The Influence of Old Norse Literature on English Literature Part 5

A life scarce worth the living, a poor fame Scarce worth the winning, in a wretched land, Where fear and pain go upon either hand, As toward the end men fare without an aim Unto the dull grey dark from whence they came: Let them alone, the unshadowed sheer rocks stand Over the twilight graves of that poor band, Who count so little in the great world's game!

Nay, with the dead I deal not; this man lives, And that which carried him through good and ill, Stern against fate while his voice echoed still From rock to rock, now he lies silent, strives With wasting time, and through its long lapse gives Another friend to me, life's void to fill.

2.

In the three volumes of _The Earthly Paradise_, published by William Morris in 1868-1870, there are three poems which hail from Old Norse originals. They are "The Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon," and "The Lovers of Gudrun," in Vol. II, and "The Fostering of Aslaug," in Vol. III. Of these "The Lovers of Gudrun" forms a cla.s.s by itself; it is a poem to be reckoned with when the dozen greatest poems of the century are listed. The late Laureate may have equalled it in the best of the _Idylls of the King_, but he never excelled it. Let us look at it in detail.

First, be it said that "The Lovers of Gudrun" overtops all the other poems in _The Earthly Paradise_. It would be possible to prove that Morris was at his best when he worked with Old Norse material, but that task shall not detain us now. It is enough to note that the "Prologue"

to _The Earthly Paradise_, called "The Wanderers," makes the leader of these wanderers, who turn story-tellers when they reach the city by "the borders of the Grecian sea," a Norseman. Born in Byzantium of a Greek mother, he claimed Norway as his home, and on his father's death returned to his kin. His speech to the Elder of the City reveals a touching loyalty to his father's home and traditions:

But when I reached one dying autumn-tide My uncle's dwelling near the forest-side, And saw the land so scanty and so bare, And all the hard things men contend with there, A little and unworthy land it seemed, And yet the more of Asagard I dreamed, And worthier seemed the ancient faith of praise.

Here is the man, William Morris, in perfect miniature. Modern life and training had given him a speech and aspect quite suave and cultured, but the blood that flowed in his veins was red, and the tincture of iron was in it. In religion, in art, in poetry, in economics, he loved the past better than the present, though he was never unconscious of "our glorious gains." In all departments of thought the scanty, the bare, the hard, the unworthy, drew first his attention and then his love and enthusiastic praise. And so perhaps it is explained that of all the poems in _The Earthly Paradise_, the one indited first in the scarred and dreadful land where neither wheat nor wine is at home, shall be the finest in this latter-day retelling.

The first seventy years of the thirteenth century were the blossoming time of the historic saga in Iceland, and those writings that record the doings of the families of the land form, with the old songs and the best of the kingly sagas, the flower of Northern literature. These family records never extend over more than one generation, and sometimes they deal with but a few years. They are half-way between romance and history, with the balance oftenest in favor of truth. In this group are found _Egils Saga_, known at second hand to Warton, the _Eyrbyggja Saga_, translated by Walter Scott, and the _Laxdaela Saga_. It is the _Laxdaela Saga_ that gives the story told by Morris in "The Lovers of Gudrun." Among sagas it is famous for its fine portrayal of character.

The saga and the poem tell the story of two neighboring farms, Herdholt and Bathsted, whose sons and daughters work out a dire tragedy. Kiartan and Bodli are the son and foster-son of the first house, and Gudrun is the daughter of the second. These are the princ.i.p.al personages in the drama, though the list of the other _dramatis personae_ is a long one.

Not only in the name of its heroine does the story suggest the _Nibelungenlied_. The machinery of the Norse stories resembles the German story's in many of its parts. In this version of Morris, the main features of the saga are kept, and distracting details are properly subordinated to the princ.i.p.al interest. Through the nineteen divisions of this story the interest moves rapidly, and wonder as to the issue is never lost. As a story-teller, Morris is distinctly powerful in this poem, and all the qualities that endear the story-teller to us are here found joined to many that make the poet a favorite with us. There are no lyrics in the poem--the original saga was without the song-s.n.a.t.c.hes that are often found in sagas--but there are dramatic scenes that recall the power of the Master-poet. Least of all the poems in the _Earthly Paradise_ does "The Lovers of Gudrun" show the Chaucerian influence, and the reader must be captious indeed who complains of the length of this story.

To the unenlightened reader this poem reveals no traits that are un-English. What there is of Old Norse flavor here is purely spiritual.

The original story being in prose, no attempt could be made to keep original characteristics in verse-form. So "The Lovers of Gudrun" can stand on its own merits as an English poem; no excuses need be made for it on the plea that it is a translation.

Local color is not laid on the canvas after the figures have been painted, but all the tints in the persons and the things are grandly Norse. This story is a true romance, in that the scene is far removed from the present day, and the atmosphere is very different from our own.

