Guldstad [smiling].
There are two, though, are there not?
Falk.
It was—the other sister that you meant?
Guldstad.
That sister, yes, the other one,—just so.
Judge for yourself, when you have come to know
That sister better, if she has not in her
Merits which, if they were divined, would win her
A little more regard than we bestow.
Falk [coldly].
Her virtues are of every known variety
I’m sure.
Guldstad.
Not quite; the accent of society
She cannot hit exactly; there she loses.
Falk.
A grievous fault.
Guldstad.
But if her mother chooses
To spend a winter on her, she’ll come out of it
Queen of them all, I’ll wager.
Falk.
Not a doubt of it.
Guldstad [laughing].
Young women are odd creatures, to be sure!
Falk [gaily].
Like winter rye-seed, canopied secure
By frost and snow, invisibly they sprout.
Guldstad.
Then in the festive ball-room bedded out—
Falk.
With equivoque and scandal for manure—
Guldstad.
And when the April sun shines—
Falk.
There the blade is;
The seed shot up in mannikin green ladies!
[Lind comes up and seizes Falk’s hand.
Lind.
How well I chose,—past understanding well;—
I feel a bliss that nothing can dispel.
Guldstad.
There stands your mistress; tell us, if you can,
The right demeanor for a plighted man.
Lind [perturbed].
That’s a third person’s business to declare.
Guldstad [joking].
Ill-tempered! This to Anna’s ears I’ll bear.
[Goes to the ladies.
Lind [looking after him].
Can such a man be tolerated?
Falk.
You
Mistook his aim, however,—
Lind.
And how so?
Falk.
It was not Anna that he had in view.
Lind.
How, was it Svanhild?
Falk.
Well, I hardly know.
[Whimsically.
Forgive me, martyr to another’s cause!
Lind.
What do you mean?
Falk.
You’ve read the news to-night?
Lind.
No.
Falk.
Do so. There ’tis told in black and white
Of one who, ill-luck’s bitter counsel taking,
Had his sound teeth extracted from his jaws
Because his cousin-german’s teeth were aching.
Miss Jay [looking out to the left].
Here comes the priest!
Mrs. Halm.
Now see a man of might!
Stiver.
Five children, six, seven, eight—
Falk.
And, heavens, all recent!
Miss Jay.
Ugh! it is almost to be called indecent.

[A carriage has meantime been heard stopping outside to the left. Strawman, his wife, and eight little girls, all in travelling dress, enter one by one.

Mrs. Halm [advancing to meet them].
Welcome, a hearty welcome!
Strawman.
Thank you.
Mrs. Strawman.
Is it
A party?
Mrs. Halm.
No, dear madam, not at all.
Mrs. Strawman.
If we disturb you—
Mrs. Halm.
Au contraire, your visit
Could in no wise more opportunely fall.
My Anna’s just engaged.
Strawman [shaking Anna’s hand with unction].
Ah then, I must
Bear witness;—Lo! in wedded Love’s presented
A treasure such as neither moth nor rust
Corrupt—if it be duly supplemented.
Mrs. Halm.
But how delightful that your little maids
Should follow you to town.
Strawman.
Four tender blades
We have besides.
Mrs. Halm.
Ah, really?
Strawman.
Three of whom
Are still too infantine to take to heart
A loving father’s absence, when I come
To town for sessions.
Miss Jay [to Mrs. Halm, bidding farewell].
Now I must depart.
Mrs. Halm.
O, it is still so early!
Miss Jay.
I must fly
To town and spread the news. The Storms, I know,
Go late to rest, they will be up; and oh!
How glad the aunts will be! Now, dear, put by
Your shyness; for to-morrow a spring-tide
Of callers will flow in from every side!
Mrs. Halm.
Well, then, good-night.
[To the others.
Now friends, what would you say
To drinking tea?
[To Mrs. Strawman.
Pray, madam, lead the way.

[Mrs. Halm, Strawman, his wife and children, with Guldstad, Lind, and Anna go into the house.

Miss Jay [taking Stiver’s arm].
Now let’s be tender! Look how softly floats
Queen Luna on her throne o’er lawn and lea!—
Well, but you are not looking!
Stiver [crossly].
Yes, I see;
I’m thinking of the promissory notes.

