses.
No! just upon the threshold of our blisses,
Kind Heaven must snatch away the gift it lent.
I need a little spiritual gymnastic;
The dose in that form surely would be drastic.
SVANHILD.
[Has during the talk approached; she stands close to
the table, and says in a determined but whimsical tone:
I'll pray that such may be your destiny.
But, when it finds you—bear it like a man.
FALK [turning round in surprise].
Miss Svanhild!—well, I'll do the best I can.
But think you I may trust implicitly
To finding your petitions efficacious?
Heaven as you know, to faith alone is gracious—
And though you've doubtless will enough for two
To make me bid my peace of mind adieu,
Have you the faith to carry matters through?
That is the question.
SVANHILD [half in jest].
Wait till sorrow comes,
And all your being's springtide chills and numbs,
Wait till it gnaws and rends you, soon and late,
Then tell me if my faith is adequate.
[She goes across to the ladies.
MRS. HALM [aside to her].
Can you two never be at peace? you've made
Poor Mr. Falk quite angry, I'm afraid.
[Continues reprovingly in a low voice. MISS JAY joins in
the conversation. SVANHILD remains cold and silent.
FALK [after a pause of reflection goes over to the summer-house,
then to himself].
With fullest confidence her glances lightened.
Shall I believe, as she does so securely,
That Heaven intends—
GULDSTAD.
No, hang it; don't be frightened!
The powers above would be demented surely
To give effect to orders such as these.
No, my good sir—the cure for your disease
Is exercise for muscle, nerve, and sinew.
Don't lie there wasting all the grit that's in you
In idle dreams; cut wood, if that were all;
And then I'll say the devil's in't indeed
If one brief fortnight does not find you freed
From all your whimsies high-fantastical.
FALK.
Fetter'd by choice, like Burnell's ass, I ponder—
The flesh on this side, and the spirit yonder.
Which were it wiser I should go for first?
GULDSTAD [filling the glasses].
First have some punch—that quenches ire and thirst.
MRS. HALM [looking at her watch].
Ha! Eight o'clock! my watch is either fast, or
It's just the time we may expect the Pastor.
[Rises, and puts things in order on the verandah.
FALK.
What! have we parsons coming?
MISS JAY.
Don't you know?
MRS. HALM.
I told you, just a little while ago—
ANNA.
No, mother—Mr. Falk had not yet come.
MRS. HALM.
Why no, that's true; but pray don't look so glum.
Trust me, you'll be enchanted with his visit.
FALK.
A clerical enchanter; pray who is it?
MRS. HALM.
Why, Pastor Strawman, not unknown to fame.
FALK.
Indeed! Oh, yes, I think I've heard his name,
And read that in the legislative game
He comes to take a hand, with voice and vote.
STIVER.
He speaks superbly.
GULDSTAD.
When he's cleared his throat.
MISS JAY.
He's coming with his wife—
MRS. HALM.
And all their blessings—
FALK.
To give them three or four days' treat, poor dears—
Soon he'll be buried over head and ears
In Swedish muddles and official messings—
I see!
MRS. HALM [to FALK].
Now there's a man for you, in truth!
GULDSTAD.
They say he was a rogue, though, in his youth.
MISS JAY [offended].
There, Mr. Guldstad, I must break a lance!
I've heard as long as I can recollect,
Most worthy people speak with great respect
Of Pastor Strawman and his life's romance.
GULDSTAD [laughing].
Romance?
MISS JAY.
Romance! I call a match romantic
At which mere worldly wisdom looks askance.
FALK.
You make my curiosity gigantic.
MISS JAY [continuing].
But certain people always grow splenetic—
Why, goodness knows—at everything pathetic,
And scoff it down. We all know how, of late,
An unfledged, upstart undergraduate
Presumed, with brazen insolence, to declare
That "William Russell"(1)was a poor affair!
FALK.
But what has this to do with Strawman, pray?
Is he a poem, or a Christian play?
MISS JAY [with tears of emotion].
