Love's Comedy Part 15

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 near.

Now I will recompense your kind intent To save me, with an earnest admonition.

That falcon-image gave me sudden vision What your "emanc.i.p.ation" 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 compa.s.s'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 gla.s.sy 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 pa.s.sing 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.