University of Virginia Library

ACT III

Scene I

Isolt's chamber.
The scene represents a small vaulted chamber. In a recess at the back, Isolt lies on a couch. A silver lamp suspended from the ceiling lights the chamber. An arched doorway L. leads to an ante-room. Another R. to an inner room.
Enter Brangwaine, L.
Bran.
Madam! Isolt!

Is. of I.
[Without stirring.]
Who speaks that woeful name?

Bran.
'Tis I. Will you not rise, and let me robe you?

Is. of I.
Is there no rest for me even in this grave,
Where I lie ages dead? Let common souls
Garment their bones in flesh, and rise again,
When the great angel sounds; I will not rise
Till he can bid the yesterdays of time
Troop at his summons, wake the hawthorn-buds
Of summers dead, wake my dead hopes, dead joys,
To breathe and sing in the glad world I knew.

Bran.
The king—the king comes now to visit you.

Is. of I.
The king! Poor ghost! It is a thousand years
Since last I heard him gibber. O Brangwaine,
What horrors throng the grave, the lonely grave—
And thoughts, thoughts, thoughts—my God! what horrible thoughts,
And rages: yet no deeds!

Bran.
Shake off these dreams
From your sick soul, and rise; for Tristram's sake.

Is. of I.
[Sits on the couch.]
For Tristram's sake? That name sounds like a spell.
What shall I do for Tristram's sake?

Bran.
Live! Live!
Speak fairly to the king. Tell him but all,
Unseal the founts of mercy in his breast.
All may be well.

Is. of I.
No, all cannot be well.
Tristram is dead, I know; though I suppose
His face is changed by death. I could not find him,
In all the trackless waste beyond the grave.

Bran.
He lives—I know it. We shall have news ere long.

Is. of I.
Perhaps? Ruined, Brangwaine, and by my love!
What baleful drop of hell's corrupting fire
Curdles, like poison in a sacrament,
The honey of love's flower?

Bran.
Vain question! Come—
Isolt, arise! front the stern face of life,
Be bold and live!

[Isolt rises and Brangwaine robes her.
Is. of I.
For what, then, should I live?
The saint has her white robe; dearer than life
She guards its whiteness from the smutch of sin;
I was the saint of joy, and clothed myself
In love's supreme delights; and now, now, now,
Behold my splendid robe tattered and frayed,
Not to be patched again.

[Sinks back on the couch.
Enter Enna, L.
Enna.
Madam, the king!

Is. of I.
Let the king enter!

Enter King Mark alone, L. He motions to Brangwaine, who retires, followed by Enna.
King M.
Isolt!

[Isolt rises and faces him—a pause.
Is. of I.
I am here. You come, I know, to pelt me
With stones of righteousness. Pelt and begone!

King M.
I see thee, and just anger bows the head
To weep in pity's train.

Is. of I.
I ask no pity.
Prepare the stake, the faggots; let me leap
Into the core of fire, burn out this pain
Within me, life! What fire can sting like this?

King M.
There's grace in true remorse, my erring wife.

Is. of I.
Erring? I erred, indeed, erred into wedlock!

King M.
Mad words!

Is. of I.
That was my only sin.

King M.
Still shameless?
Is thy heart flint? Hast thou no word, no tear,
Not one, to announce in thee repentant mind
And justify forgiveness, which still yearns,
Like a grieved angel, o'er that fallen head,
And bids me, sinful man, show mercy now.

Is. of I.
Sir King, I am innocent.

King M.
Innocent? Oh!
Yet thou didst love me once, by all sweet tokens
That ever woman gave. And then, turn wanton!

Is. of I.
You are deceived! I never loved you, sir.

King M.
What! never loved me? Sorceress, for what end
Hast thou enslaved me?

Is. of I.
Speech is vain. The curse
Of Babel heaps confusion on our tongues.

King M.
If there be witchcraft here, it must be purged.

Is. of I.
The fire, the fire, ay, give me to the fire!
So man's vile justice still on woman falls.
Take my defiance and begone from me!

Re-enter Brangwaine.
King M.
[To Brangwaine.]
There is madness in her looks and in her words!

Bran.
My lord, a holy friar waits without.
Sent by the archbishop.

King M.
In good time he comes,
So, let him enter, bring him here, Brangwaine.

[Exit Brangwaine. A pause.
Re-enter Brangwaine with Kurvenal disguised as a friar. He salutes the king.
Kur.
I am armed
In faith, my lord, and trust to win the fight.