No, Falk,—a man, with heart as large as day.
But when a—so to speak—mere lifeless thing
Can put such venom into envy's sting,
And stir up evil passions fierce and fell
Of such a depth—
FALK [sympathetically].
And such a length as well—
MISS JAY.
Why then, a man of your commanding brain
Can't fail to see—
FALK.
Oh, yes, that's very plain.
But hitherto I haven't quite made out
The nature, style, and plot of this romance.
It's something quite delightful I've no doubt—
But just a little inkling in advance—
STIVER.
I will abstract, in rapid resume,
The leading points.
MISS JAY.
No, I am more au fait,
I know the ins and outs—
MRS. HALM.
I know them too!
MISS JAY.
Oh Mrs. Halm! now let me tell it, do!
Well, Mr. Falk, you see—he passed at college
For quite a miracle of wit and knowledge,
Had admirable taste in books and dress—
MRS. HALM.
And acted—privately—with great success.
MISS JAY.
Yes, wait a bit—he painted, played and wrote—
MRS. HALM.
And don't forget his gift of anecdote.
MISS JAY.
Do give me time; I know the whole affair:
He made some verses, set them to an air,
Also his own,—and found a publisher.
O heavens! with what romantic melancholy
He played and sang his "Madrigals to Molly"!
MRS. HALM.
He was a genius, the simple fact.
GULDSTAD [to himself].
Hm! Some were of opinion he was cracked.
FALK.
A gray old stager,(2)whose sagacious head
Was never upon mouldy parchments fed,
Says "Love makes Petrarchs, just as many lambs
And little occupation, Abrahams."
But who was Molly?
MISS JAY.
Molly? His elect,
His lady-love, whom shortly we expect.
Of a great firm her father was a member—
GULDSTAD.
A timber house.
MISS JAY [curtly].
I'm really not aware.
GULDSTAD.
Did a large trade in scantlings, I remember.
MISS JAY.
That is the trivial side of the affair.
FALK.
A firm?
MISS JAY [continuing].
Of vast resources, I'm informed.
You can imagine how the suitors swarm'd;
Gentlemen of the highest reputation.—
MRS. HALM.
Even a baronet made application.
MISS JAY.
But Molly was not to be made their catch.
She had met Strawman upon private stages;
To see him was to love him—
FALK.
And despatch
The wooing gentry home without their wages?
MRS. HALM.
Was it not just a too romantic match?
MISS JAY.
And then there was a terrible old father,
Whose sport was thrusting happy souls apart;
She had a guardian also, as I gather,
To add fresh torment to her tortured heart.
But each of them was loyal to his vow;
A straw-hatched cottage and a snow-white ewe
They dream'd of, just enough to nourish two—
MRS. HALM.
Or at the very uttermost a cow,—
MISS JAY.
In short, I've heard it from the lips of both,—
A beck, a byre, two bosoms, and one troth.
FALK.
Ah yes! And then—?
MISS JAY.
She broke with kin and class.
FALK.
She broke—?
MRS. HALM.
Broke with them.
FALK.
There's a plucky lass!
MISS JAY.
And fled to Strawman's garret—
FALK.
How? Without—
Ahem, the priestly consecration?
MISS JAY.
Shame!
MRS. HALM.
Fy, fy! my late beloved husband's name
Was on the list of sponsors—!
STIVER [to MISS JAY].
The one room
Not housing sheep and cattle, I presume.
MISS JAY [to STIVER].
O, but you must consider this, my friend;
There is no Want where Love's the guiding star;
All's right without if tender Troth's within.
[To Falk.
He loved her to the notes of the guitar,
And she gave lessons on the violin—
MRS. HALM.
Then all, of course, on credit they bespoke—
GULDSTAD.
Till, in a year, the timber merchant broke.
MRS. HALM.
Then Strawman had a call to north.
MISS JAY.
And there
Vowed, in a letter that I saw (as few did),
He lived but for his duty, and for her.
FALK [as if completing her statement].
