The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Thorhalla tells of Kiartan's Comings and Goings

The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870] Thorhalla tells of Kiartan's Comings and Goings. WHAT should the next move in the strange game be? Kiartan rode through the country carelessly With few behind him, but nought hitherto The sons of Oswif durst against him do, While he his hand withheld not utterly From them; so doubtful did the days go by. And Gudrun? Ah, the black spot in her heart That rose when first she knew that one had part In Kiartan's life, and ever greater grew, When of his love toward this new love she knew, Now at he last, when over sure she felt That she no longer in his memory dwelt, O’erspread her life, till from the foiled desire Cast back upon her heart, there sprang a fire Of very hate: true was it, that at first Bodli, herself, and all around she cursed Rather than Kiartan—Well, what will you have That was ere hope had sunk into his grave, p. 488 While yet some pleasure clung round Kiartan's name. Then came the feast at Herdholt; then the shame About the coif, and fear of shame again, And many a tale told to make over plain His love for Refna; then the evil hour, When she within the darksome hall must cower Among her trembling brethren: then, when she Had looked at least a noble death to see, Of one who loved her, Kiartan sent him back A baffled man, as who all might did lack, Yea, even the might to die; still, at each turn Afresh this weary lesson must she learn; With the wrong-doers hast thou taken part, Live then, and die with them, for thy love's heart Is now no more for thee! still everywhere Did Kiartan's image meet her; the warm air Of summer seemed but sent her from his hand, The sea that beat the borders of the land Still seemed to bear his fame unto her feet; All summer sights and sounds, and odours sweet, Were heavy with his memory: no least way To ’scape from thought of him from day to day. Withal, the sight of faces dull with hate Of that same man, on every step did wait. Familiar grew the muttering sullen voice Of those who in no goodhap could rejoice, Until the very thought and hope of strife, The use of hate, must grow to be her life. And shaped therefrom a dreadful longing rose, p. 489 That some fell end the weary way would close, Unto herself she scarce durst whisper what. Now on a day three of her brothers sat Within the hall, and talked, and she stood by Hearkening their eager speech most wearily. "The gabbling crone Thorhalla has just been," Said Ospak, "And whom think you she has seen?" "Nay, by thy scowl I know well," Thorolf said, "’Twas Kiartan Olafson, upon my head." "Well, Thorolf, thou grow’st wise—now, said the crone, That in her life she ne’er saw such an one As Kiartan looked, a loving maiden's dream Of a great king, she said, the man did seem. 'Well,' said I, 'and how long then will it last?' 'Ah,' said the crone, 'till after ye are passed; Why, the whole country-side is ringing now With this, that ye had best be wise and bow Before him humbly, since most kind is he; Kind,' says the crone, 'certes he was to me.' 'Well, well,' says I, 'but these are fools’ words here.' 'Nay, let me speak,' she says, 'for he will fare Unto the west to Knoll; this know I well, Because to him therewith I needs must tell Of one who owed me half a mark thereby. p. 490 Well, goody, says he, I shall pass anigh, And I will fetch it for thee—lo, how kind.'" "Now may God strike the gabbling idiot blind!" Said Thorolf. "Nay," said Ospak, "not so wise Thou growest now; rather, God keep her eyes! Tidings she told me, saying he would bide For just three days at Knoll, and thence will ride Through Swinedale home, close here, nor like that he Will ride by us with a great company, Say two at most—good luck go with his pride, Whereby so fair a chance doth us betide!— Bodli shall lead or die." Then Gudrun turned Sick-hearted from them; how her longing burned Within her heart! ah, if he died not now, How might she tell whereto his hate would grow? Yet a strange hope that longing shot across, As she got thinking what would be the loss If Bodli fell ’neath Kiartan's hand. That day, Like years long told, past Gudrun wore away, She knew not how; but when the next day came She cried aloud, "The same, ah, still the same, Shall every day be, now that he is dead!" She started as she heard her voice, her head Seemed filled with flame: she crawled unto her bower And at her mirrored face hour after hour She stared, and wondered what she really was, The once-loved thing o’er which his lips would pass. p. 491 Her feet grew heavy at the end of day, Her heart