Loves Comedy | Page 7

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 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 at me so!
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,--