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AUNTS [delighted].
Yes, that's the way!
MRS HALM.
Agreed!
MISS JAY.
That cuts the knot.
[SVANHILD and the maids have meantime laid the tea-table beside the verandah steps. At MRS. HALM's invitation the ladies sit down. The rest of the company take their places, partly on the verandah and in the summer-house, partly in the garden.
FALK sits on the verandah. During the following scene they drink tea.
MRS. HALM [smiling].
And so our little storm is overblown.
Such summer showers do good when they are gone; The sunshine greets us with a double boon, And promises a cloudless afternoon.
MISS JAY.
Ah yes, Love's blossom without rainy skies Would never thrive according to our wishes.
FALK.
In dry land set it, and it forthwith dies; For in so far the flowers are like the fishes--
SVANHILD.
Nay, for Love lives, you know, upon the air--
MISS JAY.
Which is the death of fishes--
FALK.
So I say.
MISS JAY.
Aha, we've put a bridle on you there!
MRS. STRAWMAN.
The tea is good, one knows by the bouquet.
FALK.
Well, let us keep the simile you chose.
Love is a flower; for if heaven's blessed rain Fall short, it all but pines to death-- [Pauses.
MISS JAY.
What then?
FALK [with a gallant bow].
Then come the aunts with the reviving hose.-- But poets have this simile employed, And men for scores of centuries enjoyed,-- Yet hardly one its secret sense has. .h.i.t; For flowers are manifold and infinite.
Say, then, what flower is love? Name me, who knows, The flower most like it?
MISS JAY.
Why, it is the rose; Good gracious, that's exceedingly well known;-- Love, all agree, lends life a rosy tone.
A YOUNG LADY.
It is the snowdrop; growing, snow enfurled; Till it peer forth, undreamt of by the world.
AN AUNT.
It is the dandelion,--made robust By dint of human heel and horse hoof thrust; Nay, shooting forth afresh when it is smitten, As Pedersen so charmingly has written.
LIND.
It is the bluebell,--ringing in for all Young hearts life's joyous Whitsun festival.
MRS. HALM.
No, 'tis an evergreen,--as fresh and gay In desolate December as in May.
GULDSTAD.
No, Iceland moss, dry gathered,--far the best Cure for young ladies with a wounded breast.
A GENTLEMAN.
No, the wild chestnut tree,--high repute For household fuel, but with a bitter fruit.
SVANHILD.
No, a camellia; at our b.a.l.l.s, 'tis said, The chief adornment of a lady's head.
MRS. STRAWMAN.
No, it is like a flower, O such a bright one;-- Stay now--a blue one, no, it was a white one-- What is it's name--? Dear me--the one I met--; Well it is singular how I forget!
STIVER.
None of these flower similitudes will run.
The flowerpot is a likelier candidate.
There's only room in it, at once, for one; But by progressive stages it holds eight.
STRAWMAN [with his little girls round him].
No, love's a pear tree; in the spring like snow With myriad blossoms, which in summer grow To pearlets; in the parent's sap each shares;-- And with G.o.d's help they'll all alike prove pears.
FALK.
So many heads, so many sentences!
No, you all grope and blunder off the line.
Each simile's at fault; I'll tell you mine;-- You're free to turn and wrest it as you please.
[Rises as if to make a speech.
In the remotest east there grows a plant;(4) And the sun's cousin's garden is its haunt--
THE LADIES.
Ah, it's the tea-plant!
FALK.
Yes.
MRS. STRAWMAN.
His voice is so Like Strawman's when he--
STRAWMAN.
