Who wrongs the Ideal? Straight there rushes in The Press, its guardian with the Argus eye, And the offender suffers for his sin.
STRAWMAN.
But in the name of heaven, what pledge have I Given this "Ideal" that"s ever on your tongue?
I"m married, have a family, twelve young And helpless innocents to clothe and keep; I have my daily calls on every side, Churches remote and gleve and pasture wide, Great herds of breeding cattle, ghostly sheep-- All to be watched and cared for, clipt and fed, Grain to be winnowed, compost to be spread;-- Wanted all day in shippon and in stall, What time have _I_ to serve the "Ideal" withal?
FALK.
Then get you home with what dispatch you may, Creep snugly in before the winter-cold; Look, in young Norway dawns at last the day, Thousand brave hearts are in its ranks enroll"d, Its banners in the morning breezes play!
STRAWMAN.
And if, young man, I were to take my way With bag and baggage home, with everything That made me yesterday a little king, Were mine the only _volet face_ to-day?
Think you I carry back the wealth I brought?
[As FALK is about to answer.
Nay, listen let me first explain my thought [Coming nearer.
Time was when I was young, like you, and played Like you, the unconquerable t.i.tan"s part; Year after year I toiled and moiled for bread, Which hardens a man"s hand, but not his heart.
For northern fells my lonely home surrounded, And by my parish bounds my world was bounded.
My home--Ah, Falk, I wonder, do you know What home is?
FALK [curtly].
I have never known.
STRAWMAN.
Just so.
That is a home, where five may dwell with ease, Tho" two would be a crowd, if enemies.
That is a home, where all your thoughts play free As boys and girls about their father"s knee, Where speech no sooner touches heart, than tongue Darts back an answering harmony of song; Where you may grow from flax-haired snowy-polled, And not a soul take note that you grow old; Where memories grow fairer as they fade, Like far blue peaks beyond the forest glade.
FALK [with constrained sarcasm].
Come, you grow warm--
STRAWMAN.
Where you but jeered and flouted.
So utterly unlike G.o.d made us two!
I"m bare of that he lavished upon you.
But I have won the game where you were routed.
Seen from the clouds, full many a wayside grain Of truth seems empty chaff and husks. You"d soar To heaven, I scarcely reach the stable door, One bird"s an eagle born--
FALK.
And one a hen.
STRAWMAN.
Yes, laugh away, and say it be so, grant I am a hen. There cl.u.s.ters to my cluck A crowd of little chickens,--which you want!
And I"ve the hen"s high spirit and her pluck, And for my little ones forget myself.
You think me dull, I know it. Possibly You pa.s.s a harsher judgment yet, decree Me over covetous of worldly pelf.
Good, on that head we will not disagree.
[Seizes FALK"s arm and continues in a low tone but with gathering vehemence.
You"re right, I"m dull and dense and grasping, yes; But grasping for my G.o.d-given babes and wife, And dense from struggling blindly for bare life, And dull from sailing seas of loneliness.
Just when the pinnance of my youthful dream Into the everlasting deep went down, Another started from the ocean stream Borne with a fair wind onward to life"s crown.
For every dream that vanished in the wave, For every buoyant plume that broke asunder, G.o.d sent me in return a little wonder, And gratefully I took the good He gave.
For them I strove, for them ama.s.sed, annexed,-- For them, for them, explained the Holy text; On them you"ve poured the venom of your spite!
You"ve proved, with all the cunning of the schools, My bliss was but the paradise of fools, That all I took for earnest was a jest;-- Now I implore, give me my quiet breast Again, the flawless peace of mind I had--
FALK.
Prove, in a word, your t.i.tle to be glad?
STRAWMAN.
Yes, in my path you"ve cast the stone of doubt, And n.o.body but you can cast it out.
Between my kin and me you"ve set a bar,-- Remove the bar, the strangling noose undo--
FALK.
You possibly believe I keep the glue Of lies for Happiness"s in a broken jar?
STRAWMAN.
I do believe, the faith your reasons tore To shreds, your reasons may again restore; The limb that you have shatter"d, you can set; Reverse your judgment,--the whole truth unfold, Restate the case--I"ll fly my banner yet--
FALK [haughtily].
I stamp no copper Happiness as gold.
STRAWMAN [looking fixedly at him].
Remember then that, lately, one whose scent For truth is of the keenest told us this: [With uplifted finger.
"There runs through all our life a Nemesis, Which may delay, but never will relent."
[He goes towards the house.
STIVER [Coming out with gla.s.ses on, and an open book in his hand.
Pastor, you must come flying like the blast!
Your girls are sobbing--
THE CHILDREN [in the doorway].
Pa!
STIVER.
And Madam waiting!
[Strawman goes in.
This lady has no talent for debating.
[Puts the book and gla.s.ses in his pocket, and approaches FALK.
Falk!
FALK.
Yes!
STIVER.
I hope you"ve changed your mind at last?
FALK.
Why so?
STIVER.
For obvious reasons. To betray Communications made in confidence, Is conduct utterly without defence.
They must not pa.s.s the lips.
FALK.