King M.
[Looking at Isolt of Ireland.]
May God have mercy on this erring soul!

[Exeunt King Mark and Brangwaine, L.
Is. of I.
Well, friar, be brief, if thou wouldst have me bear,
Without a groan, the torture of more words.

Kur.
Madam, I will be brief.

Is. of I.
In what saint's name
Comest thou to conjure devils out of me?

Kur.
[In a low voice.]
Tristram lives.

Is. of I.
Tristram! Bait'st thou with his name
Some holy snare to mesh my unwary feet?
That were foul treachery, friar.

Kur.
[Putting back his hood.]
Beware of me
If the hood make the friar! If not, why, trust me.

Is. of I.
Kurvenal! Thou here? And Tristram, Tristram lives?
Or dost thou lie? Didst thou not say he lives?

Kur.
Lives, madam, but in such unhappy case,
Death were a life more wholesome.

Is. of I.
Sick of his wound?

Kur.
It preys upon his body, as remorse
Upon his soul, defying surgery.
It is but Tristram's ghost that thinly pines
On his pain-shaken couch, whereby weak life,
Pale as death's handmaid, faltering stands.

Is. of I.
O God!
And I not there! Where lies he sick? Who tends him?

Kur.
In his wife's castle by the Breton shore,
Nursed by his wife, Isolt.

Is. of I.
His wife, Isolt!
Ay—'tis her right: she tends him night and day,
Looks on his dying face, and when he calls
Upon her name, she comes and smiles—bends o'er him
With ministries of love, and feels him hers.
I see it, and am in hell. Why comest thou hither
To fill my breast with its eternal fire?

Kur.
He prays you, by your love, to come to him.
She adds her prayer.

Is. of I.
She—adds her prayer? To me?
How if I will not come?

Kur.
Then frankly, madam,
I can but pray that you may live in bale.

[Isolt laughs bitterly.
Kur.
If this be woman's love, a plague upon it;
I'll keep my cowl.

Is. of I.
Still blunt, my trusty squire?

Kur.
Your art—your art alone—can heal this wound,
And will you let him die, the world's best knight,
Like a sick hound? Shall I go back and tell him
I sued to you in vain, that he must die?

Is. of I.
Die—in her arms? The thought's a red-hot knife
Stabbing my breast. How may I scape from this?

Kur.
Change garments with Brangwaine.

Re-enter Brangwaine.
Bran.
Time flies!

Is. of I.
[To Brangwaine]
Brangwaine? Oh, may I trust thee?

Kur.
May you trust her, madam?
Would every woman were as staunch as she!

Is. of I.
Tristram, I come, I come! O winds and seas,
Be gentle now, and waft me to my love!
My true Brangwaine!

Bran.
'Tis the last sin, Isolt,
That even my foolish love may do for thee.

Kur.
Come, Night sweeps forward on her sable wings,
We must ride faster than her hooting owls
Swoop under branches, till we reach the coast—
And then, ho for the sea!

[Isolt and Brangwaine change mantles.
Kur.
O Tristram, Tristram,
Live but to-morrow by, and fill thy years
With famous tales of mighty deeds achieved!

[Symphony.
Is. of I.
[Embracing Brangwaine.]
Farewell, dearest Brangwaine, never was woman
To woman true, as thou, sweet friend, to me.

Bran.
Farewell, Isolt. Ride fast, all must be told
When the king comes, and finds me in thy place.

Is. of I.
Then with my mantle take my place indeed,
Reign here in Cornwall.

Bran.
Ah! What shrift may follow
Upon confession is a thing to dread,
Not to be jested on!

Is. of I.
I did not jest.
May all good angels give thee all the bliss
Thy dreams e'er promised, so farewell!

Bran.
Farewell!
[Exeunt Isolt and Kurvenal, R.
How oft I have mused upon the fateful hour
Somewhere in ambush for me, dreamed it by,
Moment by moment. Now it comes, I know
'Twill come in alien guise, looming more strangely
For the fantastic visions of my mind.
Well, well Isolt, I yet may wear thy crown.

Enter Enna, L.
Enna.
Madam, the king!

Bran.
I wait upon his will.
[Exit Enna.
Grant me, sweet saints, courage and woman's wit!

[She throws herself on the couch. Enter King Mark. He pauses, gazing at her.
King M.
Isolt!
[Brangwaine prostrates herself at the king's feet.
O can thy haughty spirit bow
In true repentance? Miracle of grace!
But kneel to heaven, not to me; who am bowed low
Under the whips of shame. Rise up, and speak
One mitigating word, that may atone
Thy fatal beauty with my outraged love.