And with those words his Life's Romance concluded.
MRS. HALM [rising].
How if we should go out upon the lawn,
And see if there's no prospect of them yet?
MISS JAY [drawing on her mantle].
It's cool already.
MRS. HALM.
Svanhild, will you get
My woollen shawl?—Come ladies, pray!
LIND [to ANNA, unobserved by the others].
Go on!
[SVANHILD goes into the house; the others, except
FALK, go towards the back and out to the left.
LIND, who has followed, stops and returns.
LIND.
My friend!
FALK.
Ah, ditto.
LIND.
Falk, your hand! The tide
Of joy's so vehement, it will perforce
Break out—
FALK.
Hullo there; you must first be tried;
Sentence and hanging follow in due course.
Now, what on earth's the matter? To conceal
From me, your friend, this treasure of your finding;
For you'll confess the inference is binding:
You've come into a prize off Fortune's wheel!
LIND.
I've snared and taken Fortune's blessed bird!
FALK.
How? Living,—and undamaged by the steel?
LIND.
Patience; I'll tell the matter in one word.
I am engaged! Conceive—!
FALK [quickly].
Engaged!
LIND.
It's true!
To-day,—with unimagined courage swelling,
I said,—ahem, it will not bear re-telling;—
But only think,—the sweet young maiden grew
Quite rosy-red,—but not at all enraged!
You see, Falk, what I ventured for a bride!
She listened,—and I rather think she cried;
That, sure, means "Yes"?
FALK.
If precedents decide;
Go on.
LIND.
And so we really are—engaged?
FALK.
I should conclude so; but the only way
To be quite certain, is to ask Miss Jay.
LIND.
O no, I feel so confident, so clear!
So perfectly assured, and void of fear.
[Radiantly, in a mysterious tone.
Hark! I had leave her fingers to caress
When from the coffee-board she drew the cover.
FALK [lifting and emptying his glass].
Well, flowers of spring your wedding garland dress!
LIND [doing the same].
And here I swear by heaven that I will love her
Until I die, with love as infinite
As now glows in me,—for she is so sweet!
FALK.
Engaged! Aha, so that was why you flung
The Holy Law and Prophets on the shelf!
LIND [laughing].
And you believed it was the song you sung—!
FALK.
A poet believes all things of himself.
LIND [seriously].
Don't think, however, Falk, that I dismiss
The theologian from my hour of bliss.
Only, I find the Book will not suffice
As Jacob's ladder unto Paradise.
I must into God's world, and seek Him there.
A boundless kindness in my heart upsprings,
I love the straw, I love the creeping things;
They also in my joy shall have a share.
FALK.
Yes, only tell me this, though—
LIND.
I have told it,—
My precious secret, and our three hearts hold it!
FALK.
But have you thought about the future?
LIND.
Thought?
I?—thought about the future? No, from this
Time forth I live but in the hour that is.
In home shall all my happiness be sought;
We hold Fate's reins, we drive her hither, thither,
And neither friend nor mother shall have right
To say unto my budding blossom: Wither!
For I am earnest and her eyes are bright,
And so it must unfold into the light!
FALK.
Yes, Fortune likes you, you will serve her turn!
LIND.
My spirits like wild music glow and burn;
I feel myself a Titan: though a foss
Opened before me—I would leap across!
FALK.
Your love, you mean to say, in simple prose,
Has made a reindeer of you.
LIND.
Well, suppose;
But in my wildest flight, I know the nest
In which my heart's dove longs to be at rest!
FALK.
Well then, to-morrow it may fly con brio,
You're off into the hills with the quartette.
I'll guarantee you against cold and wet—
LIND.
Pooh, the quartette may go and climb in trio,
The lowly dale has mountain air for me;
Here I've the immeasurable fjord, the flowers,
Here I have warbling birds and choral bowers,
And lady fortune's self,—for here is she!
FALK.
Ah, lady Fortune by our Northern water caught her!
[With a glance towards the house.
Hist—Svanhild—
LIND.
