The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 63

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 pa.s.s; 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, la.s.s, 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 St.i.tched 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 s.h.i.+ne 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.)

I must be humble--as one who lives on others.

(_She s.n.a.t.c.hes off her wimple, slipping her gold circlet as she does so, and loosens her hair._)

Unless I may be hooded delicately And use the adornment n.o.ble women use I'll mock you with my flown young widowhood, Letting my hair go loose past either cheek In two bright clouds and drop beyond my bosom, Turning the waving ends under my girdle As young glad widows do, and as I did Ere ever you saw me--ay, and when you found me And met me as a king meets a queen In the undying light of a summer night With burning robes and glances--stirring the heart with scarlet.

(_She tucks the long ends of her hair under her girdle._)

RANNVEIG You have cast the head-ring of the n.o.bly nurtured, Being eager for a bold uncovered head.

You are conversant with a widow's fancies....

Ay, you are ready with your widowhood: Two men have had you, chilled their bosoms with you, And trusted that they held a precious thing-- Yet your mean pa.s.sionate wastefulness poured out Their lives for joy of seeing something done with.

Cannot you wait this time? 'Twill not be long.

HALLGERD I am a hazardous desirable thing, A warm unsounded peril, a flas.h.i.+ng mischief, A divine malice, a disquieting voice: Thus I was shapen, and it is my pride To nourish all the fires that mingled me.

I am not long moved, I do not mar my face, Though men have sunk in me as in a quicksand.

Well, death is terrible. Was I not worth it?

Does not the light change on me as I breathe?

Could I not take the hearts of generations, Walking among their dreams? Oh, I have might, Although it drives me too and is not my own deed....

And Gunnar is great, or he had died long since.

It is my joy that Gunnar stays with me: Indeed the offence is theirs who hunted him, His banishment is not just; his wrongs increase, His honour and his following shall increase If he is steadfast for his blamelessness.

RANNVEIG Law is not justice, but the sacrifice Of singular virtues to the dull world's ease of mind; It measures men by the most vicious men; It is a bargaining with vanities, Lest too much right should make men hate each other And hasten the last battle of all the nations.

Gunnar should have kept the atonement set, For then those men would turn to other quarrels.

GUNNAR I know not why it is I must be fighting, For ever fighting, when the slaying of men Is a more weary and aimless thing to me Than most men think it ... and most women too.

There is a woman here who grieves she loves me, And she too must be fighting me for ever With her dim ravenous unsated mind....

Ay, Hallgerd, there's that in her which desires Men to fight on for ever because she lives: When she took form she did it like a hunger To nibble earth's lip away until the sea Poured down the darkness. Why then should I sail Upon a voyage that can end but here?

She means that I shall fight until I die: Why must she be put off by whittled years, When none can die until his time has come?

(_He turns to the hound by the fire._)

Samm, drowsy friend, dost scent a prey in dreams?

Shake off thy s.h.a.g of sleep and get to thy watch: 'Tis time to be our eyes till the next light.

Out, out to the yard, good Samm.

(_He goes to the left, followed by the hound. In the meantime_ HALLGERD _has seated herself in the high-seat near the sewing women, turning herself away and tugging at a strand of her hair, the end of which she bites._)

RANNVEIG (_intercepting him_) Nay, let me take him.

It is not safe--there may be men who hide....

Hallgerd, look up; call Gunnar to you there:

(HALLGERD _is motionless._) Lad, she beckons. I say you shall not come.

GUNNAR (_laughing_) Fierce woman, teach me to be brave in age, And let us see if it is safe for you.

(_Leads_ RANNVEIG _out, his hand on her shoulder; the hound goes with them._)

STEINVOR Mistress, my heart is big with mutinies For your proud sake: does not your heart mount up?

He is an outlaw now and could not hold you If you should choose to leave him. Is it not law?

Is it not law that you could loose this marriage-- Nay, that he loosed it shamefully years ago By a hard blow that bruised your innocent cheek, Dishonouring you to lesser women and chiefs?

See, it burns up again at the stroke of thought.

Come, leave him, mistress; we will go with you.

There is no woman in the country now Whose name can kindle men as yours can do-- Ay, many would pile for you the silks he grudges; And if you did withdraw your potent presence Fire would not spare this house so reverently.

HALLGERD Am I a wandering flame that sears and pa.s.ses?

We must bide here, good Steinvor, and be quiet.

Without a man a woman cannot rule, Nor kill without a knife; and where's the man That I shall put before this goodly Gunnar?

I will not be made less by a less man.

There is no man so great as my man Gunnar: I have set men at him to show forth his might; I have planned thefts and breakings of his word When my pent heart grew sore with fermentation Of malice too long undone, yet could not stir him.

Oh, I will make a battle of the Thing, Where men vow holy peace, to magnify him.

Is it not rare to sit and wait o' nights, Knowing that murderousness may even now Be coming down outside like second darkness Because my man is greater?