Bran.
Let me lie here in penance at thy feet,
I dare not even look on thee.

King M.
Rise, Isolt!
Thou hadst strange accusation in thine eyes,
When last they blazed on me; give it a tongue,
That I may stand accused of mine own conscience,
If e'er in act or thought I have done thee wrong.
God has so humbled me, I would cut off
The hand of my offence, and enter maimed
The kingdom of His grace.

Bran.
No wrong, my lord,
Ever didst thou me!

King M.
Rise, then rise!
[He raises her and recognises her.
Brangwaine!
Where is the queen?

Bran.
My king, curse, kill me;
But first hear out my tale—

King M.
[Sternly.]
Where is the queen?

Bran.
Fled with the friar.

King M.
The friar?

Bran.
'Twas Kurvenal
Disguised.

King M.
Fled, fled! To horse!

Bran.
[Clinging to him.]
King, hear me first!
The queen is innocent—mine is the fault.

King M.
Innocent harlot! What! are ye devils both?

Bran.
Mine was the sin. Hear from a soul in torment
The utter truth; not Tristram and Isolt
Are false, but I, Brangwaine.

King M.
Riddles, more riddles!
Enna!
Re-enter Enna.
Go, bid my page summon the grooms
To saddle my best horse. Call out my guards
And bid them mount in haste to ride with me.
[Exit Enna.
And now thy tale. Isolt is innocent,
Thou guilty? Make this plain—ay, make this plain.

Bran.
As o'er the seas we came, she drank with Tristram,
Knowing not what she did, the magic draught
Her mother had prepared for her and thee.

King M.
What was this draught?

Bran.
A cup of sorcery,
A love-draught brewed with potent spells, and spiced
With magic herbs; which when they drank, their blood,
Quick with the flame of love's eternal spring,
Ached in their glowing breasts, till the sweet sin
Seemed but the passionate flower of life's delight.

King M.
How came they by that cup?

Bran.
They took it blindly
From these weak erring hands, drank, and so fell.

King M.
Thou hast done this! O for what spite, Brangwaine,
Hast thou made league with devils, in fair souls
To sow this crescent flame? Thy deed confounds
The ken of insight with its traitor face.

Bran.
I was the handmaid of my evil star.
Isolt, in wifely duty, would have drunk
The cup of peace with Tristram, and mistook
The phials.

King M.
[Apart.]
Fate! O Fate! O my lost wife!
She never loved me, never, never, never!
Yet she could sing the very tune of love
In my enchanted ear, in her young arms
Fold me, till—O false harlot! Fool, O fool!
I will turn anchoret. Let me never more
Feel the sweet softness of a woman's breast.
Lewd fires of hell seethe under, and its touch
Is mere damnation!

[He moves towards the door.
Bran.
Oh, stay! my lord, my lord,
Hear me once more!

[Clutches his mantle and falls on her knees.
King M.
What, woman, art thou there?
I had forgot thee. More? Ha! Is there more?
What worse abomination makes thee pale?

Bran.
The queen is innocent.

King M.
Darest thou so lie?

Bran.
She never did deceive thee with false love.

King M.
Not she?

Bran.
[Rising.]
I swear to thee it was not she
That—loved thee so.

King M.
Not she? What sorcery then
Out of the impassioned air bodied her warm?

Bran.
I was that guilty, yet most loving woman
Who gave thee—what she ne'er even feigned to give.

King M.
Thou, thou, Brangwaine!

Bran.
Thou hast my secret now.

King M.
What shall I do with thee?

Bran.
[Sighing.]
Even what thou wilt,
I know that I have lost the dearest thing
Ever I had. I stole it like a thief,
And like a thief must answer for my deed.
I knew I had to suffer; but I loved—
O how I loved!

King M.
Yet like a living lie,
Didst thou creep to my breast, flatter me blind.

Bran.
The sins we do, we see but from within—
See through the thick heartbeats, plumed like eagles,
That were in others carrion birds. But oh,
Here I lay bound, the slave of secrecy!

King M.
I must have full confession from thy lips.
How came this crime to pass?

Bran.
To save worse sin,
The sin thou didst in ignorance deem the queen's.
She with fierce threats, by solemn oaths, constrained me
To hide her love's default. But soon—ay, soon,
I sinned with all the passion of my heart.

