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 résumé,
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, that’s the simple fact.
Guldstad [to himself].
Hm! Some were of opinion he was cracked.
Falk.
A gray old stager, 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-thatched 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].
You’re to blame
For leaving that important item out.
In a report ’tis of the utmost weight
That the chronology be accurate.
But what I never yet could comprehend
Is how on earth they managed—
Falk.
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
Is rara avis,—hold her if you’ve 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 so at me!
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.