SCENE: _The hall of GUNNAR'S house at Lithend in South Iceland.
The portion shewn is set on the stage diagonally, so that to the
right one end is seen, while from the rear corner of this, one
side runs down almost to the left front._
_The side wall is low and wainscoted with carved panelling on
which hang weapons, shields, and coats of mail. In one place a
panel slid aside shews a shut bed._
_In front of the panelling are two long benches with a carved
high-seat between them. Across the end of the hall are similar
panellings and the seats, with corresponding tables, of the
women's dais; behind these and in the gable wall is a high narrow
door with a rounded top._
_A timber roof slopes down to the side wall and is upheld by
cross-beams and two rows of tall pillars which make a rather
narrow nave of the centre of the hall. One of these rows runs
parallel to the side wall, the pair of pillars before the
high-seat being carved and ended with images; of the other row
only two pillars are visible at the extreme right._
_Within this nave is the space for the hearths; but the only
hearth visible is the one near the women's dais. In the roof
above it there is a louvre: the fire glows and no smoke rises.
The hall is lit everywhere by the firelight._
_The rafters over the women's dais carry a floor at the level of
the side walls, forming an open loft which is reached by a wide
ladder fixed against the wall: a bed is seen in this loft. Low in
the roof at intervals are shuttered casements, one being above
the loft: all the shutters are closed. Near the fire a large
shaggy hound is sleeping; and ORMILD, in the undyed woollen dress
of a thrall, is combing wool._
ODDNY _stands spinning at the side; near her_ ASTRID _and_ STEINVOR
_sit stitching a robe which hangs between them._
ASTRID
Night is a winter long: and evening falls.
Night, night and winter and the heavy snow
Burden our eyes, intrude upon our dreams,
And make of loneliness an earthly place.
ORMILD
This bragging land of freedom that enthralls me
Is still the fastness of a secret king
Who treads the dark like snow, of old king Sleep.
He works with night, he has stolen death's tool frost
That makes the breaking wave forget to fall.
ASTRID
Best mind thy comb-pot and forget our king
Before the Longcoat helps at thy awaking....
I like not this forsaken quiet house.
The housemen out at harvest in the Isles
Never return. Perhaps they went but now,
Yet I am sore with fearing and expecting
Because they do not come. They will not come.
I like not this forsaken quiet house,
This late last harvest, and night creeping in.
ODDNY
I like not dwelling in an outlaw's house.
Snow shall be heavier upon some eyes
Than you can tell of--ay, and unseen earth
Shall keep that snow from filling those poor eyes.
This void house is more void by brooding things
That do not happen, than by absent men.
Sometimes when I awaken in the night
My throbbing ears are mocking me with rumours
Of crackling beams, beams falling, and loud flames.
ASTRID (_pointing to the weapons by the high-seat_)
The bill that Gunnar won in a far sea-fight
Sings inwardly when battle impends; as a harp
Replies to the wind, thus answers it to fierceness,
So tense its nature is and the spell of its welding;
Then trust ye well that while the bill is silent
No danger thickens, for Gunnar dies not singly.
STEINVOR
But women are let forth free when men go burning?
ODDNY
Fire is a hurrying thing, and fire by night
Can see its way better than men see theirs.
ASTRID
The land will not be nobler or more holpen
If Gunnar burns and we go forth unsinged.
Why will he break the atonement that was set?
That wise old Njal who has the second sight
Foretold his death if he should slay twice over
In the same kin, or break the atonement set:
Yet has he done these things and will not care.
Kolskegg, who kept his back in famous fights,
Sailed long ago and far away from us
Because that doom is on him for the slayings;
Yet Gunnar bides although that doom is on him
And he is outlawed by defiance of doom.
STEINVOR
Gunnar has seen his death: he is spoken for.
He would not sail because, when he rode down
Unto the ship, his horse stumbled and threw him,
His face toward the Lithe and his own fields.
Olaf the Peacock bade him be with him
In his new mighty house so carven and bright,
And leave this house to Rannveig and his sons:
He said that would be well, yet never goes.
Is he not thinking death would ride with him?
Did not Njal offer to send his sons,
Skarphedin ugly and brave and Hauskuld with him,
To hold this house with Gunnar, who refused them,
Saying he would not lead young men to death?
I tell you Gunnar is done.... His fetch is out.
ODDNY
Nay, he's been topmost in so many fights
That he believes he shall fight on untouched.
STEINVOR
He rides to motes and Things before his foes.
