Chapter VIII: Part 8

I’m very conscious that it was a blunder;
Sister’s and daughter’s love alone possess you;
Henceforth I’ll wear kid gloves when I address you,
Sure, so, of being understood aright.

[_Pauses, but as_ SVANHILD _remains motionless, he
turns and goes towards the right._

SVANHILD [_lifting her head after a brief silence, looking
at him and drawing nearer_].

Now I will recompense your kind intent
To save me, with an earnest admonition.
That falcon-image gave me sudden vision
What your “emancipation” really meant.
You said you were the falcon, that must fight
Athwart the wind if it would reach the sky,
I was the breeze you must be breasted by,
Else vain were all your faculty of flight;
How pitifully mean! How paltry! Nay
How ludicrous, as you yourself divined!
That seed, however, fell not by the way,
But bred another fancy in my mind
Of a far more illuminating kind.
You, as I saw it, were no falcon, but
A tuneful dragon, out of paper cut,
Whose Ego holds a secondary station,
Dependent on the string for animation;
Its breast was scrawled with promises to pay
In cash poetic,—at some future day;
The wings were stiff with barbs and shafts of wit
That wildly beat the air, but never hit;
The tail was a satiric rod in pickle
To castigate the town’s infirmities,
But all it compass’d was to lightly tickle
The casual doer of some small amiss.
So you lay helpless at my feet, imploring:
“O raise me, how and where is all the same!
Give me the power of singing and of soaring.
No matter at what cost of bitter blame!”

FALK [_clenching his fists in inward agitation_].

Heaven be my witness—!

SVANHILD.

No, you must be told:—
For such a childish sport I am too old.
But you, whom Nature made for high endeavour,
Are you content the fields of air to tread
Hanging your poet’s life upon a thread
That at my pleasure I can slip and sever?

FALK [_hurriedly_].

What is the date to-day?

SVANHILD [_more gently_].

Why, now, that’s right!
Mind well this day, and heed it, and beware;
Trust to your own wings only for your flight,
Sure, if they do not break, that they will bear.
The paper poem for the desk is fit,
That which is lived alone has life in it;
_That_ only has the wings that scale the height;
Choose now between them, poet: be, or write!

[_Nearer to him._

Now I have done what you besought me; now
My requiem is chanted from the bough;
My only one; now all my songs are flown;
Now, if you will, I’m ready for the stone!

[_She goes into the house;_ FALK _remains
motionless, looking after her; far out on the
fjord is seen a boat, from which the following
chorus is faintly heard:_

CHORUS.

My wings I open, my sails spread wide,
And cleave like an eagle life’s glassy tide;
Gulls follow my furrow’s foaming;
Overboard with the ballast of care and cark;
And what if I shatter my roaming bark,
It is passing sweet to be roaming!

FALK [_starting from a reverie_].

What, music? Ah, it will be Lind’s quartette
Getting their jubilation up.—Well met!

[_To_ GULDSTAD, _who enters with an overcoat on his
arm_.

Ah, slipping off, sir?

GULDSTAD.

Yes, with your goodwill.
But let me first put on my overcoat.
We prose-folks are susceptible to chill;
The night wind takes us by the tuneless throat.
Good evening!

FALK.

Sir, a word ere you proceed!
Show me a task, a mighty one, you know—!
I’m going in for life—!

GULDSTAD [_with ironical emphasis_].

Well, in you go!
You’ll find that you are in for it, indeed.

FALK [_looking reflectively at him, says slowly_].

There is my program, furnished in a phrase.

[_In a lively outburst._

_Now_ I have wakened from my dreaming days,
I’ve cast the die of life’s supreme transaction,
I’ll show you—else the devil take me—

GULDSTAD.

Fie,
No cursing: curses never scared a fly.

FALK.

Words, words, no more, but action, only action!
I will reverse the plan of the Creation;—
Six days were lavish’d in that occupation;
My world’s still lying void and desolate,
Hurrah, to-morrow, Sunday—I’ll create!

GULDSTAD [_laughing_].

Yes, strip, and tackle it like a man, that’s right!
But first go in and sleep on it. Good-night!

[_Goes out to the left._ SVANHILD _appears in the
room over the verandah; she shuts the window and
draws down the blind._

FALK.

No, first I’ll act. I’ve slept too long and late.

[_Looks up at_ SVANHILD’S _window, and exclaims, as
if seized with a sudden resolution:_

Good-night! Good-night! Sweet dreams to-night be thine;
To-morrow, Svanhild, thou art plighted mine!

[_Goes out quickly to the right; from the water the_
CHORUS _is heard again._

CHORUS.

Maybe I shall shatter my roaming bark,
But it’s passing sweet to be roaming!

[_The boat slowly glides away as the curtain falls._

ACT SECOND.

_Sunday afternoon. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen are
drinking coffee on the verandah. Several of the guests
appear through the open glass door in the garden-room;
the following song is heard from within._

CHORUS.

Welcome, welcome, new plighted pair
To the merry ranks of the plighted!
Now you may revel as free as air,
Caress without stint and kiss without care,—
No longer of footfall affrighted.

Now you are licensed, wherever you go,
To the rapture of cooing and billing;
Now you have leisure love’s seed to sow,
Water, and tend it, and make it grow;—
Let us see you’ve a talent for tilling!

MISS JAY [_within_].

Ah Lind, if I only had chanced to hear,
I would have teased you!

A LADY [_within_].

How vexatious though!

ANOTHER LADY [_in the doorway_].

Dear Anna, did he ask in writing?

AN AUNT.

No!

MISS JAY.

_Mine_ did.

A LADY [_on the verandah_].

How long has it been secret, dear?

[_Runs into the room._

MISS JAY.

To-morrow there will be the ring to choose.

LADIES [_eagerly_].

We’ll take his measure!

MISS JAY.

Nay; that _she_ must do.

MRS. STRAWMAN [_on the verandah, to a lady who is busy with
embroidery_].

What kind of knitting-needles do you use?

A SERVANT [_in the door with a coffee-pot_].

More coffee, madam?

A LADY.

Thanks, a drop or two.

MISS JAY [_to_ ANNA].

How fortunate you’ve got your new manteau
Next week to go your round of visits in!

AN ELDERLY LADY [_at the window_].

When shall we go and order the trousseau?

MRS. STRAWMAN.

How are they selling cotton-bombasine?

A GENTLEMAN [_to some ladies on the verandah_].

Just look at Lind and Anna; what’s his sport?

LADIES [_with shrill ecstasy_].

Gracious, he kissed her glove!

OTHERS [_similarly, springing up_].

No! Kiss’d it? Really?

LIND [_appears, red and embarrassed, in the doorway_].