Well; I go,—disclose to none
The secret that we share alone with one.
'Twas good of you to listen; now enfold it
Deep in your heart,—warm, glowing, as I told it.
[He goes out in the background to the others. FALK
looks after him a moment, and paces up and down
in the garden, visibly striving to master his
agitation. Presently SVANHILD comes out with a
shawl on her arm, and is going towards the back.
FALK approaches and gazes at her fixedly.
SVANHILD stops.
SVANHILD [after a short pause].
You gaze at me so!
FALK [half to himself].
Yes, 'tis there—the same;
The shadow in her eyes' deep mirror sleeping,
The roguish elf about her lips a-peeping,
It is there.
SVANHILD.
What? You frighten me.
FALK.
Your name
Is Svanhild?
SVANHILD.
Yes, you know it very well.
FALK.
But do you know the name is laughable?
I beg you to discard it from to-night!
SVANHILD.
That would be far beyond a daughter's right—
FALK [laughing].
Hm. "Svanhild! Svanhild!"
[With sudden gravity.
With your earliest breath
How came you by this prophecy of death?
SVANHILD.
Is it so grim?
FALK.
No, lovely as a song,
But for our age too great and stern and strong,
How can a modern demoiselle fill out
The ideal that heroic name expresses?
No, no, discard it with your outworn dresses.
SVANHILD.
You mean the mythical princess, no doubt—
FALK.
Who, guiltless, died beneath the horse's feet.
SVANHILD.
But now such acts are clearly obsolete.
No, no, I'll mount his saddle! There's my place!
How often have I dreamt, in pensive ease,
He bore me, buoyant, through the world apace,
His mane a flag of freedom in the breeze!
FALK.
Yes, the old tale. In "pensive ease" no mortal
Is stopped by thwarting bar or cullis'd portal;
Fearless we cleave the ether without bound;
In practice, tho', we shrewdly hug the ground;
For all love life and, having choice, will choose it;
And no man dares to leap where he may lose it.
SVANHILD.
Yes! show me but the end, I'll spurn the shore;
But let the end be worth the leaping for!
A Ballarat beyond the desert sands—
Else each will stay exactly where he stands.
FALK [sarcastically].
I grasp the case;—the due conditions fail.
SVANHILD [eagerly].
Exactly: what's the use of spreading sail
When there is not a breath of wind astir?
FALK [ironically].
Yes, what's the use of plying whip and spur
When there is not a penny of reward
For him who tears him from the festal board,
And mounts, and dashes headlong to perdition?
Such doing for the deed's sake asks a knight,
And knighthood's now an idle superstition.
That was your meaning, possibly?
SVANHILD.
Quite right.
Look at that fruit tree in the orchard close,—
No blossom on its barren branches blows.
You should have seen last year with what brave airs
It staggered underneath its world of pears.
FALK [uncertain].
No doubt, but what's the moral you impute?
SVANHILD [with finesse].
O, among other things, the bold unreason
Of modern Zacharies who seek for fruit.
If the tree blossom'd to excess last season,
You must not crave the blossoms back in this.
FALK.
I knew you'd find your footing in the ways
Of old romance.
SVANHILD.
Yes, modern virtue is
Of quite another stamp. Who now arrays
Himself to battle for the truth? Who'll stake
His life and person fearless for truth's sake?
Where is the hero?
FALK [looking keenly at her].
Where is the Valkyria?
SVANHILD [shaking her head].
Valkyrias find no market in this land!
When the faith lately was assailed in Syria,
Did you go out with the crusader-band?
No, but on paper you were warm and willing,—
And sent the "Clerical Gazette" a shilling.
[Pause. FALK is about to retort, but checks
himself, and goes into the garden.
SVANHILD [after watching him a moment, approaches him and asks gently: Falk, are you angry?
FALK.
No, I only brood,—
SVANHILD [with thoughtful sympathy].
You seem to be two natures, still at feud,—
Unreconciled—
FALK.
I know it well.
