Scene III
ISOLDA and BRANGÆNA alone, the curtain being again completely closed. ISOLDA rises with a gesture of despair and wrath. BRANGÆNA falls at her feet.
BRANGÆNA
Ah! an answer
so insulting!
ISOLDA checking herself on the brink of a fearful outburst.
How now? of Tristan?
I'd know if he denies me.
BRANGÆNA
Ah! question not!
ISOLDA
Quick, say without fear!
BRANGÆNA
With courteous phrase
he foiled my will.
ISOLDA
But when you bade him hither?
BRANGÆNA
When I had straightway
bid him come,
where'er he stood,
he said to me,
he truly served but thee,
the pearl of womanhood;
if he unheeded
left the helm
how could he pilot the ship
in surety to King Mark?
ISOLDA bitterly.
"How could he pilot the ship
in surety to King Mark!"
And wait on him with were-gild
from Ireland's island won!
BRANGÆNA
As I gave out the message
and in thy very words,
thus spoke his henchman Kurvenal—
ISOLDA
Heard I not ev'ry sentence?
it all has reached my ear.
If thou hast learnt my disgrace
now hear too whence it has grown.
How scoffingly
they sing about me!
Quickly could I requite them!
What of the boat
so bare and frail,
that floated by our shore?
What of the broken
stricken man,
feebly extended there?
Isolda's art
he gladly owned;
with herbs, simples
and healing salves
the wounds from which he suffered
she nursed in skilful wise.
Though "Tantris"
The name that he took unto him,
as "Tristan"
anon Isolda knew him,
when in the sick man's keen blade
she perceived a notch had been made,
wherein did fit
a splinter broken
in Morold's head,
the mangled token
sent home in hatred rare:
this hand did find it there.
I heard a voice
from distance dim;
with the sword in hand
I came to him.
Full well I willed to slay him,
for Morold's death to pay him.
But from his sick bed
he looked up
not at the sword,
not at my arm—
his eyes on mine were fastened,
and his feebleness
softened my heart:
the sword—dropped from my fingers.
Though Morold's steel had maimed him
to health again I reclaimed him!
when he hath homeward wended
my emotion then might be ended.
BRANGÆNA
O wondrous! Why could I not see this?
The guest I sometime
helped to nurse—?
ISOLDA
His praise briskly they sing now:—
"Bravo, our brave Tristan!"—
he was that distressful man.
A thousand protestations
of truth and love he prated.
Hear how a knight
fealty knows!—
When as Tantris
unforbidden he'd left me,
as Tristan
boldly back he came,
in stately ship
from which in pride
Ireland's heiress
in marriage he asked
for Mark, the Cornish monarch,
his kinsman worn and old.
In Morold's lifetime
dared any have dreamed
to offer us such an insult?
For the tax-paying
Cornish prince
to presume to court Ireland's princess!
Ah, woe is me!
I it was
who for myself
did shape this shame!
with death-dealing sword
should I have stabbed him;
weakly it escaped me:—
now serfdom I have shaped me.
Curse him, the villain!
Curse on his head!
Vengeance! Death!
Death for me too!
BRANGÆNA throwing herself upon ISOLDA with impetuous tenderness
Isolda! lady!
loved one! fairest!
sweet perfection!
mistress rarest!
Hear me! come now,
sit thee here.—
Gradually draws ISOLDA to the couch.
What a whim!
what causeless railing!
How came you so wrong-minded
and by mere fancy blinded?
Sir Tristan gives thee
Cornwall's kingdom;
then, were he erst thy debtor,
how could he reward thee better?
His noble uncle
serves he so:
think too what a gift
on thee he'd bestow!
With honor unequalled
all he's heir to
at thy feet he seeks to shower,
to make thee a queenly dower.
ISOLDA turns away.
If wife he'd make thee
unto King Mark
why wert thou in this wise complaining?
Is he not worth thy gaining?
Of royal race
and mild of mood,
who passes King Mark
in might and power?
If a noble knight
like Tristan serves him,
who would not but feel elated,
so fairly to be mated.
ISOLDA gazing vacantly before her
Glorious knight!
And I must near him
loveless ever languish!
How can I support such anguish?
BRANGÆNA.
What's this, my lady?
loveless thou?
Approaching coaxingly and kissing ISOLDA.
Where lives there a man
would not love thee?
Who could see Isolda
And not sink
at once into bondage blest?
And if e'en it could be
any were cold,
did any magic
draw him from thee,
I'd bring the false one
back to bondage,
And bind him in links of love.—
Secretly and confidentially, close to ISOLDA.
Mindest thou not
thy mother's arts?
Think you that she
who'd mastered those
would have sent me o'er the sea,
without assistance for thee?
ISOLDA darkly
My mother's rede
I mind aright,
and highly her magic
arts I hold:—
Vengeance they wreak for wrongs,
rest give to wounded spirits.—
Yon casket hither bear.
BRANGÆNA
It holds a balm for thee.—
She brings forward a small golden coffer, opens it, and points to its contents.
Thy mother placed inside it
her subtle magic potions.
There's salve for sickness
or for wounds,
and antidotes
for deadly drugs.—
She takes a bottle.
The helpfullest draught
I hold in here.
ISOLDA
Not so, I know a better.
I make a mark
to know it again—
This draught 'tis I would drain.
Seizes flask and shows it.
BRANGÆNA recoiling in horror
The draught of death!
ISOLDA has risen from the sofa and now hears with increasing dread the cries of the sailors.
VOICES OF THE CREW without
"Ho! heave ho! hey!
Reduce the sail!
The mainsail in!
Ho! heave ho! hey!"
ISOLDA
Our journey has been swift.
Woe is me! Near to the land!