O, stuff and nonsense!

[_Disappears._

MISS JAY.

Yes, I saw it clearly.

STIVER

[_in the door, with a coffee-cup in one hand and
a biscuit in the other_].

The witnesses must not mislead the court;
I here make affidavit, they’re in error.

MISS JAY [_within_].

Come forward, Anna; stand before this mirror!

SOME LADIES [_calling_].

You, too, Lind!

MISS JAY.

Back to back! A little nearer!

LADIES.

Come, let us see by how much she is short.

[_All run into the garden-room; laughter and shrill
talk are heard for a while from within_.

[FALK, _who during the preceding scene has been
walking about in the garden, advances into the
foreground, stops and looks in until the noise
has somewhat abated._

FALK.

There love’s romance is being done to death.—
The butcher once who boggled at the slaughter,
Prolonging needlessly the ox’s breath,—
He got his twenty days of bread and water;
But these—these butchers yonder—they go
free. [_Clenches his fist._
I could be tempted—; hold, words have no worth,
I’ve sworn it, action only from henceforth!

LIND [_coming hastily but cautiously out_].

Thank God, they’re talking fashions; now’s my chance
To slip away—

FALK.

Ha, Lind, _you’ve_ drawn the prize
Of luck,—-congratulations buzz and dance
All day about you, like a swarm of flies.

LIND.

They’re all at heart so kindly and so nice;
But rather fewer clients would suffice.
Their helping hands begin to gall and fret me;
I’ll get a moment’s respite, if they’ll let me.

[_Going out to the right._

FALK.

Whither away?

LIND.

Our den;—it has a lock;
In case you find the oak is sported, knock.

FALK.

But shall I not fetch Anna to you?

LIND.

No—
If she wants anything, she’ll let me know.
Last night we were discussing until late;
We’ve settled almost everything of weight;
Besides I think it scarcely goes with piety
To have too much of one’s beloved’s society.

FALK.

Yes, you are right; for daily food we need
A simple diet.

LIND.

Pray excuse me, friend.
I want a whiff of reason and the weed;
I haven’t smoked for three whole days on end.
My blood was pulsing in such agitation,
I trembled for rejection all the time—

FALK.

Yes, you may well desire recuperation—

LIND.

And won’t tobacco’s flavour be sublime!

[_Goes out to the right._ MISS JAY _and some other_
LADIES _come out of the garden-room._

MISS JAY [_to_ FALK].

That was _he_ surely?

FALK.

Yes, your hunted deer.

LADIES.

To run away from us!

OTHERS.

For shame! For shame!

FALK.

’Tis a bit shy at present, but, no fear,
A week of servitude will make him tame.

MISS JAY [_looking round_].

Where is he hid?

FALK.

His present hiding-place
Is in the garden loft, our common lair;

[_Blandly._

But let me beg you not to seek him there;
Give him a breathing time!

MISS JAY.

Well, good: the grace
Will not be long, tho’.

FALK.

Nay, be generous!
Ten minutes,—then begin the game again.
He has an English sermon on the brain.

MISS JAY.

An English—?

LADIES.

O you laugh! You’re fooling us!

FALK.

I’m in grim earnest. ’Tis his fixed intention
To take a charge among the emigrants,
And therefore—

MISS JAY [_with horror_].

Heavens, he had the face to mention
That mad idea?

[_To the ladies._

O quick—fetch all the aunts!
Anna, her mother, Mrs. Strawman too.

LADIES [_agitated_].

This must be stopped!

ALL.

We’ll make a great ado!

MISS JAY.

Thank God, they’re coming.

[_To_ ANNA, _who comes from the garden-room with_
STRAWMAN, _his wife and children_, STIVER,
GULDSTAD, MRS. HALM _and the other guests._

MISS JAY.

Do you know what Lind
Has secretly determined in his mind?
To go as missionary—

ANNA.

Yes, I know.

MRS. HALM.

And you’ve agreed—!

ANNA [_embarrassed_].

That I will also go.

MISS JAY [_indignant_].

He’s talked this stuff to you!

LADIES [_clasping their hands together_].

What tyranny!

FALK.

But think, his Call that would not be denied—!

MISS JAY.

Tut, that’s what people follow when they’re free:
A bridegroom follows nothing but his bride.—
No, my sweet Anna, ponder, I entreat:
You, reared in comfort from your earliest breath—?

FALK.

Yet, sure, to suffer for the faith is sweet!

MISS JAY.

Is one to suffer for one’s bridegroom’s faith?
That is a rather novel point of view.

[_To the ladies_.

Ladies, attend!

[_Takes_ ANNA’S _arm._

Now listen; then repeat
For his instruction what he has to do.

[_They go into the background and out to the right
in eager talk with several of the ladies; the
other guests disperse in groups about the
garden._ FALK _stops_ STRAWMAN, _whose wife and
children keep close to him._ GULDSTAD _goes to
and fro during the following conversation._

FALK.

Come, pastor, help young fervour in its fight,
Before they lure Miss Anna from her vows.

STRAWMAN [_in clerical cadence_].

The wife must be submissive to the spouse;—

[_Reflecting._

But if I apprehended him aright,
His Call’s a problematical affair,
The Offering altogether in the air—

FALK.

Pray do not judge so rashly. I can give
You absolute assurance, as I live,
His Call is definite and incontestable—

STRAWMAN [_seeing it in a new light_].

Ah—if there’s something fixed—investable—
_Per annum_—then I’ve nothing more to say.

FALK [_impatiently_].

You think the most of what I count the least;
I mean the _inspiration_,—not the _pay_!

STRAWMAN [with an unctuous smile].

Pay is the first condition of a priest
In Asia, Africa, America,
Or where you will. Ah yes, if he were free,
My dear young friend, I willingly agree,
The thing might pass; but, being pledged and bound,
He’ll scarcely find the venture very sound.
Reflect, he’s young and vigorous, sure to found
A little family in time; assume his will
To be the very best on earth—but still
The _means_, my friend—? ‘Build not upon the sand,’
Says Scripture. If, upon the other hand,
The Offering—

FALK.

That’s no trifle, I’m aware.

STRAWMAN.

Ah, come—that wholly alters the affair.
When men are zealous in their Offering,
And liberal—

FALK.

There he far surpasses most.

STRAWMAN.

“He” say you? How? In virtue of his post
The Offering is not what he has to _bring_
But what he has to _get_.

MRS. STRAWMAN [_looking towards the background_].

They’re sitting there.

FALK [_after staring a moment in amazement, suddenly
understands and bursts out laughing_].

Hurrah for Offerings—the ones that caper
And strut—on Holy-days—in bulging paper!