King M.
Thy fault is but the blemish of a flower,
Matched with the ghastly horror that but now
O'erwhelmed me. Yet I am like one suddenly waked,
Who finds the ravishing music of his dream
But the sweet inward echo of a tune
Of the mere world, that woke him. Woman, woman,
Give me that dream again!

Bran.
Would I could give thee
More, more than—I have given, my blood, my soul,
I, but the mere occasion of thy dream,
Not even that dream, which fades and nevermore
I can make live again. Well, cast me forth
Like Hagar. Righteous Abraham had less cause.

King M.
O tangling briar, whose blossoms were so sweet,
I cannot drive their odour from my sense!

Bran.
Then a last grace, I'll not be banished now.
I am mad for some swift death, demand it thus!

[She throws herself passionately into the king's arms. He puts her away gently. She sinks on the couch and covers her face with her hands.
King M.
Thy love may win thy pardon, be content!
“Sin follows sin, as wolf the wolf to prey”—
So by her sinful tongue was I rebuked.

Enter Enna.
Enna.
My lord, your knights are mounted.

King M.
Let them wait!
[Waves his hand to Enna.
[Exit Enna.
Shall I, a sinner, stained with my brother's blood,
Which now Tristram, his son, blindly avenges,
Be slower than just God, who has pardoned me,
To pardon? Yet my crime gave, by God's grace,
This realm to Christ. Marvellous are His ways!

Bran.
[Not looking up.]
Sir, I know all, know you for what you are.
Repenting sin, the sinner grows a saint.

King M.
Come, rise, Brangwaine; for thou shalt ride with me.
The Holy Church must counsel me for means,
That may redeem this ruin of our lives.

[He raises Brangwaine. As the stage is darkened the scene changes.

Scene II

A weed-grown platform in the castle of Isolt of Brittany. The sea with coast-line of receding cliffs is seen over a ruined parapet in the background. L. a tower of the castle with arched doorway. On an angle in the parapet R., a small turret with steps leading up to it.
Tristram lies upon a couch L. C., Caradoc watching beside him. The sunset-glow falls from the R. upon Tristram and the tower at the L. side.
Cara.

The sunset, O ay, the sunset. I have seen many

a one in my day; but never a one like this. The dumb
spirits of the air speak to me now, gathering and
whispering, over Tristram's sleep. Night and sleep,
night and sleep! Every morning brings at last but
night and sleep. That is the weird of man.

[Distant tinkling of cow-bells heard. They come nearer gradually. Bag-pipe heard.

The cow-bells, O ay, the cow-bells. That is evening's
voice. [He looks over the parapet.]
So, my pretty little
milkers, there you come; and there you will come,
to-morrow and to-morrow, though Tristram live
or die.

[The herd-boy sings.
Herd-boy
's Song

[As the song ends Tristram wakes.
Tris.

Isolt!

Cara.

What cheer, dear master? You have slept long.

Tris.

Ho mate! How heads she now? Are we making land?

Cara.

On land, master. 'Tis shore we are now. O ay!

Tris.
[Half rising and looking round.]

Where am I? Oh, I
remember. Go watch, go watch—scan the sea for a
sail. Comes she not yet?

Cara.

Ay, she will come sure enough. She will come to
you even if it were from the ends of the earth. But
'tis early to expect her yet. The channel is full of
baffling winds, master, O ay, baffling winds. But she
will come sure enough.

Tris.
Away—away! Scan the sea!
[Caradoc mounts on the turret of the parapet and looks out.
Comes there no sail?

Cara.

I see but the lonely waste of blue water, and the
channel swell breaking on the cliffs, as the tide makes
to the flood; and the white companies of the gulls.
'Twill be slack water anon. No sail, yet, master. But
she will surely come. O ay! she will come sure enough.

Tris.

She does not come, she does not come! [Sinks back on the couch.

Cara.
[Approaching him.]

Master! Sir Tristram! Gone
back to the land of dreams. Well, 'tis better so. But
Death will keep his offing from him till she comes.

Enter from the castle L., Isolt of Brittany.
Is of B.

Tristram! Still sleeping? Caradoc, is this
but sleep?

Cara.

He spoke to me but now—bade me look out over
the sea for a sail.

Is. of B.

Leave me now, good Caradoc, I will watch
alone. Go back to the landing-place. See that all
is ready.