He has sent his sons harvesting in the Isles.
He takes deliberate heed of death--to meet it,
Like those whom Odin needs. He is fey, I tell you--
And if we are past the foolish ardour of girls
For heroisms and profitless loftiness
We shall get gone when bedtime clears the house.
'T is much to have to be a hero's wife,
And I shall wonder if Hallgerd cares about it:
Yet she may kindle to it ere my heart quickens.
I tell you, women, we have no duty here:
Let us get gone to-night while there is time,
And find new harbouring ere the laggard dawn,
For death is making narrowing passages
About this hushed and terrifying house.
(RANNVEIG, _an old wimpled woman, enters as if from a door at the
unseen end of the hall._)
ASTRID
He is so great and manly, our master Gunnar,
There are not many ready to meet his weapons:
And so there may not be much need of weapons.
He is so noble and clear, so swift and tender,
So much of Iceland's fame in foreign places,
That too many love him, too many honour him
To let him die, lest the most gleaming glory
Of our grey country should be there put out.
RANNVEIG
Girl, girl, my son has many enemies
Who will not lose the joy of hurting him.
This little land is no more than a lair
That holds too many fiercenesses too straitly,
And no man will refuse the rapture of killing
When outlawry has made it cheap and righteous.
So long as anyone perceives he knows
A bare place for a weapon on my son
His hand shall twitch to fit a weapon in.
Indeed he shall lose nothing but his life
Because a woman is made so evil fair,
Wasteful and white and proud in harmful acts.
I lose two sons when Gunnar's eyes are still,
For then will Kolskegg never more turn home....
If Gunnar would but sail, three years would pass;
Only three years of banishment said the doom--
So few, so few, for I can last ten years
With this unshrunken body and steady heart.
(_To_ ORMILD)
Have I sat down in comfort by the fire
And waited to be told the thing I knew?
Have any men come home to the young women,
Thinking old women do not need to hear,
That you can play at being a bower-maid
In a long gown although no beasts are foddered?
Up, lass, and get thy coats about thy knees,
For we must cleanse the byre and heap the midden
Before the master knows--or he will go,
And there is peril for him in every darkness.
ORMILD (_tucking up her skirts_)
Then are we out of peril in the darkness?
We should do better to nail up the doors
Each night and all night long and sleep through it,
Giving the cattle meat and straw by day.
ODDNY
Ay, and the hungry cattle should sing us to sleep.
(_The others laugh. ORMILD goes out to the left_; RANNVEIG _is
following her, but pauses at the sound of a voice._)
HALLGERD (_beyond the door of the women's dais_)
Dead men have told me I was better than fair,
And for my face welcomed the danger of me:
Then am I spent?
(_She enters angrily, looking backward through the doorway._)
Must I shut fast my doors
And hide myself? Must I wear up the rags
Of mortal perished beauty and be old?
Or is there power left upon my mouth
Like colour, and lilting of ruin in my eyes?
Am I still rare enough to be your mate?
Then why must I shame at feasts and bear myself
In shy ungainly ways, made flushed and conscious
By squat numb gestures of my shapeless head--
Ay, and its wagging shadow--clouted up,
Twice tangled with a bundle of hot hair,
Like a thick cot-quean's in the settling time?
There are few women in the Quarter now
Who do not wear a shapely fine-webbed coif
Stitched by dark Irish girls in Athcliath
With golden flies and pearls and glinting things:
Even my daughter lets her big locks show,
Show and half show, from a hood gentle and close
That spans her little head like her husband's hand.
GUNNAR (_entering by the same door_)
I like you when you bear your head so high;
Lift but your heart as high, you could get crowned
And rule a kingdom of impossible things.
You would have moon and sun to shine together,
Snowflakes to knit for apples on bare boughs,
Yea, love to thrive upon the terms of hate.
If I had fared abroad I should have found
In many countries many marvels for you--
Though not more comeliness in peopled Romeborg
And not more haughtiness in Mickligarth
Nor craftiness in all the isles of the world,
And only golden coifs in Athcliath:
Yet you were ardent that I should not sail,
And when I could not sail you laughed out loud
And kissed me home....
HALLGERD (_who has been biting her nails_)
And then ... and doubtless ... and strangely ...
And not more thriftiness in Bergthorsknoll
Where Njal saves old soft sackcloth for his wife.
Oh, I must sit with peasants and aged women,
And keep my head wrapped modestly and seemly.
(_She turns to_ RANNVEIG.)