STRAWMAN.

All the year round the curb and bit we bear,
But Whitsuntide and Christmas make things square.

FALK [_gaily_].

Why then, provided only there’s enough of it,
Even family-founders will obey their Calls.

STRAWMAN.

Of course; a man assured the _quantum suff_ of it
Will preach the Gospel to the cannibals.

[_Sotto voce._

Now I must see if she cannot be led,

[_To one of the little girls._

My little Mattie, fetch me out my head—
My pipe-head I should say, my little dear—

[_Feels in his coat-tail pocket._

Nay, wait a moment tho’: I have it here.

[_Goes across and fills his pipe, followed by his
wife and children._

GULDSTAD [_approaching_].

You seem to play the part of serpent in
This paradise of lovers.

FALK.

O, the pips
Upon the tree of knowledge are too green
To be a lure for anybody’s lips.

[_To_ LIND, _who comes in from the right._

Ha, Lind!

LIND.

In heaven’s name, who’s been ravaging
Our sanctum? There the lamp lies dashed
To pieces, curtain dragged to floor, pen smashed,
And on the mantelpiece the ink pot splashed—

FALK [_clapping him on the shoulder_].

This wreck’s the first announcement of my spring;
No more behind drawn curtains I will sit,
Making pen poetry with lamp alit;
My dull domestic poetising’s done,
I’ll walk by day, and glory in the sun:
My spring is come, my soul has broken free,
Action henceforth shall be my poetry.

LIND.

Make poetry of what you please for me;
But how if Mrs. Halm should take amiss
Your breaking of her furniture to pieces?

FALK.

What!—she, who lays her daughters and her nieces
Upon the altar of her boarders’ bliss,—
She frown at such a bagatelle as this?

LIND [_angrily_].

It’s utterly outrageous and unfair,
And compromises me as well as you!
But that’s her business, settle it with her.
The lamp was mine, tho’, shade and burner too—

FALK.

Tut, on that head, I’ve no account to render;
You have God’s summer sunshine in its splendour,—
What would you with the lamp?

LIND.

You are grotesque;
You utterly forget that summer passes;
If I’m to make a figure in my classes
At Christmas I must buckle to my desk.

FALK [_staring at him_].

What, you look _forward_?

LIND.

To be sure I do,
The examination’s amply worth it too.

FALK.

Ah but—you ‘only sit and live’—remember!
Drunk with the moment, you demand no more—
Not even a modest third-class next December.
You’ve caught the bird of Fortune fair and fleet,
You feel as if the world with all its store
Were scattered in profusion at your feet.

LIND.

Those were my words; they must be understood,
Of course, _cum grano salis_—

FALK.

Very good!

LIND.

In the _forenoons_ I will enjoy my bliss;
That I am quite resolved on—

FALK.

Daring man!

LIND.

I have my round of visits to the clan;
Time will run anyhow to waste in this;
But any further dislocation of
My study-plan I strongly disapprove.

FALK.

A week ago, however, you were bent
On going out into God’s world with song.

LIND.

Yes, but I thought the tour a little long;
The fourteen days might well be better spent.

FALK.

Nay, but you had another argument
For staying; how the lovely dale for you
Was mountain air and winged warble too.

LIND.

Yes, to be sure, this air is unalloyed;
But all its benefits may be enjoyed
Over one’s book without the slightest bar.

FALK.

But it was just the _Book_ which failed, you see,
As Jacob’s ladder—

LIND.

How perverse you are!
That is what people say when they are _free_—

FALK

[_looking at him and folding his hands in silent
amazement_].

Thou also, Brutus!

LIND [_with a shade of confusion and annoyance_].

Pray remember, do!
That I have other duties now than you;
I have my _fiancée_. Every plighted pair,
Those of prolonged experience not excepted,—
Whose evidence you would not wish rejected,—
Will tell you, that if two are bound to fare
Through life together, they must—

FALK.

Prithee spare
The comment; who supplied it?

LIND.

Well, we’ll say
Stiver, he’s honest surely; and Miss Jay,
Who has such very great experience here,
She says—

FALK.

Well, but the Parson and his—dear?

LIND.

Yes, they’re remarkable. There broods above
Them such placidity, such quietude,—
Conceive, she can’t remember being wooed,
Has quite forgotten what is meant by love.

FALK.

Ah yes, when one has slumber’d over long,
The birds of memory refuse their song.

[_Laying his hand on_ LIND’S _shoulder, with an
ironical look._

You, Lind, slept sound last night, I guarantee?

LIND.

And long. I went to bed in such depression,
And yet with such a fever in my brain,
I almost doubted if I could be sane.

FALK.

Ah yes, a sort of witchery, you see.

LIND.

Thank God I woke in perfect self-possession.

[_During the foregoing scene_ STRAWMAN _has been
seen from time to time walking in the background
in lively conversation with_ ANNA; MRS. STRAWMAN
_and the children follow._ MISS JAY _now appears
also, and with her_ MRS. HALM _and other
ladies._

MISS JAY [_before she enters_].

Ah, Mr. Lind.

LIND [_to_ FALK].

They’re after me again!
Come, let us go.

MISS JAY.

Nay, nay, you must remain,
Let us make speedy end of the division
That has crept in between your love and you.

LIND.

Are we divided?

MISS JAY [_pointing to_ ANNA, _who is standing further off
in the garden_].

Gather the decision
From yon red eyes. The foreign mission drew
Those tears.

LIND.

But heavens, she was glad to go—

MISS JAY [_scoffing_].

Yes, to be sure, one would imagine so!
No, my dear Lind, you’ll take another view
When you have heard the whole affair discussed;

LIND.

But then this warfare for the faith, you know,
Is my most cherished dream!

MISS JAY.

O who would build
On dreaming in this century of light?
Why, Stiver had a dream the other night;
There came a letter singularly sealed—

MRS. STRAWMAN.

It’s _treasure_ such a dream prognosticates.

MISS JAY [_nodding_].

Yes, and next day they sued him for the rates.

[_The ladies make a circle round LIND and go in
conversation with him into the garden._

STRAWMAN [_continuing, to_ ANNA, _who faintly tries to
escape_].

From these considerations, daughter mine,
From these considerations, buttressed all
With reason, morals, and the Word Divine,
You now perceive that to desert your Call
Were absolutely inexcusable.

ANNA [_half crying_].

Oh! I’m so young—

STRAWMAN.

And it is natural,
I own, that one should tremble to essay
These perils, dare the lures that there waylay;
But from doubt’s tangle you must now break free,—
Be of good cheer and follow Moll and me!

MRS. STRAWMAN.