[They go out to the left. Falk, who has been continuously watching Strawman and his wife, remains behind alone in the garden. It is now dark; the house is lighted up.

Falk.
All is as if burnt out;—all desolate, dead—!
So thro’ the world they wander, two and two;
Charred wreckage, like the blackened stems that strew
The forest when the withering fire is fled.
Far as the eye can travel, all is drought,
And nowhere peeps one spray of verdure out!

[Svanhild comes out on to the verandah with a flowering rose-tree which she sets down.

Yes one—yes one—!
Svanhild.
Falk, in the dark?
Falk.
And fearless!
Darkness to me is fair, and light is cheerless
But are not you afraid in yonder walls
Where the lamp’s light on sallow corpses falls—
Svanhild.
Shame!
Falk [looking after Strawman who appears at the window].
He was once so brilliant and so strong;
Warred with the world to win his mistress; passed
For Custom’s doughtiest iconoclast;
And poured forth love in pæans of glad song—!
Look at him now! In solemn robes and wraps,
A two-legged drama on his own collapse!
And she, the limp-skirt slattern, with the shoes
Heel-trodden, that squeak and clatter in her traces,
This is the winged maid who was his Muse
And escort to the kingdom of the graces!
Of all that fire this puff of smoke’s the end!
Sic transit gloria amoris, friend.
Svanhild.
Yes, it is wretched, wretched past compare.
I know of no one’s lot that I would share.
Falk [eagerly].
Then let us two rise up and bid defiance
To this same order Art, not Nature, bred!
Svanhild [shaking her head].
Then were the cause for which we made alliance
Ruined, as sure as this is earth we tread.
Falk.
No, triumph waits upon two souls in unity.
To Custom’s parish-church no more we’ll wend,
Seatholders in the Philistine community.
See, Personality’s one aim and end
Is to be independent, free and true.
In that I am not wanting, nor are you.
A fiery spirit pulses in your veins,
For thoughts that master, you have words that burn;
The corslet of convention, that constrains
The beating hearts of other maids, you spurn.
The voice that you were born with will not chime to
The chorus Custom’s baton gives the time to.
Svanhild.
And do you think pain has not often pressed
Tears from my eyes, and quiet from my breast?
I longed to shape my way to my own bent—
Falk.
“In pensive ease?”
Svanhild.
O no, ’twas sternly meant.
But then the aunts came in with well-intended
Advice, the matter must be sifted, weighed—
[Coming nearer.
“In pensive ease,” you say; oh no, I made
A bold experiment—in art.
Falk.
Which ended—?
Svanhild.
In failure. I lacked talent for the brush.
The thirst for freedom, tho’, I could not crush;
Checked at the easel, it essayed the stage—
Falk.
That plan was shattered also, I engage?
Svanhild.
Upon the eldest aunt’s suggestion, yes;
She much preferred a place as governess—
Falk.
But of all this I never heard a word!
Svanhild [smiling].
No wonder; they took care that none was heard.
They trembled at the risk “my future” ran
If this were whispered to unmarried Man.
Falk [after gazing a moment at her in meditative sympathy].
That such must be your lot I long had guessed.
When first I met you, I can well recall,
You seemed to me quite other than the rest,
Beyond the comprehension of them all.
They sat at table,—fragrant tea a-brewing,
And small-talk humming with the tea in tune,
The young girls blushing and the young men cooing,
Like pigeons on a sultry afternoon.
Old maids and matrons volubly averred
Morality and faith’s supreme felicity,
Young wives were loud in praise of domesticity,
While you stood lonely like a mateless bird.
And when at last the gabbling clamour rose
To a tea-orgy, a debauch of prose,
You seemed a piece of silver, newly minted,
Among foul notes and coppers dulled and dinted.
You were a coin imported, alien, strange,
Here valued at another rate of change,
Not passing current in that babel mart
Of poetry and butter, cheese and art.
Then—while Miss Jay in triumph took the field—
Svanhild [gravely].
Her knight behind her, like a champion bold,
His hat upon his elbow, like a shield—
Falk.
Your mother nodded to your untouched cup:
“Drink, Svanhild dear, before your tea grows cold.”
And then you drank the vapid liquor up,
The mawkish brew beloved of young and old.
But that name gripped me with a sudden spell;