grew faint, upon her bed she lay Moveless for many an hour, until the sun Told her that now the last day was begun; Then she arose as one might in a dream To clothe herself, till a great cloud did seem To draw away from her; as in bright hell, Sunless but shadowless she saw full well Her life that was and would be, now she knew The deed unmasked that summer day should do. And then she gnashed her teeth and tore her hair, And beat her breast, nor lightened thus despair, As over and over the sweet names she told Whereby he called her in the days of old; And then she thought of Refna's longing eyes, And to her face a dreadful smile did rise That died amidst its birth, as back again Her thoughts went to the tender longing pain She once had deemed a sweet fair day would end; And therewith such an agony did rend Her body and soul, that all things she forgat Amidst of it; upon the bed she sat Rigid and stark, and deemed she shrieked, yet made No sound indeed; but slowly now did fade All will away from her, until the sun Risen higher, on her moveless body shone, And as a smitten thing beneath its stroke She shrank and started, and awhile awoke To hear the tramp of men about the hall. p. 492 Then did a hand upon the panel fall; And in her very soul she heard the ring Of weapons pulled adown, and every thing, Yea, even pain, was dead a little space. At last she woke to see the haggard face Of Bodli o’er her own: "I go," he said, "Would God that thou mayst hear of me as dead Ere the sun sets to-day." She passed her hand Across her eyes, as he in arms did stand Before her there, and stared but answered not, As though indeed his face were clean forgot; Yet her face quickened as his eyes she saw So full of ruth yet nigher to her draw: She shrank aback, but therewith suddenly A thought smote through her, with an angry cry She sprang up from the bed, naked and white Her gold hair glittering in the sunshine bright That flooded all the place; his arm she caught And stared into his eyes: "What is thy thought?" She said, "why goest thou with these murderous men? Ah! dost thou think thou yet mayst save him then? Ah! dost thou think that thou mayst still be kind To every one, fool as thou art and blind, Yet work thy wicked will to pleasure thee?" Across her passion he began to see p. 493 That now she doubted him; he muttered low: "The work of these my hands what man can know? And yet at least the end shall be to-day." She fell aback nor noted more, but lay All huddled up upon the bed, her hair O’er her white body scattered here and there, And as he gazed on her he saw she wept, And a wild passion o’er his heart there swept, And twice he stretched his arms out, to embrace His curse and his delight, twice turned his face Unto the door that led unto the hall, Then with a cry upon her did he fall And, sobbing, strained her to his mail-clad breast, And to her writhen lips his lips he pressed, And moaned o’er her wet cheeks, and kissed her eyes That knew him not; till in his heart ’gan rise, Now at the last, a glory in his shame, A pride to take the whole world's bitter blame; And like a god he felt, though well he deemed That to an end at last his dream was dreamed. And she, she knew him not, her arms fell down Away from him, her drawn mouth and set frown Were not for him, she did not shrink from him, She turned not round to curse or bless, when dim She lay before his burning eyes once more, Her long hair gilding the white bed-clothes o’er, As midst low restless moaning there she tossed. Wildly he cried: "Oh, Gudrun, thou hast lost, p. 494 But look on me for I have never won!" Then from the place he rushed, and with the sun Burst into the dusk hall, a stream of light, Neath his dark hair, his face so strange and white That a dead man dragged up into the day By wizard's arts he seemed to be, and they Who waited armed there, and the last cup drank Looked each at each, and from his presence shrank. For there were gathered now the murderous band, Long to be cursed thereafter through the land, Gudrun's five brethren, and three stout men more. Then Ospak cried, "Soon shall our shame be o’er, And thou and we shall be great men and famed, And Bathstead free; come now, since thou art named Our leader, husband of Gudrun, lead forth! For this day shall be called a day of worth, By those that tell the story of our house." Flushed were the men, and fierce and boisterous, And Bodli trembled in his helpless rage To be among them, but his sin's strong cage Was strait and strong about him: with no word He girt to him the rover's deadly sword, And did his helm on: and so forth they wend Through the bright morn to bring about the end.