Yes, your dear mother tells me that I too
Was just as inconsolable as you
When we received our Call—

STRAWMAN.

And for like cause—
The fascination of the town—it was;
But when a little money had come in,
And the first pairs of infants, twin by twin,
She quite got over it.

FALK [_sotto voce to_ STRAWMAN].

Bravo, you able
Persuader.

STRAWMAN [_nodding to him and turning again to_ ANNA].

Now you’ve promised me, be stable.
Shall man renounce his work? Falk says the Call
Is not so very slender after all.
Did you not, Falk?

FALK.

Nay, pastor—

STRAWMAN.

To be sure—!

[_To_ ANNA.

Of something then at least you are secure.
What’s gained by giving up, if that is so?
Look back into the ages long ago,
See, Adam, Eve—the Ark, see, pair by pair,
Birds in the field—the lilies in the air,
The little birds—the little birds—the fishes—

[_Continues in a lower tone, as he withdraws with_
ANNA.

[MISS JAY _and the_ AUNTS _return with_ LIND.

FALK.

Hurrah! Here come the veterans in array;
The old guard charging to retrieve the day!

MISS JAY.

Ah, in exact accordance with our wishes!

[_Aside._

We _have_ him, Falk!—Now let us tackle _her_!

[_Approaches_ ANNA.

STRAWMAN [_with a deprecating motion_].

She needs no secular solicitation;
The Spirit has spoken, what can Earth bestead—?

[_Modestly._

If in some small degree my words have sped,
Power was vouchsafed me—!

MRS. HALM.

Come, no more evasion,
Bring them together!

AUNTS [_with emotion_].

Ah, how exquisite!

STRAWMAN.

Yes, can there be a heart so dull and dead
As not to be entranced at such a sight!
It is so thrilling and so penetrating,
So lacerating, so exhilarating,
To see an innocent babe devoutly lay
Its offering on Duty’s altar.

MRS. HALM.

Nay,
Her family have also done their part.

MISS JAY.

I and the Aunts—I should imagine so.
You, Lind, may have the key to Anna’s heart,

[_Presses his hand._

But we possess a picklock, you must know,
Able to open where the key avails not.
And if in years to come, cares throng and thwart,
Only apply to us, our friendship fails not.

MRS. HALM.

Yes, we shall hover round you all your life,—

MISS JAY.

And shield you from the fiend of wedded strife.

STRAWMAN.

Enchanting group! Love, friendship, hour of gladness,
Yet so pathetically touched with sadness.

[_Turning to_ LIND.

But now, young man, pray make an end of this.

[_Leading_ ANNA _to him._

Take thy betrothed—receive her—with a kiss!

LIND [_giving his hand to_ ANNA].

I stay at home!

ANNA [_at the same moment_].

I go with you!

ANNA [_amazed_].

You stay?

LIND [_equally so_].

You go with me?

ANNA [_with a helpless glance at the company_].

Why, then, we are divided as before!

LIND.

What’s this?

THE LADIES.

What now?

MISS JAY [_excitedly_].

Our wills are all at war—

STRAWMAN.

She gave her solemn word to cross the sea
With him!

MISS JAY.

And he gave his to stay ashore
With her!

FALK [_laughing_].

They both complied; what would you more!

STRAWMAN.

These complications are too much for me.

[_Goes towards the background._

AUNTS [_to one another_].

How in the world came they to disagree?

MRS. HALM.

[_To_ GULDSTAD _and_ STIVER, _who have been walking
in the garden and now approach._

The spirit of discord’s in possession here.

[_Talks aside to them._

MRS. STRAWMAN.

[_To_ MISS JAY, _noticing that the table is being
laid._

There comes the tea.

MISS JAY [_curtly_].

Thank heaven.

FALK.

Hurrah! a cheer
For love and friendship, maiden aunts and tea!

STIVER.

But if the case stands thus, the whole proceeding
May easily be ended with a laugh;
All turns upon a single paragraph,
Which bids the wife attend the spouse. No pleading
Can wrest an ordinance so clearly stated—

MISS JAY.

Doubtless, but does that help us to agree?

STRAWMAN.

She must obey a law that heaven dictated.

STIVER.

But Lind can circumvent that law, you see.

[_To_ LIND.

Put off your journey, and then—budge no jot.

AUNTS [_delighted_].

Yes, that’s the way!

MRS. HALM..

Agreed!

MISS JAY.

That cuts the knot.

[SVANHILD _and the maids have meantime laid the
tea-table beside the verandah steps. At_ MRS.
HALM’S _invitation the ladies sit down. The rest
of the company take their places, partly on the
verandah and in the summer-house, partly in the
garden._ FALK _sits on the verandah. During the
following scene they drink tea._

MRS. HALM [_smiling_].

And so our little storm is overblown.
Such summer showers do good when they are gone;
The sunshine greets us with a double boon,
And promises a cloudless afternoon.

MISS JAY.

Ah yes, Love’s blossom without rainy skies
Would never thrive according to our wishes.

FALK.

In dry land set it, and it forthwith dies;
For in so far the flowers are like the fishes—

SVANHILD.

Nay, for Love lives, you know, upon the air—

MISS JAY.

Which is the death of fishes—

FALK.

So I say.

MISS JAY.

Aha, we’ve put a bridle on you there!

MRS. STRAWMAN.

The tea is good, one knows by the bouquet.

FALK.

Well, let us keep the simile you chose.
Love is a flower; for if heaven’s blessed rain
Fall short, it all but pines to death— [_Pauses._

MISS JAY.

What then?

FALK [_with a gallant bow_].

Then come the aunts with the reviving hose.—
But poets have this simile employed,
And men for scores of centuries enjoyed,—
Yet hardly one its secret sense has hit;
For flowers are manifold and infinite.
Say, then, what flower is love? Name me, who knows,
The flower most like it?

MISS JAY.

Why, it is the rose;
Good gracious, that’s exceedingly well known;—
Love, all agree, lends life a rosy tone.

A YOUNG LADY.

It is the snowdrop; growing, snow enfurled;
Till it peer forth, undreamt of by the world.

AN AUNT.

It is the dandelion,—made robust
By dint of human heel and horse hoof thrust;
Nay, shooting forth afresh when it is smitten,
As Pedersen so charmingly has written.

LIND.

It is the bluebell,—ringing in for all
Young hearts life’s joyous Whitsun festival.

MRS. HALM.

No, ’tis an evergreen,—as fresh and gay
In desolate December as in May.

GULDSTAD.

No, Iceland moss, dry gathered,—far the best
Cure for young ladies with a wounded breast.

A GENTLEMAN.

No, the wild chestnut tree,—in high repute
For household fuel, but with a bitter fruit.