The grim old Völsungs as they fought and fell,
With all their faded æons, seemed to rise
In never-ending line before my eyes.
In you I saw a Svanhild, like the old,
But fashioned to the modern age’s mould.
Sick of its hollow warfare is the world;
Its lying banner it would fain have furled;
But when the world does evil, its offence
Is blotted in the blood of innocence.
Svanhild [with gentle irony].
I think, at any rate, the fumes of tea
Must answer for that direful fantasy;
But ’tis your least achievement, past dispute,
To hear the spirit speaking, when ’tis mute.
Falk [with emotion].
Nay, Svanhild, do not jest: behind your scoff
Tears glitter,—O, I see them plain enough.
And I see more: when you to dust are fray’d,
And kneaded to a formless lump of clay,
Each bungling dilettante’s scalpel-blade
On you his dull devices shall display.
The world usurps the creature of God’s hand
And sets its image in the place of His,
Transforms, enlarges that part, lightens this;
And when upon the pedestal you stand
Complete, cries out in triumph: “Now she is
At last what woman ought to be: Behold,
How plastically calm, how marble-cold!
Bathed in the lamplight’s soft irradiation,
How well in keeping with the decoration!”
[Passionately seizing her hand.
But if you are to die, live first! Come forth
With me into the glory of God’s earth!
Soon, soon the gilded cage will claim its prize.
The Lady thrives there, but the Woman dies,
And I love nothing but the Woman in you.
There, if they will, let others woo and win you,
But here, my spring of life began to shoot,
Here my Song-tree put forth its firstling fruit;
Here I found wings and flight:—Svanhild, I know it,
Only be mine,—here I shall grow a poet!
Svanhild [in gentle reproof, withdrawing her hand].
O, why have you betrayed yourself? How sweet
It was when we as friends could freely meet!
You should have kept your counsel. Can we stake
Our bliss upon a word that we may break?
Now you have spoken, all is over.
Falk.
No!
I’ve pointed to the goal,—now leap with me,
My high-souled Svanhild—if you dare, and show
That you have heart and courage to be free.
Svanhild.
Be free?
Falk.
Yes, free, for freedom’s all-in-all
Is absolutely to fulfil our Call.
And you by heaven were destined, I know well,
To be my bulwark against beauty’s spell.
I, like my falcon namesake, have to swing
Against the wind, if I would reach the sky!
You are the breeze I must be breasted by,
You, only you, put vigour in my wing:
Be mine, be mine, until the world shall take you,
When leaves are falling, then our paths shall part
Sing unto me the treasures of your heart,
And for each song another song I’ll make you;
So may you pass into the lamplit glow
Of age, as forests fade without a throe.
Svanhild [with suppressed bitterness].
I cannot thank you, for your words betray
The meaning of your kind solicitude.
You eye me as a boy a sallow, good
To cut and play the flute on for a day.
Falk.
Yes, better than to linger in the swamp
Till autumn choke it with her grey mists damp!
[Vehemently.
You must! you shall! To me you must present
What God to you so bountifully lent.
I speak in song what you in dreams have meant.
See yonder bird I innocently slew,
Her warbling was Song’s book of books for you.
O, yield your music as she yielded hers!
My life shall be that music set to verse!
Svanhild.
And when you know me, when my songs are flown,
And my last requiem chanted from the bough,—
What then?
Falk [observing her].
What then? Ah well, remember now!
[Pointing to the garden.
Svanhild [gently].
Yes, I remember you can drive a stone.
Falk [with a scornful laugh].
This is your vaunted soul of freedom therefore!
All daring, if it had an end to dare for!
[Vehemently.
I’ve shown you one; now, once for all, your yea
Or nay.
Svanhild.
You know the answer I must make you:
I never can accept you in your way.
Falk [coldly, breaking off].
Then there’s an end of it; the world may take you!

[Svanhild has silently turned away. She supports her hands upon the verandah railing, and rests her head upon them.

Falk.

[Walks several times up and down, takes a cigar, stops near her and says, after a pause:

You think the topic of my talk to-night
Extremely ludicrous, I should not wonder?
[Pauses for an answer. Svanhild is silent.
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!