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.