Falk [with constrained sarcasm].
Come, you grow warm—
Strawman.
Where you but jeered and flouted.
So utterly unlike God made us two!
I’m bare of that he lavished upon you.
But I have won the game where you were routed.
Seen from the clouds, full many a wayside grain
Of truth seems empty chaff and husks. You’d soar
To heaven, I scarcely reach the stable door,
One bird’s an eagle born—
Falk.
And one a hen.
Strawman.
Yes, laugh away, and say it be so, grant
I am a hen. There clusters to my cluck
A crowd of little chickens,—which you want!
And I’ve the hen’s high spirit and her pluck,
And for my little ones forget myself.
You think me dull, I know it. Possibly
You pass a harsher judgment yet, decree
Me over covetous of worldly pelf.
Good, on that head we will not disagree.

[Seizes Falk’s arm and continues in a low tone but with gathering vehemence.

You’re right, I’m dull and dense and grasping, yes;
But grasping for my God-given babes and wife,
And dense from struggling blindly for bare life,
And dull from sailing seas of loneliness.
Just when the pinnace of my youthful dream
Into the everlasting deep went down,
Another started from the ocean stream
Borne with a fair wind onward to life’s crown.
For every dream that vanished in the wave,
For every buoyant plume that broke asunder,
God sent me in return a little Wonder,
And gratefully I took the good He gave.
For them I strove, for them amassed, annexed,—
For them, for them, explained the Holy text;
My clustering girls, my garden of delight!
On them you’ve poured the venom of your spite!
You’ve proved, with all the cunning of the schools,
My bliss was but the paradise of fools,
That all I took for earnest was a jest;—
Now I implore, give me my quiet breast
Again, the flawless peace of mind I had—
Falk.
Prove, in a word, your title to be glad?
Strawman.
Yes, in my path you’ve cast the stone of doubt,
And nobody but you can cast it out.
Between my kin and me you’ve set a bar,—
Remove the bar, the strangling noose undo—
Falk.
You possibly believe I keep the glue
Of lies for Happiness’s broken jar?
Strawman.
I do believe, the faith your reasons tore
To shreds, your reasons may again restore;
The limb that you have shatter’d, you can set;
Reverse your judgment,—the whole truth unfold,
Restate the case—I’ll fly my banner yet—
Falk [haughtily].
I stamp no copper Happiness as gold.
Strawman [looking fixedly at him].
Remember then that, lately, one whose scent
For truth is of the keenest told us this:
[With uplifted finger.
“There runs through all our life a Nemesis,
Which may delay, but never will relent.”
[He goes towards the house.
Stiver.

[Coming out with glasses on, and an open book in his hand.

Pastor, you must come flying like the blast!
Your girls are sobbing—
The Children [in the doorway].
Pa!
Stiver.
And Madam waiting!
[Strawman goes in.
This lady has no talent for debating.

[Puts the book and glasses in his pocket, and approaches Falk.