SVANHILD [impetuously].
But why?
FALK [losing self-control].
Why, why? Because I hate to go about
With soul bared boldly to the vulgar eye,
As Jock and Jennie hang their passions out;
To wear my glowing heart upon my sleeve,
Like women in low dresses. You, alone,
Svanhild, you only,—you, I did believe,—
Well, it is past, that dream, for ever flown.—
[She goes to the summer-house and looks out;
he follows.
You listen—?
SVANHILD.
To another voice, that sings.
Hark! every evening when the sun's at rest,
A little bird floats hither on beating wings,—
See there—it darted from its leafy nest—
And, do you know, it is my faith, as oft
As God makes any songless soul, He sends
A little bird to be her friend of friends,
And sing for ever in her garden-croft.
FALK [picking up a stone].
Then must the owner and the bird be near,
Or its song's squandered on a stranger's ear.
SVANHILD.
Yes, that is true; but I've discovered mine.
Of speech and song I am denied the power,
But when it warbles in its leafy bower,
Poems flow in upon my brain like wine—
Ah, yes,—they fleet—they are not to be won—
[FALK throws the stone. SVANHILD screams.
O God, you've hit it! Ah, what have you done!
[She hurries out to the the right and then quickly returns.
O pity! pity!
FALK [in passionate agitation].
No,—but eye for eye,
Svanhild, and tooth for tooth. Now you'll attend
No further greetings from your garden-friend,
No guerdon from the land of melody.
That is my vengeance: as you slew I slay.
SVANHILD.
I slew?
FALK.
You slew. Until this very day,
A clear-voiced song-bird warbled in my soul;
See,—now one passing bell for both may toll—
You've killed it!
SVANHILD.
Have I?
FALK.
Yes, for you have slain
My young, high-hearted, joyous exultation—
[Contemptuously.
By your betrothal!
SVANHILD.
How! But pray explain—!
FALK.
O, it's in full accord with expectation;
He gets his licence, enters orders, speeds to
A post,—as missionary in the West—
SVANHILD [in the same tone].
A pretty penny, also, he succeeds to;—
For it is Lind you speak of—?
FALK.
You know best
Of whom I speak.
SVANHILD [with a subdued smile].
As the bride's sister, true,
I cannot help—
FALK.
Great God! It is not you—?
SVANHILD.
Who win this overplus of bliss? Ah no!
FALK [with almost childish joy].
It is not you! O God be glorified!
What love, what mercy does He not bestow!
I shall not see you as another's bride;—
'Twas but the fire of pain He bade me bear—
[Tries to seize her hand.
O hear me, Svanhild, hear me then—
SVANHILD [pointing quickly to the background].
See there!
[She goes towards the house. At the same moment
MRS. HALM, ANNA, MISS JAY, GULDSTAD, STIVER, and
LIND emerge from the background. During the
previous scene the sun has set; it is now dark.
MRS. HALM [to SVANHILD].
The Strawmans may be momently expected.
Where have you been?
MISS JAY [after glancing at FALK].
Your colour's very high.
SVANHILD.
A little face-ache; it will soon pass by.
MRS. HALM.
And yet you walk at nightfall unprotected?
Arrange the room, and see that tea is ready;
Let everything be nice; I know the lady.
[Svanhild goes in.
STIVER [to FALK].
What is the colour of this parson's coat?
FALK.
I guess bread-taxers would not catch his vote.
STIVER.
How if one made allusion to the store
Of verses, yet unpublished, in my drawer?
FALK.
It might do something.
STIVER.
Would to heaven it might!
Our wedding's imminent; our purses light.
Courtship's a very serious affair.
FALK.
Just so: "Qu'allais-tu faire dans cette galere?"
STIVER.
Is courtship a "galere"?
FALK.
No, married lives;—
All servitude, captivity, and gyves.
STIVER [seeing MISS JAY approach].
You little know what wealth a man obtains
From woman's eloquence and woman's brains.
MISS JAY [aside to STIVER].