This story is a true picture of life, in that it sets forth the doings of men and women in the power of the master pa.s.sion. And so for the purposes of literature this poem is not Norse, or rather, it is more than Norse, it is universal. Now and then, to be sure, the displaced Norse ideals are set forth in the poem, but in such wise that we almost regret that the old order has pa.s.sed away. The Wanderer who tells the tale a.s.sures his listeners of the truth of it in these last words of the interlude between "The Story of Rhodope" and "The Lovers of Gudrun":

Know withal that we Have ever deemed this tale as true to be, As though those very Dwellers in Laxdale, Risen from the dead had told us their own tale; Who for the rest while yet they dwelt on earth Wearied no G.o.d with prayers for more of mirth Than dying men have; nor were ill-content Because no G.o.d beside their sorrow went Turning to flowery sward the rock-strewn way, Weakness to strength, or darkness into day.

Therefore, no marvels hath my tale to tell, But deals with such things as men know too well; All that I have herein your hearts to move, Is but the seed and fruit of bitter love.

It is aside from our purpose to tell this story here. The more we study this marvelous work, the more it is impressed upon us that in the reign of love all men and all literatures are one. To the Englishman this description of an Iceland maiden is no stranger than it was to the men who sat about the spluttering fire in the Icelander's hall. It is the form of Gudrun that is here described:

That spring was she just come to her full height, Low-bosomed yet she was, and slim and light, Yet scarce might she grow fairer from that day; Gold were the locks wherewith the wind did play, Finer than silk, waved softly like the sea After a three days' calm, and to her knee Wellnigh they reached; fair were the white hands laid Upon the door posts where the dragons played; Her brow was smooth now, and a smile began To cross her delicate mouth, the snare of man.

(_Earthly Paradise_, Vol. II, p. 247.)

Not less accustomed are we to such heroes as Kiartan:

And now in every mouth was Kiartan's name, And daily now must Gudrun's dull ears bear Tales of the prowess of his youth to hear, While in his cairn forgotten lay her love.

For this man, said they, all men's hearts did move, Nor yet might envy cling to such an one, So far beyond all dwellers 'neath the sun; Great was he, yet so fair of face and limb That all folk wondered much, beholding him, How such a man could be; no fear he knew, And all in manly deeds he could outdo; Fleet-foot, a swimmer strong, an archer good, Keen-eyed to know the dark waves' changing mood; Sure on the crag, and with the sword so skilled, That when he played therewith the air seemed filled With light of gleaming blades; therewith was he Of n.o.ble speech, though says not certainly My tale, that aught of his he left behind With rhyme and measure deftly intertwined.

(P. 266.)

The Old Norse touch here is in the last three lines which intimate that the warrior was often a bard; but be it remembered that the Elizabethan warrior could turn a sonnet, too.

We have said that the _Laxdaela Saga_ is famous for its portrayal of character. This English version falls not at all below the original in this quality. The lines already quoted show Gudrun and Kiartan as to exterior. But this is a drama of flesh and blood creations, and they are men and women that move through it, not puppets. Souls are laid bare here, in quivering, pulsating agony. The tremendous figure of this story is not Kiartan, nor Gudrun, nor Refna, but Bodli, and certainly English narrative poetry has no second creation like to him. The mind reverts to Shakespeare to find fit companionship for Bodli in poetry, and to George Eliot and Thomas Hardy in prose. The suggestion of Shakespearean qualities in George Eliot has been made by several great critics, among them Edmond Scherer;[31] in Hardy and Morris, here, we find the same soul-searching powers. These writers have created sufferers of t.i.tanic greatness, and in the presence of their tragedies we are dumb.

An English artist has made Napoleon's voyage on H.M.S. _Bellerophon_ to his prison-isle a picture that the memory refuses to forget. The picture of Bodli as he sails back to Iceland, which, though his home, is to be his prison and his death, is no less impressive:

Fair goes the ship that beareth out Christ's truth Mingled of hope, of sorrow, and of ruth, And on the prow Bodli the Christian stands, Sunk deep in thought of all the many lands The world holds, and the folk that dwell therein, And wondering why that grief and rage and sin Was ever wrought; but wondering most of all Why such wild pa.s.sion on his heart should fall.

(P. 294.)

Here we have the poet's conception--and the sagaman's--of Bodli--a man in the grip of terrible Fate, who can no more swerve from the paths she marks out for him than he can add a cubit to his stature. The Greek tragedy embodies this idea, and Old Norse literature is full of it.

Thomas Hardy gives it later in his contemporary novels. We sympathize with Bodli's fate because his agony is so terrible, and we call him the most striking figure in this story. But the others suffer, too, Gudrun, Kiartan, Refna; they make a stand against their woe, and utter brave words in the face of it. Only Bodli floats downward with the tide, unresisting. Guest prophesies bitter things for Gudrun, but adds:

Be merry yet! these things shall not be all That unto thee in this thy life shall fall.