SVANHILD.

No, a camellia; at our balls, ’tis said,
The chief adornment of a lady’s head.

MRS. STRAWMAN.

No, it is like a flower, O such a bright one;—
Stay now—a blue one, no, it was a white one—
What is its name—? Dear me—the one I met—;
Well it is singular how I forget!

STIVER.

None of these flower similitudes will run.
The flowerpot is a likelier candidate.
There’s only room in it, at once, for _one_;
But by progressive stages it holds _eight_.

STRAWMAN [_with his little girls round him_].

No, love’s a pear tree; in the spring like snow
With myriad blossoms, which in summer grow
To pearlets; in the parent’s sap each shares;—
And with God’s help they’ll all alike prove pears.

FALK.

So many heads, so many sentences!
No, you all grope and blunder off the line.
Each simile’s at fault; I’ll tell you mine;—
You’re free to turn and wrest it as you please.

[_Rises as if to make a speech._

In the remotest east there grows a plant;
And the sun’s cousin’s garden is its haunt—

THE LADIES.

Ah, it’s the tea-plant!

FALK.

Yes.

MRS. STRAWMAN.

His voice is so
Like Strawman’s when he—

STRAWMAN.

Don’t disturb his flow.

FALK.

It has its home in fabled lands serene;
Thousands of miles of desert lie between;—
Fill up, Lind!—So.—Now in a tea-oration,
I’ll show of tea and Love the true relation.

[_The guests cluster round him._

It has its home in the romantic land;
Alas, Love’s home is also in Romance,
Only the Sun’s descendants understand
The herb’s right cultivation and advance.
With Love it is not otherwise than so.
Blood of the Sun along the veins must flow
If Love indeed therein is to strike root,
And burgeon into blossom, into fruit.

MISS JAY.

But China is an ancient land; you hold
In consequence that tea is very old—

STRAWMAN.

Past question antecedent to Jerusalem.

FALK.

Yes, ’twas already famous when Methusalem
His picture-books and rattles tore and flung—

MISS JAY [_triumphantly_].

And Love is in its very nature young!
To find a likeness there is pretty bold.

FALK.

No; Love, in truth, is also very old;
That principle we here no more dispute
Than do the folks of Rio or Beyrout.
Nay, there are those from Cayenne to Caithness,
Who stand upon its everlastingness;—
Well, that may be a slight exaggeration,
But old it is beyond all estimation.

MISS JAY.

But Love is all alike; whereas we see
Both good and bad and middling kinds of tea!

MRS. STRAWMAN.

Yes, they sell tea of many qualities.

ANNA.

The green spring shoots I count the very first—

SVANHILD.

Those serve to quench celestial daughters’ thirst.

A YOUNG LADY.

Witching as ether fumes they say it is—

ANOTHER.

Balmy as lotus, sweet as almond, clear—

GULDSTAD.

That’s not an article we deal in here.

FALK [_who has meanwhile come down from the verandah_].

Ah, ladies, every mortal has a small
Private celestial empire in his heart.
There bud such shoots in thousands, kept apart
By Shyness’s soon shatter’d Chinese Wall.
But in her dim fantastic temple bower
The little Chinese puppet sits and sighs,
A dream of far-off wonders in her eyes—
And in her hand a golden tulip flower.
For _her_ the tender firstling tendrils grew;—
Rich crop or meagre, what is that to you?
Instead of it we get an after crop
They kick the tree for, dust and stalk and stem,—
As hemp to silk beside what goes to them—

GULDSTAD.

That is the black tea.

FALK [_nodding_].

That’s what fills the shop.

A GENTLEMAN.

There’s beef tea too, that Holberg says a word of—

MISS JAY [_sharply_].

To modern taste entirely out of date.

FALK.

And a _beef love_ has equally been heard of,
Wont—in romances—to brow-beat its mate,
And still they say its trace may be detected
Amongst the henpecked of the married state.
In short there’s likeness where ’twas least expected.
So, as you know, an ancient proverb tells,
That something ever passes from the tea
Of the bouquet that lodges in its cells,
If it be carried hither over sea.
It must across the desert and the hills,—
Pay toll to Cossack and to Russian tills;—
It gets their stamp and licence, that’s enough,
We buy it as the true and genuine stuff.
But has not Love the self-same path to fare?
Across Life’s desert? How the world would rave
And shriek if you or I should boldly bear
Our Love by way of Freedom’s ocean wave!
“Good heavens, his moral savour’s passed away,
“And quite dispersed Legality’s bouquet!”—

STRAWMAN [_rising_].

Yes, happily,—in every moral land
Such wares continue to be contraband!

FALK.

Yes, to pass current here, Love must have cross’d
The great Siberian waste of regulations,
Fann’d by no breath of ocean to its cost;
It must produce official attestations
From friends and kindred, devils of relations,
From church curators, organist and clerk,
And other fine folks—over and above
The primal licence which God gave to Love.—
And then the last great point of likeness;—mark
How heavily the hand of culture weighs
Upon that far Celestial domain;
Its power is shatter’d, and its wall decays,
The last true Mandarin’s strangled; hands profane
Already are put forth to share the spoil;
Soon the Sun’s realm will be a legend vain,
An idle tale incredible to sense;
The world is gray in gray—we’ve flung the soil
On buried Faery,—we have made her mound.
But if we have,—then where can Love be found?
Alas, Love also is departed hence!

[_Lifts his cup._

Well let him go, since so the times decree;—
A health to Amor, late of Earth,—in tea!

[_He drains his cup; indignant murmurs amongst the company._

MISS JAY.

A very odd expression! “Dead” indeed!

THE LADIES.

To say that Love is dead—!

STRAWMAN.

Why, here you see
Him sitting, rosy, round and sound, at tea,
In all conditions! Here in her sable weed
The widow—

MISS JAY.

Here a couple, true and tried,—

STIVER.

With many ample pledges fortified.

GULDSTAD.

Then Love’s light cavalry, of maid and man,
The plighted pairs in order—

STRAWMAN.

In the van
The veterans, whose troth has laughed to scorn
The tooth of Time—

MISS JAY [_hastily interrupting_].

And then the babes new-born—
The little novices of yester-morn—

STRAWMAN.

Spring, summer, autumn, winter, in a word,
Are here; the truth is patent, past all doubt,
It can be clutched and handled, seen and heard,—

FALK.

What then?

MISS JAY.

And yet you want to thrust it out!

FALK.

