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ACT FIFTH.
A year and a half later. The new Church stands complete, and adorned for consecration. The river runs close beside it. A misty morning, early.
The SEXTON is busy hanging garlands outside the Church; shortly after comes the SCHOOLMASTER.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
At work already?
THE SEXTON.
None too soon.
Lcnd me a hand; I must festoon
The path, to keep the march in trim.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Before the Manse I see ascending
Something that rears a rounded rim ā
THE SEXTON.
Ay, surely, surely!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
What is pending?
THE SEXTON.
Why, it is what they call a shield
With Parsonās name in a gold field.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
To-day the valleyās in high feather.
From far and wide theyāre flocking hither,
The fjord with sails isagleam.
THE SEXTON.
Yes; theyāve awakenād from their dream.
In the late Pastorās day, no breast
With bitterness and strife was cumberād,
Each slumberād as his neighbour slumberād,
-Iām not quite certain which is best.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Life, Sexton, life!
THE SEXTON.
Yet you and I
Pass this ālifeā unregarding by; How comes it?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Why, before, the folk
Sluniherād, and nowise toilād, as we did;
We fell asleep when they awoke,
Because we were no longer needed.
THE SEXTON.
But yet you said that life was best?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
By Dean and deacon thatās professād.
And I too say so, like the rest, ā
Provided, mind, the ālifeā in view
Is that of the great Residue.
But we two serve another law
Than that which holds the mass in awe;
Set by the State to guard and guide, ā
Look, w e must stand against the tide,
Cherish the Church and Education,
And keep aloof from agitation.
Briefly, in nothing take a side.
THE SEXTON.
But Parsonās in it, heart and soul.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
And just in that forgets his role.
His own superiors, well I know,
Look with displeasure on his action,
And, dared they but offend his faction,
Had thrown him over long ago.
But he is fine; he smells a rat;
Heās got a recipe for that.
He builds the Church. Here you may glue
All eyes up, if you will but d o .
Whatās done none has a thought to spare for;
The doing of itās all they care for.
So they who follow, and we who lead,
All equally are men of deed.
THE SEXTON.
Well, you have sat in the great Thing,
And ought to know the Land and Folk;
But one who travellād through the glen
A little after we awoke
Said, weād been sleeping folks till then,
But, having waked,-were promising.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Yes; weāre a promising folk, of course, ā
And mighty promises weāre giving, ā
So fast we stride, weāll soon be living
Elucidations of their force.
THE SEXTON.
One thing Iāve ponderād many a day;
Youāve studied,-what do folks intend
By that same āPeopleās Promise,ā pray?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
A Peopleās Promise, my good friend?
That were a long investigation;
But ātis a thing that is pursued
By force of sheer anticipation;
A grand Idea they must make good
In f u t u r e, be it understood.
THE SEXTON.
Thanks; I see that at any rate;
But thereās another point Iād fain
Beg of you briefly to explain.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Speak freely.
THE SEXTON.
Tell me, at what date
Comes, what is callād the future?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Why.
It never does come!
THE SEXTON.
Never?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
No,
And only follows Nature so.
For when it comes, you see, ātis grown
The Present, and the Futureās flown.
THE SEXTON.
Why, yes, to that thereās no reply;
That logic one must needs accept.
But-when then is the promise kept?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
A Promise is a future-dated
Pact, as I have already stated;
āTis kept in Future.
THE SEXTON.
That is clear.
When will the Future, though, be here!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[Aside.]
You blessed Sexton!
[Aloud.]
Worthy friend,
Must I the argument recall?
The Future cannot come at all,
Because its coming is its end.
THE SEXTON.
Thank you.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
In all conceptions lies
Something that looks like artifice,
But yet is quite direct and plain, ā
That is to say, for any brain
Able to reckon up to ten.
To make a promise means, at last,
To break it,-spite of best intent;
Truth to oneās word has always pass ād
For hard; but you may just as well
Prove it purely impossible, ā
If youāve an eye for argument. ā
There, let this Promise-question be!
Come tell me ā !
THE SEXTON.
Hist!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
What is it?
THE SEXTON.
Hark!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
I hear the organ play!
THE SEXTON.
āTis he.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
The Pastor?
THE SEXTON.
Even so.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Save the mark
But he is out betimes!
THE SEXTON.
I guess
He stirrād no pillow yesternight.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
What do you say?
THE SEXTON.
All is not right.
Heās felt the pang of loneliness
Since first his widowhood began.
He hides his sorrow all he can;
But, whiles, it may not be controllād;
His heartās a jar that will not hold,
And overflows by base and brim; ā
So then he plays. āTis like a wild
Weeping for buried wife and child.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
It is as if they talkād with him ā
THE SEXTON.
As if o n e sufferād, o n e consoled
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Hm-if one dared to be affected!
THE SEXTON.
Ah,-if one did not serve the State!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Ah,-if one bore no leaden weight Of forms that have to be respected!
THE SEXTON.
Alf,-if one dared toss tape and seal
And ledger to the deuce for ever!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
And leave off striving to he clever;
And, Sexton, if one dared to f e e l!
THE SEXTON.
No one is near,-letās feel, my friend!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
We cannot fitly condescend
To smirch ourselves in human slime.
Let no man, says the Parson, dare
To be two things at the same time;
And, with the best will, no one can
Be an official and a man;
Our part in all things is, to swear
By our great exemplar-the Mayor.
THE SEXTON.
Why just by him?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Do you recall
The fire that wreekād his house, and yet
The deeds were rescued, one and all?
THE SEXTON.
It was an evenin...