(P. 254.)

And Gudrun takes heart. When Thurid tells her brother Kiartan that Gudrun has married another, his joy is shivered into atoms before him.

But he can say, even then:

Now is this world clean changed for me In this last minute, yet indeed I see That still it will go on for all my pain; Come then, my sister, let us back again; I must meet folk, and face the life beyond, And, as I may, walk 'neath the dreadful bond Of ugly pain--such men our fathers were, Not lightly bowed by any weight of care.

(P. 311.)

And Kiartan does his work in the world. Poor Refna, when she has married Kiartan hears women talking of the love that still is between Gudrun and Kiartan. She goes to Kiartan with the story, beginning with words whose pathos must conquer the most stoical of readers:

Indeed of all thy grief I knew, But deemed if still thou saw'st me kind and true, Not asking too much, yet not failing aught To show that not far off need love be sought, If thou shouldst need love--if thou sawest all this, Thou wouldst not grudge to show me what a bliss Thy whole love was, by giving unto me As unto one who loved thee silently, Now and again the broken crumbs thereof: Alas! I, having then no part in love, Knew not how naught, naught can allay the soul Of that sad thirst, but love untouched and whole!

Kinder than e'er I durst have hoped thou art, Forgive me then, that yet my craving heart Is so unsatisfied; I know that thou Art fain to dream that I am happy now, And for that seeming ever do I strive; Thy half-love, dearest, keeps me still alive To love thee; and I bless it--but at whiles,--

(P. 343)

And thus she gains strength to live her life.

Here, then, in Bodli, is another of the great tragic figures in literature--a sick man. There are many of them, even in the highest rank of literary creations, Hamlet, Lear, Oth.e.l.lo, Macbeth! Wrong-headed, defective as they are, we would not have them otherwise. The pearl of greatest price is the result of an abnormal or morbid process.

Bodli comes to us from Icelandic literature, and in that fact we note the solidarity of poetic geniuses. Not only is the great figure of Bodli proof of this solidarity, but many other features of this poem prove it.

"Lively feeling for a situation and power to express it const.i.tute the poet," said Goethe. There are dramatic situations in "The Lovers of Gudrun" which hold the reader in a breathless state till the last word is said, and then leave him marveling at the imagination that could conceive the scene, and the power that could express it. There are gentler scenes, too, in the poem, where beauty and grace are conceived as fair as ever poet dreamed, and the workmanship is thoroughly adequate. As an example of the first, take the scene of Bodli's mourning over Kiartan's dead body. It is here that we get that knowledge of Bodli's woe that robs us of a cause against him. What agony is that which can speak thus over the body of the dead rival!

... Didst thou quite Know all the value of that dear delight As I did? Kiartan, she is changed to thee; Yea, and since hope is dead changed too to me, What shall we do, if, each of each forgiven, We three shall meet at last in that fair heaven The new faith tells of? Thee and G.o.d I pray Impute it not for sin to me to-day, If no thought I can shape thereof but this: O friend, O friend, when thee I meet in bliss, Wilt thou not give my love Gudrun to me, Since now indeed thine eyes made clear can see That I of all the world must love her most?

(P. 368.)

Examples of the gentler scenes are scattered lavishly throughout the poem and it is not necessary to enumerate.

One other sign that the Icelandic sagaman's art was kin to the English poet's. The last line of this poem is given thus by Morris:

I did the worst to him I loved the most.

These are the very words of Gudrun in the saga, and summing up as they do her opinion of Kiartan, they stand as a model of that compression which is so admired in our poetry. Many such _multum in parvo_ lines are found in Morris' poem, and at times they have a beauty that is marvelous. Joined with this quality is the special merit of Morris--picturesqueness, and so the reader often feels, when he has finished a book by Morris, like the Cook tourist after he has "done" a country of Europe--it must be done again and again to give it its due.

Of the other two Old Norse poems in _The Earthly Paradise_ not much need be said. "The Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon" is a fairy tale, in the strain of Morris' prose romances. It was suggested by Thorpe's _Yule-tide Stories_, the tale coming from the _Volundar Saga_.

There is a witchery about it that makes it pleasant reading in a dreamy hour, but except the names and a few scenes about the farmstead, there is nothing Icelandic about it. The virile element of the best Icelandic literature is wanting here, and the hero's excuse for leaving weapons at home when he goes to his watch is not at all natural:

Withal I shall not see Men-folk belike, but faerie, And all the arms within the seas Should help me naught to deal with these; Rather of such love were I fain As fell to Sigurd Fafnir's-bane When of the dragon's heart he ate.

(Vol. II, p. 33.)