Madam, you quite mistake. In all I spoke
I cast no doubt on anything you claim;
But I would fain remind you that, from smoke,
We cannot logically argue flame.
That men are married, and have children, I
Have no desire whatever to deny;
Nor do I dream of doubting that such things
Are in the world as troth and wedding-rings;
That billets-doux some tender hands indite
And seal with pairs of turtle doves that—fight;
That sweethearts swarm in cottage and in hall,
That chocolate rewards the wedding-call;
That usage and convention have decreed,
In every point, how “Lovers” shall proceed:—
But, heavens! We’ve majors also by the score,
Arsenals heaped with muniments of war,
With spurs and howitzers and drums and shot,
But what does that permit us to infer?
That we have men who dangle swords, but not
That they will wield the weapons that they wear.
Tho’ all the plain with gleaming tents you crowd,
Does that make heroes of the men they shroud?

STRAWMAN.

Well, all in moderation; I must own,
It is not quite conducive to the truth
That we should paint the enamourment of youth
So bright, as if—ahem—it stood alone.
Love-making still a frail foundation is.
Only the snuggery of wedded bliss
Provides a rock where Love may builded be
In unassailable security.

MISS JAY.

There I entirely differ. In my view,
A free accord of lovers, heart with heart,
Who hold together, having leave to part,
Gives the best warrant that their love is true.

ANNA [_warmly_].

O no—Love’s bond when it is fresh and young
Is of a stuff more precious and more strong.

LIND [_thoughtfully_].

Possibly the ideal flower may blow,
Even as that snowdrop,—hidden by the snow.

FALK [_with a sudden outburst_].

You fallen Adam! There a heart was cleft
With longing for the Eden it has left!

LIND.

What stuff!

MRS. HALM [_offended, to_ FALK, _rising_].

’Tis not a very friendly act
To stir a quarrel where we’ve made a peace.
As for your friend’s good fortune, be at ease—

SOME LADIES.

Nay that’s assured—

OTHERS.

A very certain fact.

MRS. HALM.

The cooking-class at school, I must confess,
She did not take; but she shall learn it still.

MISS JAY.

With her own hands she’s trimming her own dress

AN AUNT [_patting_ ANNA’S _hand_].

And growing exquisitely sensible.

FALK [_laughing aloud_].

O parody of sense, that rives and rends
In maniac dance upon the lips of friends!
Was it good sense he wanted? Or a she-
Professor of the lore of Cookery?
A joyous son of springtime he came here,
For the wild rosebud on the bush he burned.
You reared the rosebud for him; he returned—
And for his rose found what? The hip!

MISS JAY [_offended_].

You jeer!

FALK.

A useful household condiment, heaven knows!
But yet the hip was not his bridal rose.

MRS. HALM.

O, if it is a ball-room queen he wants,
I’m very sorry; these are not their haunts.

FALK.

O yes, I know the pretty coquetry
They carry on with “Domesticity.”
It is a suckling of the mighty Lie
That, like hop-tendrils, spreads itself on high.
, madam, reverently bare my head
To the ball queen; a child of beauty she—
And the ideal’s golden woof is spread
In ball-rooms, hardly in the nursery.

MRS. HALM [_with suppressed bitterness_].

Your conduct, sir, is easily explained;
A plighted lover cannot be a friend;
That is the kernel of the whole affair;
I have a very large experience there.

FALK.

No doubt,—with seven nieces, each a wife—

MRS. HALM.

And each a happy wife—

FALK [_with emphasis_].

Ah, do we know?

GULDSTAD.

How!

MISS JAY.

Mr. Falk!

LIND.

Are you resolved to sow
Dissension?

FALK [_vehemently_].

Yes, war, discord, turmoil, strife!

STIVER.

What you, a lay, profane outsider here!

FALK.

No matter, still the battle-flag I’ll rear!
Yes, it is war I mean with nail and tooth
Against the Lie with the tenacious root,
The lie that you have fostered into fruit,
For all its strutting in the guise of truth!

STIVER.

Against these groundless charges I protest,
Reserving right of action—

MISS JAY.

Do be still!

FALK.

So then it is Love’s ever-running rill
That tells the widow what she once possess’d,—
That very Love that, in the days gone by,
Out of her language blotted “moan” and “sigh”!
So then it is Love’s brimming tide that rolls
Along the placid veins of wedded souls,—
That very Love that faced the iron sleet,
Trampling inane Convention under feet,
And scoffing at the impotent discreet!
So then it is Love’s beauty-kindled flame
That keeps the plighted from the taint of time
Year after year! Ah yes, the very same
That made our young bureaucrat blaze in rhyme!
So it is Love’s young bliss that will not brave
The voyage over vaulted Ocean’s wave,
But asks a sacrifice when, like the sun,
Its face should fill with glory, _making_ one!
Ah no, you vulgar prophets of the Lie,
Give things the names we ought to know them by;
Call widows’ passion—wanting what they miss,
And wedlock’s _habit_—call it what it is!

STRAWMAN.

Young man, this insolence has gone too far!
In every word there’s scoffing and defiance.

[_Goes close up to Falk._

Now I’ll gird up my aged loins to war
For hallowed custom against modern science!

FALK.

I go to battle as it were a feast!

STRAWMAN.

Good! For your bullets I will be a beacon!—

[_Nearer._

A wedded pair is holy, like a priest—

STIVER [_at_ FALK’S _other side_].

And a betrothed—

FALK.

Half-holy, like the deacon.

STRAWMAN.

Behold these children;—see,—this little throng!
_Io triumphe_ may for them be sung!
How was it possible—how practicable—;
The words of truth are strong, inexorable;—
He has no hearing whom they cannot move.
See,—every one of them’s a child of Love—!

[_Stops in confusion._

That is—you understand—I would have said—!

MISS JAY [_fanning herself with her handkerchief_].

This is a very mystical oration!

FALK.

There you yourself provide the demonstration,—
A good old Norse one, sound, true-born, homebred.
You draw distinction between wedded pledges
And those of Love: your Logic’s without flaw.
They are distinguished just as roast from raw,
As hothouse bloom from wilding of the hedges!
Love is with us a science and an art;
It long since ceased to animate the heart.
Love is with us a trade, a special line
Of business, with its union, code and sign;
It is a guild of married folks and plighted,
Past-masters with apprentices united;
For they cohere compact as jelly-fishes,
A singing-club their single want and wish is—

GULDSTAD.

And a gazette!

FALK.

