Loves Comedy | Page 9

You know best Of whom I speak.
SVANHILD [with a subdued smile]. As the bride's sister, true, I cannot
help--
FALK. Great God! It is not you--?
SVANHILD. Who win this overplus of bliss? Ah no!
FALK [with almost childish joy]. It is not you! O God be glorified!
What love, what mercy does He not bestow! I shall not see you as
another's bride;-- 'Twas but the fire of pain He bade me bear-- [Tries to
seize her hand. O hear me, Svanhild, hear me then--
SVANHILD [pointing quickly to the background]. See there!
[She goes towards the house. At the same moment MRS. HALM,
ANNA, MISS JAY, GULDSTAD, STIVER, and LIND emerge from

the background. During the previous scene the sun has set; it is now
dark.
MRS. HALM [to SVANHILD]. The Strawmans may be momently
expected. Where have you been?
MISS JAY [after glancing at FALK]. Your colour's very high.
SVANHILD. A little face-ache; it will soon pass by.
MRS. HALM. And yet you walk at nightfall unprotected? Arrange the
room, and see that tea is ready; Let everything be nice; I know the lady.
[Svanhild goes in.
STIVER [to FALK]. What is the colour of this parson's coat?
FALK. I guess bread-taxers would not catch his vote.
STIVER. How if one made allusion to the store Of verses, yet
unpublished, in my drawer?
FALK. It might do something.
STIVER. Would to heaven it might! Our wedding's imminent; our
purses light. Courtship's a very serious affair.
FALK. Just so: "Qu'allais-tu faire dans cette galere?"
STIVER. Is courtship a "galere"?
FALK. No, married lives;-- All servitude, captivity, and gyves.
STIVER [seeing MISS JAY approach]. You little know what wealth a
man obtains From woman's eloquence and woman's brains.
MISS JAY [aside to STIVER]. Will Guldstad give us credit, think you?
STIVER [peevishly]. I Am not quite certain of it yet: I'll try.

[They withdraw in conversation; LIND and ANNA approach.
LIND [aside to FALK]. I can't endure it longer; in post-haste I must
present her--
FALK. You had best refrain, And not initiate the eye profane Into your
mysteries--
LIND. That would be a jest!-- From you, my fellow-boarder, and my
mate, To keep concealed my new-found happy state! Nay, now, my
head with Fortune's oil anointed--
FALK. You think the occasion good to get it curled? Well, my good
friend, you won't be disappointed; Go and announce your union to the
world!
LIND. Other reflections also weigh with me, And one of more especial
gravity; Say that there lurked among our motley band Some sneaking,
sly pretender to her hand; Say, his attentions became undisguised,-- We
should be disagreeably compromised.
FALK. Yes, it is true; it had escaped my mind, You for a higher office
were designed, Love as his young licentiate has retained you; Shortly
you'll get a permanent position; But it would be defying all tradition If
at the present moment he ordained you.
LIND. Yes if the merchant does not--
FALK. What of him?
ANNA [troubled]. Oh, it is Lind's unreasonable whim.
LIND. Hush; I've a deep foreboding that the man Will rob me of my
treasure, if he can. The fellow, as we know, comes daily down, Is rich,
unmarried, takes you round the town; In short, my own, regard it as we
will, There are a thousand things that bode us ill.
ANNA [sighing]. Oh, it's too bad; to-day was so delicious!

FALK [sympathetically to LIND]. Don't wreck your joy, unfoundedly
suspicious, Don't hoist your flag till time the truth disclose--
ANNA. Great God! Miss Jay is looking; hush, be still!
[She and LIND withdraw in different directions.
FALK [looking after LIND]. So to the ruin of his youth he goes.
GULDSTAD. [Who has meantime been conversing on the steps with
MRS. HALM and MISS JAY, approaches FALK and slaps him on the
shoulder. Well, brooding on a poem?
FALK. No, a play.
GULDSTAD. The deuce;--I never heard it was your line.
FALK. O no, the author is a friend of mine, And your acquaintance
also, I daresay. The knave's a dashing writer, never doubt. Only
imagine, in a single day He's worked a perfect little Idyll out.
GULDSTAD [slily]. With happy ending, doubtless!
FALK. You're aware, No curtain falls but on a plighted pair. Thus with
the Trilogy's First Part we've reckoned; But now the poet's
labour-throes begin; The Comedy of Troth-plight, Part the Second,
Thro' five insipid Acts he has to spin, And of that staple, finally,
compose Part Third,--or Wedlock's Tragedy, in prose.
GULDSTAD [smiling]. The poet's vein is catching, it would seem.
FALK. Really? How so, pray?
GULDSTAD. Since I also pore And ponder over a poetic scheme,--
[Mysteriously. An actuality--and not a dream.
FALK. And pray, who is the hero of your theme?
GULDSTAD. I'll tell you that to-morrow--not before.

FALK.