Will Guldstad give us credit, think you?
STIVER [peevishly].
I
Am not quite certain of it yet: I'll try.
[They withdraw in conversation; LIND and
ANNA approach.
LIND [aside to FALK].
I can't endure it longer; in post-haste
I must present her—
FALK.
You had best refrain,
And not initiate the eye profane
Into your mysteries—
LIND.
That would be a jest!—
From you, my fellow-boarder, and my mate,
To keep concealed my new-found happy state!
Nay, now, my head with Fortune's oil anointed—
FALK.
You think the occasion good to get it curled?
Well, my good friend, you won't be disappointed;
Go and announce your union to the world!
LIND.
Other reflections also weigh with me,
And one of more especial gravity;
Say that there lurked among our motley band
Some sneaking, sly pretender to her hand;
Say, his attentions became undisguised,—
We should be disagreeably compromised.
FALK.
Yes, it is true; it had escaped my mind,
You for a higher office were designed,
Love as his young licentiate has retained you;
Shortly you'll get a permanent position;
But it would be defying all tradition
If at the present moment he ordained you.
LIND.
Yes if the merchant does not—
FALK.
What of him?
ANNA [troubled].
Oh, it is Lind's unreasonable whim.
LIND.
Hush; I've a deep foreboding that the man
Will rob me of my treasure, if he can.
The fellow, as we know, comes daily down,
Is rich, unmarried, takes you round the town;
In short, my own, regard it as we will,
There are a thousand things that bode us ill.
ANNA [sighing].
Oh, it's too bad; to-day was so delicious!
FALK [sympathetically to LIND].
Don't wreck your joy, unfoundedly suspicious,
Don't hoist your flag till time the truth disclose—
ANNA.
Great God! Miss Jay is looking; hush, be still!
[She and LIND withdraw in different directions.
FALK [looking after LIND].
So to the ruin of his youth he goes.
GULDSTAD. [Who has meantime been conversing on the steps
with MRS. HALM and MISS JAY, approaches FALK
and slaps him on the shoulder.
Well, brooding on a poem?
FALK.
No, a play.
GULDSTAD.
The deuce;—I never heard it was your line.
FALK.
O no, the author is a friend of mine,
And your acquaintance also, I daresay.
The knave's a dashing writer, never doubt.
Only imagine, in a single day
He's worked a perfect little Idyll out.
GULDSTAD [slily].
With happy ending, doubtless!
FALK.
You're aware,
No curtain falls but on a plighted pair.
Thus with the Trilogy's First Part we've reckoned;
But now the poet's labour-throes begin;
The Comedy of Troth-plight, Part the Second,
Thro' five insipid Acts he has to spin,
And of that staple, finally, compose
Part Third,—or Wedlock's Tragedy, in prose.
GULDSTAD [smiling].
The poet's vein is catching, it would seem.
FALK.
Really? How so, pray?
GULDSTAD.
Since I also pore
And ponder over a poetic scheme,—
[Mysteriously.
An actuality—and not a dream.
FALK.
And pray, who is the hero of your theme?
GULDSTAD.
I'll tell you that to-morrow—not before.
FALK.
It is yourself!
GULDSTAD.
You think me equal to it?
FALK.
I'm sure no other mortal man could do it.
But then the heroine? No city maid,
I'll swear, but of the country, breathing balm?
GULDSTAD [lifting his finger].
Ah,—that's the point, and must not be betrayed!—
[Changing his tone.
Pray tell me your opinion of Miss Halm.
FALK.
O you're best able to pronounce upon her;
My voice can neither credit nor dishonour,—
[Smiling.
But just take care no mischief-maker blot
This fine poetic scheme of which you talk.
Suppose I were so shameless as to balk
The meditated climax of the plot?
GULDSTAD [good-naturedly].
Well, I would cry "Amen," and change my plan.
FALK.
What!
GULDSTAD.
Why, you see, you are a letter'd man;
How monstrous were it if your skill'd design
Were ruined by a bungler's hand like mine!