A good suggestion, yes!
We too must have our organ in the press,
Like ladies, athletes, boys, and devotees.
Don’t ask the price at present, if you please.
There I’ll parade each amatory fetter
That John and Thomas to our town unites,
There publish every pink and perfumed letter
That William to his tender Jane indites;
There you shall read, among “Distressing Scenes”—
Instead of murders and burnt crinolines,
The broken matches that the week’s afforded;
There under “goods for sale” you’ll find what firms
Will furnish cast-off rings on easy terms;
There double, treble births will be recorded;
No wedding, but our rallying rub-a-dub
Shall drum to the performance all the club;
No suit rejected, but we’ll set it down,
In letters large, with other news of weight
Thus: “Amor-Moloch, we regret to state,
Has claimed another victim in our town.”
You’ll see, we’ll catch subscribers: once in sight
Of the propitious season when they bite,
By way of throwing them the bait they’ll brook
I’ll stick a nice young man upon my hook.
Yes, you will see me battle for our cause,
With tiger’s, nay with editorial, claws
Rending them—

GULDSTAD.

And the paper’s name will be—?

FALK.

Amor’s Norse Chronicle of Archery.

STIVER [_going nearer_].

You’re not in earnest, you will never stake
Your name and fame for such a fancy’s sake!

FALK.

I’m in grim earnest. We are often told
Men cannot live on love; I’ll show that this
Is an untenable hypothesis;
For Love will prove to be a mine of gold:
Particularly if Miss Jay, perhaps,
Will Mr. Strawman’s “Life’s Romance” unfold,
As appetising feuilleton, in scraps.

STRAWMAN [_in terror_].

Merciful heaven! My “life’s romance!” What, what!
When was my life romantic, if you please?

MISS JAY.

I never said so.

STIVER.

Witness disagrees.

STRAWMAN.

That I have ever swerved a single jot
From social prescript,—is a monstrous lie.

FALK.

Good.

[_Clapping_ STIVER _on the shoulder_.

Here’s a friend who will not put me by.
We’ll start with Stiver’s lyric ecstasies.

STIVER [_after a glance of horror at_ STRAWMAN].

Are you quite mad! Nay then I must be heard!
You dare accuse me for a poet—

MISS JAY.

How—!

FALK.

Your office has averred it anyhow.

STIVER [_in towering anger_].

Sir, by our office nothing is averred.

FALK.

Well, leave me then, you also: I have by me
One comrade yet whose loyalty will last.
“A true heart’s story” Lind will not deny me,
Whose troth’s too tender for the ocean blast,
Who for his mistress makes surrender of
His fellow-men—pure quintessence of Love!

MRS. HALM.

My patience, Mr. Falk, is now worn out.
The same abode no longer can receive us:—
I beg of you this very day to leave us—

FALK [_with a bow as_ MRS. HALM _and the company withdraw_].

That this would come I never had a doubt!

STRAWMAN.

Between us two there’s battle to the death;
You’ve slandered me, my wife, nay little flock,
From Molly down to Millie, in one breath.
Crow on, crow on—Emancipation’s cock,—

[_Goes in, followed by his wife and children._

FALK.

And go you on observing Peter’s faith
To Love your lord—who, thanks to your advice,
Was thrice denied before the cock crew thrice!

MISS JAY [_turning faint_].

Attend me, Stiver! help me get unlaced
My corset—this way, this way—do make haste!

STIVER [_to_ FALK _as he withdraws with_ MISS JAY _on his
arm_].

I here renounce your friendship.

LIND.

I likewise.

FALK [_seriously_].

You too, my Lind?

LIND.

Farewell.

FALK.

You were my nearest one—

LIND.

No help, it is the pleasure of my dearest one.

[_He goes in:_ SVANHILD _has remained standing on
the verandah steps._

FALK.

So, now I’ve made a clearance, have free course
In all directions!

SVANHILD.

Falk, one word with you!

FALK [_pointing politely to the house_].

That way, Miss Halm;—that way, with all the force
Of aunts and inmates, Mrs. Halm withdrew.

SVANHILD [_nearer to him_].

Let them withdraw; their ways and mine divide;
I will not swell the number of their band.

FALK.

You’ll stay?

SVANHILD.

If you make war on lies, I stand
A trusty armour-bearer by your side.

FALK.

You, Svanhild, you who—

SVANHILD.

Were you yourself, Falk, yesterday the same?
You bade me be a sallow, for your play.

FALK.

And a sweet sallow sang me into shame.
No, you are right: I was a child to ask;
But you have fired me to a nobler task.
Eight in the midst of men the Church is founded
Where Truth’s appealing clarion must be sounded
We are not called, like demigods, to gaze on
The battle from the far-off mountain’s crest,
But in our hearts to bear our fiery blazon,
An Olaf’s cross upon a mailed breast,—
To look afar across the fields of flight,
Tho’ pent within the mazes of its might,—
Beyond the mirk descry one glimmer still
Of glory—that’s the Call we must fulfil.

SVANHILD.

And you’ll fulfil it when you break from men,
Stand free, alone,—

FALK.

Did I frequent them _then_?
And there lies duty. No, that time’s gone by,—
My solitary compact with the sky.
My four-wall-chamber poetry is done;
My verse shall live in forest and in field,
I’ll fight under the splendour of the sun;—
I or the Lie—one of us two must yield!

SVANHILD.

Then forth with God from Verse to Derringdoe!
I did you wrong: you have a feeling heart;
Forgive me,—and as good friends let us part—

FALK.

Nay, in my future there is room for two!
We part not. Svanhild, if you dare decide,
We’ll battle on together side by side.

SVANHILD.

_We_ battle?

FALK.

See, I have no friend, no mate,
By all abandoned, I make war on all:
At me they aim the piercing shafts of hate;
Say, do you dare with me to stand or fall?
Henceforth along the beaten walks I’ll move
Heedful of each constraining etiquette;
Spread, like the rest of men, my board, and set
The ring upon the finger of my love!

[_Takes a ring from his finger and holds it up._

SVANHILD [in breathless suspense].

You mean _that_?

FALK.

Yes, by us the world shall see,
Love has an everlasting energy,
That suffers not its splendour to take hurt
From the day’s dust, the common highway’s dirt.
Last night I showed you the ideal aflame,
Beaconing from a dizzy mountain’s brow.
You shuddered, for you were a woman,—now
I show you woman’s veritable aim;—
A soul like yours, what it has vowed, will keep.
You see the abyss before you,—Svanhild, leap!

SVANHILD [_almost inaudibly_].

If we should fail—!

FALK [_exulting_].

No, in your eyes I see
A gleam that surely prophesies our winning!

SVANHILD.

Then take me as I am, take all of me!
Now buds the young leaf; now my spring’s beginning!

[_She flings herself boldly into his arms as the
curtain falls._

ACT THIRD.

_Evening. Bright moonlight. Coloured lanterns are hung about
the trees. In the background are covered tables with
bottles, glasses, biscuits, etc. From the house, which
is lighted up from top to bottom, subdued music and
singing are heard during the following scene._ SVANHILD
_stands on the verandah._ FALK _comes from the right
with some books and a portfolio under his arm. The_
PORTER _follows with a portmanteau and a knapsack._

FALK.