Falk!
Falk.
Yes!
Stiver.
I hope you’ve changed your mind at last?
Falk.
Why so?
Stiver.
For obvious reasons. To betray
Communications made in confidence,
Is conduct utterly without defence.
They must not pass the lips.
Falk.
No, I’ve heard say
It is at times a risky game to play.
Stiver.
The very devil!
Falk.
Only for the great.
Stiver [zealously].
No, no, for all us servants of the state.
Only imagine how my future chances
Would dwindle, if the governor once knew
I keep a Pegasus that neighs and prances
In office hours—and such an office, too!
From first to last, you know, in our profession,
The winged horse is viewed with reprobation:
But worst of all would be, if it got wind
That I against our primal law had sinn’d
By bringing secret matters to the light—
Falk.
That’s penal, is it—such an oversight?
Stiver [mysteriously].
It can a servant of the state compel
To beg for his dismissal out of hand.
On us officials lies a strict command,
Even by the hearth to be inscrutable.
Falk.
O those despotical authorities,
Muzzling the—clerk that treadeth out the grain!
Stiver [shrugging his shoulders].
It is the law; to murmur is in vain.
Moreover, at a moment such as this,
When salary revision is in train,
It is not well to advertise one’s views
Of office time’s true function and right use.
That’s why I beg you to be silent; look,
A word may forfeit my—
Falk.
Portfolio?
Stiver.
Officially it’s called a transcript book;
A protocol’s the clasp upon the veil of snow
That shrouds the modest breast of the Bureau.
What lies beneath you must not seek to know.
Falk.
And yet I only spoke at your desire;
You hinted at your literary crop.
Stiver.
How should I guess he’d grovel in the mire
So deep, this parson perch’d on fortune’s top,
A man with snug appointments, children, wife,
And money to defy the ills of life?
If such a man prove such a Philistine,
What shall of us poor copyists be said?
Of me, who drive the quill and rule the line,
A man engaged and shortly to be wed,
With family in prospect—and so forth?
[More vehemently.
O, if I only had a well-lined berth,
I’d bind the armour’d helmet on my head,
And cry defiance to united earth!
And were I only unengaged like you,
Trust me, I’d break a road athwart the snow
Of Prose, and carry the Ideal through!
Falk.
To work then, man!
Stiver.
How?
Falk.
You may still do so!
Let the world’s prudish owl unheeded flutter by;
Freedom converts the grub into a butterfly!
Stiver [stepping back].
You mean, to break the engagement—?
Falk.
That’s my mind;—
The fruit is gone, why keep the empty rind?
Stiver.
Such a proposal’s for a green young shoot,
Not for a man of judgment and repute.
I heed not what King Christian in his time
(The Fifth) laid down about engagements broken-off;
For that relationship is nowhere spoken of
In any rubric of the code of crime.
The act would not be criminal in name,
It would in no way violate the laws—
Falk.
Why there, you see then!
Stiver [firmly].
Yes, but all the same,—
I must reject all pleas in such a cause.
Staunch comrades we have been in times of dearth;
Of life’s disport she asks but little share,
And I’m a homely fellow, long aware
God made me for the ledger and the hearth.
Let others emulate the eagle’s flight,
Life in the lowly plains may be as bright.
What does his Excellency Goethe say
About the white and shining milky way?
Man may not there the milk of fortune skim,
Nor is the butter of it meant for him.
Falk.
Why, even were fortune-churning our life’s goal,
The labour must be guided by the soul;—
Be citizens of the time that is—but then
Make the time worthy of the citizen.
In homely things lurks beauty, without doubt,
But watchful eye and brain must draw it out.
Not every man who loves the soil he turns
May therefore claim to be another Burns.
Stiver.
Then let us each our proper path pursue,
And part in peace; we shall not hamper you;
We keep the road, you hover in the sky,
There where we too once floated, she and I.
But work, not song, provides our daily bread,
And when a man’s alive, his music’s dead.
A young man’s life’s a lawsuit, and the most
Superfluous litigation in existence:
Withdraw, make terms, abandon all resistance:
Plead where and how you will, your suit is lost.
Falk [bold and confident, with a glance at the summer-house].
Nay, tho’ I took it to the highest place,—
Judgment, I know, would be reversed by grace!
I know two hearts can live a life complete,
With hope still ardent, and with faith still sweet;
You preach the wretched gospel of the hour,
That the Ideal is secondary!
Stiver.
No!
It’s primary: appointed, like the flower,
To generate the fruit, and then to go.

[Indoors, Miss Jay plays and sings: “In the Gloaming.” Stiver stands listening in silent emotion.

With the same melody she calls me yet
Which thrilled me to the heart when first we met.

[Lays his hand on Falk’s arm and gazes intently at him.

Oft as she wakens those pathetic notes,
From the white keys reverberating floats
An echo of the “yes” that made her mine.
And when our passions shall one day decline,
To live again as friendship, to the last
That song shall link that present to this past.
And what tho’ at the desk my back grow round,
And my day’s work a battle for mere bread,
Yet joy will lead me homeward, where the dead
Enchantment will be born again in sound.
If one poor bit of evening we can claim,
I shall come off undamaged from the game!

[He goes into the house. Falk turns towards the summer-house. Svanhild comes out, she is pale and agitated. They gaze at each other in silence a moment, and fling themselves impetuously into each other’s arms.

Falk.
O, Svanhild, let us battle side by side!
Thou fresh glad blossom flowering by the tomb,—
See what the life is that they call youth’s bloom!
There’s coffin-stench of bridegroom and of bride;
There’s coffin-stench wherever two go by
At the street corner, smiling outwardly,
With falsehood’s reeking sepulchre beneath,
And in their blood the apathy of death.
And this they think is living! Heaven and earth,
Is such a load so many antics worth?
For such an end to haul up babes in shoals,
To pamper them with honesty and reason,
To feed them fat with faith one sorry season,
For service, after killing-day, as souls?
Svanhild.
Falk, let us travel!
Falk.
Travel? Whither, then?
Is not the whole world everywhere the same?
And does not Truth’s own mirror in its frame
Lie equally to all the sons of men?
No, we will stay and watch the merry game,
The conjurer’s trick, the tragi-comedy
Of liars that are dupes of their own lie;
Stiver and Lind, the Parson and his dame,
See them,—prize oxen harness’d to love’s yoke,
And yet at bottom very decent folk!
Each wears for others and himself a mask,
Yet one too innocent to take to task;
Each one, a stranded sailor on a wreck,
Counts himself happy as the gods in heaven;
Each his own hand from Paradise has driven,
Then, splash! into the sulphur to the neck!
But none has any inkling where he lies,
Each thinks himself a knight of Paradise,
And each sits smiling between howl and howl;
And if the Fiend come by with jeer and growl,
With horns, and hoofs, and things yet more abhorred,—
Then each man jogs the neighbour at his jowl:
“Off with your hat, man! See, there goes the Lord!”
Svanhild [after a brief thoughtful silence].
How marvellous a love my steps havehave led
To this sweet trysting place! My life that sped
In frolic and fantastic visions gay,
Henceforth shall grow one ceaseless working day!
O God! I wandered groping,—all was dim:
Thou gavest me light—and I discovered him!
[Gazing at Falk in love and wonder.
Whence is that strength of thine, thou mighty tree
That stand’st unshaken in the wind-wrecked wood,
That stand’st alone, and yet canst shelter me—?
Falk.
God’s truth, my Svanhild;—that gives fortitude.
Svanhild [with a shy glance towards the house].
They came like tempters, evilly inclined,
Each spokesman for his half of humankind,
One asking: How can true love reach its goal
When riches’ leaden weight subdues the soul?
The other asking: How can true love speed
When life’s a battle to the death with Need?
O horrible!—to bid the world receive
That teaching as the truth, and yet to live!
Falk.
How if ’twere meant for us?
Svanhild.
For us?—What, then?
Can outward fate control the wills of men?
I have already said: if thou’lt stand fast,
I’ll dare and suffer by thee to the last.
How light to listen to the gospel’s voice,
To leave one’s home behind, to weep, rejoice,
And take with God the husband of one’s choice!
Falk [embracing her].
Come then, and blow thy worst, thou winter weather!
We stand unshaken, for we stand together!

