Love's Comedy Part 23

Don't disturb his flow.

FALK.

It has its home in fabled lands serene; Thousands of miles of desert lie between;-- Fill up, Lind!--So.--Now in a tea-oration, I'll show of tea and Love the true relation.

[The guests cl.u.s.ter round him.

It has its home in the romantic land; Alas, Love's home is also in Romance, Only the Sun's descendants understand The herb's right cultivation and advance.

With Love it is not otherwise than so.

Blood of the Sun along the veins must flow If Love indeed therein is to strike root, And burgeon into blossom, into fruit.

MISS JAY.

But China is an ancient land; you hold In consequence that tea is very old--

STRAWMAN.

Past question antecedent to Jerusalem.

FALK.

Yes, 'twas already famous when Methusalem His picture-books and rattles tore and flung--

MISS JAY [triumphantly].

And love is in its very nature young!

To find a likeness there is pretty bold.

FALK.

No; Love, in truth, is also very old; That principle we here no more dispute Than do the folks of Rio or Beyrout.

Nay, there are those from Cayenne to Caithness, Who stand upon its everlastingness;-- Well, that may be slight exaggeration, But old it is beyond all estimation.

MISS JAY.

But Love is all alike; whereas we see Both good and bad and middling kinds of tea!

MRS. STRAWMAN.

Yes, they sell tea of many qualities.

ANNA.

The green spring shoots I count the very first--

SVANHILD.

Those serve to quench celestial daughter's thirst.

A YOUNG LADY.

Witching as ether fumes they say it is--

ANOTHER.

Balmy as lotus, sweet as almond, clear--

GULDSTAD.

That's not an article we deal in here.

FALK [who has meanwhile come down from the verandah].

Ah, ladies, every mortal has a small Private celestial empire in his heart.

There bud such shoots in thousands, kept apart By Shyness's soon shatter'd Chinese Wall.

But in her dim fantastic temple bower The little Chinese puppet sits and sighs, A dream of far-off wonders in her eyes-- And in her hand a golden tulip flower.

For her the tender firstling tendrils grew;-- Rich crop or meagre, what is that to you?

Instead of it we get an after crop They kick the tree for, dust and stalk and stem,-- As hemp to silk beside what goes to them--

GULDSTAD.

That is black tea.

FALK [nodding].

That's what fills the shop.

A GENTLEMAN.

There's beef tea too, that Holberg says a word of--

MISS JAY [sharply].

To modern taste entirely out of date.

FALK.

And a beef love has equally been heard of, Wont--in romances--to brow-beat its mate, And still they say its trace may be detected Amongst the henpecked of the married state.

In short there's likeness where 'twas least expected.

So, as you know, an ancient proverb tells, That something ever pa.s.ses from the tea Of the bouquet that lodges in its cells, If it be carried hither over the sea.

It must across the desert and the hills,-- Pay toll to Cossack and to Russian tills;-- It gets their stamp and licence, that's enough, We buy it as the true and genuine stuff.

But has not Love the self-same path to fare?

Across Life's desert? How the world would rave And shriek if you or I should boldly bear Our Love by way of Freedom's ocean wave!

"Good heavens, his moral savour's pa.s.sed away, And quite dispersed Legality's bouquet!"--

STRAWMAN [rising].

Yes, happily,--in every moral land Such wares continue to be contraband!

FALK.

Yes, to pa.s.s current here, Love must have cross'd The great Siberian waste of regulations, Fann'd by no breath of ocean to its cost; It must produce official attestations From friend and kindred, devils of relations, From church curators, organist and clerk, And other fine folks--over and above The primal licence which G.o.d gave to Love.-- And then the last great point of likeness;--mark How heavily the hand of culture weighs Upon that far Celestial domain; Its power is shatter'd, and its wall decays, The last true Mandarin's strangled; hands profane Already are put forth to share the spoil; Soon the Sun's realm will be a legend vain, An idle tale incredible to sense; The world is gray in gray--we've flung the soil On buried Faery,--then where can Love be found?

Alas, Love also is departed hence!

[Lifts his cup.

Well let him go, since so the times decree;-- A health to Amor, late of Earth,--in tea!

[He drains his cup; indignant murmurs amongst the company.

MISS JAY.

A very odd expression! "Dead" indeed!

THE LADIES.

To say that Love is dead--!

STRAWMAN.

Why, here you see Him sitting, rosy, round and sound, at tea, In all conditions! Here in her sable weed The widow--

MISS JAY.

Here a couple, true and tried,--

STIVER.

With many ample pledges fortified.