That’s all, then?

PORTER.

Yes, sir, all is in the pack,
But just a satchel, and the paletot.

FALK.

Good; when I go, I’ll take them on my back.
Now off. See, this is the portfolio.

PORTER.

It’s locked, I see.

FALK.

Locked, Peter.

PORTER.

Good, sir.

FALK.

Pray,
Make haste and burn it.

PORTER.

Burn it?

FALK.

Yes, to ash—

[_Smiling._

With every draft upon poetic cash;
As for the books, you’re welcome to them.

PORTER.

Nay,
Such payment is above a poor man’s earning.
But, sir, I’m thinking, if you can bestow
Your books, you must have done with all your learning?

FALK.

Whatever can be learnt from books I know,
And rather more.

PORTER.

More? Nay, that’s hard, I doubt!

FALK.

Well, now be off; the carriers wait without.
Just help them load the barrow ere you go.

[_The_ PORTER _goes out to the left._

FALK [approaching SVANHILD who comes to meet him].

One moment’s ours, my Svanhild, in the light
Of God and of the lustrous summer night.
How the stars glitter thro’ the leafage, see,
Like bright fruit hanging on the great world-tree.
Now slavery’s last manacle I slip,
Now for the last time feel the wealing whip;
Like Israel at the Passover I stand,
Loins girded for the desert, staff in hand.
Dull generation, from whose sight is hid
The Promised Land beyond that desert flight,
Thrall tricked with knighthood, never the more knight,
Tomb thyself kinglike in the Pyramid,—
I cross the barren desert to be free.
My ship strides on despite an ebbing sea;
But there the Legion Lie shall find its doom,
And glut one deep, dark, hollow-vaulted tomb.

[_A short pause; he looks at her and takes her hand._

You are so still!

SVANHILD.

So happy! Suffer me,
O suffer me in silence still to dream.
Speak you for me; my budding thoughts, grown strong,
One after one will burgeon into song,
Like lilies in the bosom of the stream.

FALK.

O say it once again, in truth’s pure tone
Beyond the fear of doubt, that thou art mine!
O say it, Svanhild, say—

SVANHILD [_throwing herself on his neck_].

Yes, I am thine!

FALK.

Thou singing-bird God sent me for my own!

SVANHILD.

Homeless within my mother’s house I dwelt,
Lonely in all I thought, in all I felt,
A guest unbidden at the feast of mirth,—
Accounted nothing—less than nothing—worth.
Then you appeared! For the first time I heard
My own thought uttered in another’s word;
To my lame visions you gave wings and feet—
You young unmasker of the Obsolete!
Half with your caustic keenness you alarmed me,
Half with your radiant eloquence you charmed me,
As sea-girt forests summon with their spell
The sea their flinty beaches still repel.
Now I have read the bottom of your soul,
Now you have won me, undivided, whole;
Dear forest, where my tossing billows beat,
My tide’s at flood and never will retreat!

FALK.

And I thank God that in the bath of Pain
He purged my love. What strong compulsion drew
Me on I knew not, till I saw in you
The treasure I had blindly sought in vain.
I praise Him, who our love has lifted thus
To noble rank by sorrow,—licensed us
To a triumphal progress, bade us sweep
Thro’ fen and forest to our castle-keep,
A noble pair, astride on Pegasus!

SVANHILD [_pointing to the house_].

The whole house, see, is making feast to-night.
There, in their honour, every room’s alight,
There cheerful talk and joyous song ring out;
On the highroad no passer-by will doubt
That men are happy where they are so gay.

[_With compassion._

Poor sister!—happy in the great world’s way!

FALK.

“Poor” sister, say you?

SVANHILD.

Has she not divided
With kith and kin the treasure of her soul,
Her capital to fifty hands confided,
So that not one is debtor for the whole?
From no one has she _all_ things to receive,
For no one has she utterly to live.
O beside my wealth hers is little worth;
I have but one possession upon earth.
My heart was lordless when with trumpet blare
And multitudinous song you came, its king,
The banners of my thought your ensign bear,
You fill my soul with glory, like the spring.
Yes, I must needs thank God, when it is past,
That I was lonely till I found out thee,—
That I lay dead until the trumpet blast
Waken’d me from the world’s frivolity.

FALK.

Yes we, who have no friends on earth, we twain
Own the true wealth, the golden fortune,—we
Who stand without, beside the starlit sea,
And watch the indoor revel thro’ the pane.
Let the lamp glitter and the song resound,
Let the dance madly eddy round and round;—
Look up, my Svanhild, into yon deep blue,—
There glitter little lamps in thousands, too—

SVANHILD.

And hark, beloved, thro’ the limes there floats
This balmy eve a chorus of sweet notes—

FALK.

It is for us that fretted vault’s aglow—

SVANHILD.

It is for us the vale is loud below!

FALK.

I feel myself like God’s lost prodigal;
I left Him for the world’s delusive charms.
With mild reproof He wooed me to His arms;
And when I come, He lights the vaulted hall,
Prepares a banquet for the son restored,
And makes His noblest creature my reward.
From this time forth I’ll never leave that Light,—
But stand its armed defender in the fight;
Nothing shall part us, and our life shall prove
A song of glory to triumphant love!

SVANHILD.

And see how easy triumph is for two,
When he’s a man—

FALK.

She, woman thro’ and thro’;—
It is impossible for such to fall!

SVANHILD.

Then up, and to the war with want and sorrow;
This very hour I will declare it all!

[_Pointing to_ FALK’S _ring on her finger._

FALK [_hastily_].

No, Svanhild, not to-night, wait till to-morrow!
To-night we gather our young love’s red rose;
’Twere sacrilege to smirch it with the prose
Of common day.

[_The door into the garden-room opens._

Your mother’s coming! Hide!
No eye this night shall see thee as my bride!

[_They go out among the trees by the summer-house._
MRS. HALM _and_ GULDSTAD _come out on the
balcony._

MRS. HALM.

He’s really going?

GULDSTAD.

Seems so, I admit.

STIVER [_coming_].

He’s going, madam!

MRS. HALM.

We’re aware of it!

STIVER.

A most unfortunate punctilio.
He’ll keep his word; his stubbornness I know.
In the Gazette he’ll put us all by name;
My love will figure under leaded headings,
With jilts, and twins, and countermanded weddings.
Listen; I tell you, if it weren’t for shame,
I would propose an armistice, a truce—

MRS. HALM.

You think he would be willing?

STIVER.