Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (66 page)

SVANHILD
[after a brief thoughtful silence]
.
How marvellous a love my steps has 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 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 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.
                                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.

FALK
[firing up]
.
You have the face to say so?

GULDSTAD
[quietly]
.
                             Years give right.
Say now you won her —

FALK
[defiantly]
.
                      And what then?

GULDSTAD
[slowly and emphatically]
.
                                     Yes, say
She ventured in one bottom to embark
Her all, her all upon one card to play, —
And then life’s tempest swept the ship away,
And the flower faded as the day grew dark?

FALK
[involuntarily]
.
She must not!

GULDSTAD
[looking at him with meaning]
.
              Hm. So I myself decided
When I was young, like you. In days of old
I was afire for one. Our paths divided.
Last night we met again; — the fire was cold.

FALK.
Last night?

GULDSTAD.
            Last night. You know the parson’s dame —

FALK.
What? It was she, then, who —

GULDSTAD.
                               Who lit the flame.
Long I remembered her with keen regret,
And still in my remembrance she arose
As the young lovely woman that she was
When in life’s buoyant spring-time first we met.
And that same foolish fire you now are fain
To light, that game of hazard you would dare.
See, that is why I call to you — beware!
The game is perilous! Pause, and think again!

FALK.
No, to the whole tea-caucus I declared
My fixed and unassailable belief —

GULDSTAD
[completing his sentence]
.
That heartfelt love can weather unimpaired
Custom, and Poverty, and Age, and Grief.
Well, say it be so; possibly you’re right;
But see the matter in another light.
What love is, no man ever told us — whence
It issues, that ecstatic confidence
That one life may fulfil itself in two, —
To this no mortal ever found the clue.
But marriage is a practical concern,
As also is betrothal, my good sir —
And by experience easily we learn
That we are fitted just for her, or her.
But love, you know, goes blindly to its fate,
Chooses a woman, not a wife, for mate;
And what if now this chosen woman was
No wife for you — ?

FALK
[in suspense]
.
                   Well?

GULDSTAD
[shrugging his shoulders]
.
                         Then you’ve lost your cause.
To make happy bridegroom and a bride
Demands not love alone, but much beside,
Relations that do not wholly disagree.
And marriage? Why, it is a very sea
Of claims and calls, of taxing and exaction,
Whose bearing upon love is very small.
Here mild domestic virtues are demanded,
A kitchen soul, inventive and neat handed,
Making no claims, and executing all; —
And much which in a lady’s presence I
Can hardly with decorum specify.

FALK.
And therefore — ?

GULDSTAD.
                 Hear a golden counsel then.
Use your experience; watch your fellow-men,
How every loving couple struts and swaggers
Like millionaires among a world of beggars.
They scamper to the altar, lad and lass,
They make a home and, drunk with exultation,
Dwell for awhile within its walls of glass.
Then comes the day of reckoning; — out, alas,
They’re bankrupt, and their house in liquidation!
Bankrupt the bloom of youth on woman’s brow,
Bankrupt the flower of passion in her breast,
Bankrupt the husband’s battle-ardour now,
Bankrupt each spark of passion he possessed.
Bankrupt the whole estate, below, above, —
And yet this broken pair were once confessed
A first-class house in all the wares of love!

FALK
[vehemently]
.
That is a lie!

GULDSTAD
[unmoved]
.
               Some hours ago ‘twas true
However. I have only quoted you; —
In these same words you challenged to the field
The “caucus” with love’s name upon your shield.
Then rang repudiation fast and thick
From all directions, as from you at present;
Incredible, I know; who finds it pleasant
To hear the name of death when he is sick?
Look at the priest! A painter and composer
Of taste and spirit when he wooed his bride; —
What wonder if the man became a proser
When she was snugly settled by his side?
To be his lady-love she was most fit;
To be his wife, tho’ — not a bit of it.
And then the clerk, who once wrote clever numbers?
No sooner was the gallant plighted, fixed,
Than all his rhymes ran counter and got mixed;
And now his Muse continuously slumbers,
Lullabied by the law’s eternal hum.
Thus you see — [Looks at SVANHILD.
              Are you cold?

SVANHILD
[softly]
.
                            No.

FALK
[with forced humour]
.
                                Since the sum
Works out a minus then in every case
And never shows a plus, — why should you be
So resolute your capital to place
In such a questionable lottery?

GULDSTAD
[looks at him, smiles, and shakes his head]
.
My bold young Falk, reserve a while your mirth. —
There are two ways of founding an estate.
It may be built on credit — drafts long-dated
On pleasure in a never-ending bout,
On perpetuity of youth unbated,
And permanent postponement of the gout.
It may be built on lips of rosy red,
On sparkling eyes and locks of flowing gold,
On trust these glories never will be shed,
Nor the dread hour of periwigs be tolled.
It may be built on thoughts that glow and quiver, —
Flowers blowing in the sandy wilderness, —
On hearts that, to the end of life, for ever
Throb with the passion of the primal “yes.”
To dealings such as this the world extends
One epithet: ‘tis known as “humbug,” friends.

FALK.
I see, you are a dangerous attorney,
You — well-to-do, a millionaire may-be;
While two broad backs could carry in one journey
All that beneath the sun belongs to me.