[Retires to the background.
FALK [in passing, to LIND].
Yes, you were right; the merchant's really scheming
The ruin of your new-won happiness.
LIND [aside to ANNA].
Now then you see, my doubting was not dreaming;
We'll go this very moment and confess.
[They approach MRS. HALM, who is standing with Miss Jay
by the house.
GULDSTAD [conversing with STIVER].
'Tis a fine evening.
STIVER.
Very likely,—when
A man's disposed—
GULDSTAD [facetiously].
What, all not running smooth
In true love's course?
STIVER.
Not that exactly—
FALK [coming up].
Then
With your engagement?
STIVER.
That's about the truth.
FALK.
Hurrah! Your spendthrift pocket has a groat
Or two still left, it seems, of poetry.
STIVER [stiffly].
I cannot see what poetry has got
To do with my engagement, or with me.
FALK.
You are not meant to see; when lovers prove
What love is, all is over with their love.
GULDSTAD [to STIVER].
But if there's matter for adjustment, pray
Let's hear it.
STIVER.
I've been pondering all day
Whether the thing is proper to disclose,
But still the Ayes are balanced by the Noes.
FALK.
I'll right you in one sentence. Ever since
As plighted lover you were first installed,
You've felt yourself, if I may say so, galled—
STIVER.
And sometimes to the quick.
FALK.
You've had to wince
Beneath a crushing load of obligations
That you'd send packing, if good form permitted.
That's what's the matter.
STIVER.
Monstrous accusations!
My legal debts I've honestly acquitted;
But other bonds next month are falling due;
[To GULDSTAD.
When a man weds, you see, he gets a wife—
FALK [triumphant].
Now your youth's heaven once again is blue;
There rang an echo from your old song-life!
That's how it is: I read you thro' and thro';
Wings, wings were all you wanted,—and a knife!
STIVER.
A knife?
FALK.
Yes, Resolution's knife, to sever
Each captive bond, and set you free for ever,
To soar—
STIVER [angrily].
Nay, now you're insolent beyond
Endurance! Me to charge with violation
Of law,—me, me with plotting to abscond!
It's libellous, malicious defamation,
Insult and calumny—
FALK.
Are you insane?
What is all this about? Explain! Explain!
GULDSTAD [laughingly to STIVER].
Yes, clear your mind of all this balderdash!
What do you want?
STIVER [pulling himself together].
A trifling loan in cash.
FALK.
A loan!
STIVER [hurriedly to GULDSTAD].
That is, I mean to say, you know,
A voucher for a ten pound note, or so.
MISS JAY [to LIND and ANNA].
I wish you joy! How lovely, how delicious!
GULDSTAD [going up to the ladies].
Pray what has happened?
[To himself.] This was unpropitious.
FALK [throws his arms about STIVER's neck].
Hurrah! the trumpet's dulcet notes proclaim
A brother born to you in Amor's name!
[Drags him to the others.
MISS JAY [to the gentlemen].
Think! Lind and Anna—think!—have plighted hearts,
Affianced lovers!
MRS. HALM [with tears of emotion].
'Tis the eighth in order
Who well-provided from this house departs;
[To FALK.
Seven nieces wedded-always with a boarder—
[Is overcome; presses her handkerchief to her eyes.
MISS JAY [to ANNA].
Well, there will come a flood of gratulation!
[Caresses her with emotion.
LIND [seizing FALK's hand].
My friend, I walk in rapt intoxication!
FALK.
Hold! As a plighted man you are a member
Of Rapture's Temperance-association.
Observe it's rules;—no orgies here, remember!
[Turning to GULDSTAD sympathetically.
Well, my good sir!
GULDSTAD [beaming with pleasure].
I think this promises
All happiness for both.
FALK [staring at him].
You seem to stand
The shock with exemplary self-command.
That's well.
GULDSTAD.
What do you mean, sir?
FALK.
Only this;
That inasmuch as you appeared to feed
Fond expectations of your own—