[Mrs. Halm and Guldstad come in from the right in the background.

Guldstad [aside].
Observe!

[Falk and Svanhild remain standing by the summer-house.

Mrs. Halm [surprised].
Together!
Guldstad.
Do you doubt it now?
Mrs. Halm.
This is most singular.
Guldstad.
O, I’ve noted how
His work of late absorb’d his interest.
Mrs. Halm [to herself].
Who would have fancied Svanhild was so sly?
[Vivaciously to Guldstad.
But no—I can’t think.
Guldstad.
Put it to the test.
Mrs. Halm.
Now, on the spot?
Guldstad
Yes, and decisively!
Mrs. Halm [giving him her hand].
God’s blessing with you!
Guldstad [gravely].
Thanks, it may bestead.
[Comes to the front.
Mrs. Halm [looking back as she goes towards the house].
Whichever way it goes, my child is sped.
[Goes in.
Guldstad [approaching Falk].
It’s late, I think?
Falk.
Ten minutes and I go.
Guldstad.
Sufficient for my purpose.
Svanhild [going].
Farewell.
Guldstad.
No,
Remain.
Svanhild.
Shall I?
Guldstad.
Until you’ve answered me.
It’s time we squared accounts. It’s time we three
Talked out for once together from the heart.
Falk [taken aback].

We three?

Guldstad.
Yes,—all disguises flung apart.
Falk [suppressing a smile].
O, at your service.
Guldstad.
Very good, then hear.
We’ve been acquainted now for half a year;
We’ve wrangled—
Falk.
Yes.
Guldstad.
We’ve been in constant feud;
We’ve changed hard blows enough. You fought—alone—
For a sublime ideal; I as one
Among the money-grubbing multitude.
And yet it seemed as if a chord united
Us two, as if a thousand thoughts that lay
Deep in my own youth’s memory benighted
Had started at your bidding into day.
Yes, I amaze you. But this hair grey-sprinkled
Once fluttered brown in spring-time, and this brow,
Which daily occupation moistens now
With sweat of labour, was not always wrinkled.
Enough; I am a man of business, hence—
Falk [with gentle sarcasm].
You are the type of practical good sense.
Guldstad.
And you are hope’s own singer young and fain.
[Stepping between them.
Just therefore, Falk and Svanhild, I am here.
Now let us talk, then; for the hour is near
Which brings good hap or sorrow in its train.
Falk [in suspense].
Speak, then!
Guldstad [smiling].
My ground is, as I said last night,
A kind of poetry—
Falk.
In practice.
Guldstad [nodding slowly].
Right!
Falk.
And if one asked the source from which you drew—?
Guldstad.

[Glancing a moment at Svanhild, and then turning again to Falk.

A common source discovered by us two.
Svanhild.
Now I must go.
Guldstad.
No, wait till I conclude.
I should not ask so much of others. You,
Svanhild, I’ve learnt to fathom thro’ and thro’;
You are too sensible to play the prude.
I watched expand, unfold, your little life;
A perfect woman I divined within you,
But long I only saw a daughter in you;—
Now I ask of you—will you be my wife?
[Svanhild draws back in embarrassment.
Falk [seizing his arm].
Hold!
Guldstad.
Patience; she must answer. Put your own
Question;—then her decision will be free.
Falk.
I—do you say?
Guldstad [looking steadily at him].
The happiness of three
Lives is at stake to-day,—not mine alone.
Don’t fancy it concerns you less than me;
For tho’ base matter is my chosen sphere,
Yet nature made me something of a seer.
Yes, Falk, you love her. Gladly, I confess,
I saw your young love bursting into flower.
But this young passion, with its lawless power,
May be the ruin of her happiness.