[Exit Caradoc.
She comes now. Will she come? Do I desire it?
O God! in my devotion's agony
I schooled myself to humbleness, and prayed
That she would come, begged her to heal this wound
Which gave him to my arms, to have him, hold him,
Care for his wants, tend him as a mother tends
Her sick child! Oh, he stirs.

Tris.
Isolt! Isolt!

Is. of B.
I am here, Tristram!

Tris.
Go, go! scan the sea!
Ye have no eyes.

Is. of B.
[Retiring, but looking back at Tristram.]
She hath stolen before my face
The jewel of my love, left me to clasp
This ruined casket; with my unpitied tears
Claim what is most mine own, bitterly know
I am but his body's gaoler, while she reigns,
Queen of the world of dreams wherein he lives.
Better still sicken with him day by day,
Ebb with his life, ere healing come through her.

Tris.
Caradoc! Kurneval! Where are these traitors?

Is. of B.
Tristram! what wouldst thou?

Tris.
[Starting up.]
Hark it is her voice—
She calls me o'er the seas. Launch my swift galley,
Run out the oars, men, hoist the bellying sail;
I'll rove till Doomsday o'er the waste of waves,
And the black rover, Death, shall board me never,
Until I find her. Ho! To sea, to sea!

[He rises and walks feebly towards the centre of the stage.
Is. of B.
[Supporting him.]
Nay, thou art still too weak!

Tris.
[Struggling with her.]
Lay not thy cold white hands upon me. Off!

Is. of B.
Let me but lead thee to thy couch again.

Tris.
Thou art a ghost, thy touch chills my sick blood.
I will not dance with thee. I know the measure
Which thou wouldst have me tread, down to the grave.
The music ends in dirges, and the lights
Are but corpse-candles held in dead men's hands.
Off! Off, I say!

[He thrusts her back and stands alone.
Is. of B.
Tristram!

Tris.
Where is the sea?
I'll dance there with the waves. They leap for ever
To the brave tune of life. O weak! too weak!

[He staggers, and Isolt of Brittany supports him to the couch.
Is. of B.
I will go watch the sea.

Tris.
I hear its voice!
The winds blow fair?

Is. of B.
O yes, the wind blows fair!
[She ascends the parapet and looks out.
[Aside.]
A sail! Almost in port. That ominous bird
Of the blue waves, so small a hand's-breadth hides it,
The ship of doom! It should o'ershroud the skies
With night, appal the deep with moaning thunder!
The silence is more fearful. O for a spell
To sink it now, though with it sank the world!

Tris.
Comes there no sail?

Is. of B.
[Coming to him—aloud.]
Patience awhile. I thought—'twas fantasy!

Tris.
What hast thou seen?

Is. of B.
The white wing of a gull.

Tris.
No more?

[Groans.
Is. of B.
If 'twere a sail?

Tris.
Do not lie to me.
It is a ship—she comes! At last! At last!

Is. of B.
I thought but now I saw a distant sail.

Tris.
Death aims his last keen arrow, winged with joy,
Against my weakness. Come, Isolt, Isolt.
Bring me life's healing flame! Tell me she comes!

Is. of B.
There are an hundred ships upon the sea,
And one alone is hers.

Tris.
Go, look again!

[She goes to the parapet.
Is. of B.
The phantom thing has left the field of sight
A void of heaving waves. The near cliff hides
Her nearness from mine eyes. Her eager feet
Even now are tingling for the touch of earth;
Nay, the swift keel has grated on the strand
By this; she treads the Breton grass, and speeds
Up the slope, to take my citadel
With passionate assault. No help, save death!

[Looking at Tristram.
Tris.
[Half rising.]
What seest thou?

Is. of B.
Naught—only the waste of waves.
There is no sail.

Tris.
False, false! She will not come.
Death winds his final challenge, and the blast
Cracks the strong will to live. I plunge alone
Into the abyss of night.

[He sinks back on the couch.
Is. of B.
[Rushing over to him.]
O leave me not!
Love, take me with thee, me, thy wedded wife.

[She throws herself down by the couch, clasps him in her arms and lays her head on his breast.
Enter Caradoc.
Cara.
Madam! Sir Tristram! 'Tis the queen, the queen!

Is. of B.
Ay, let her enter now.

[Exit Caradoc. A pause.
Then re-enter Caradoc with Isolt of Ireland and Kurvenal. Isolt of Ireland advances quickly to C., then stops, gazing at Tristram.
Is. of I.
Tristram! 'Tis I—Isolt!

Tris.
Whose voice was that?

Is. of I.
[Coming nearer.]
Tristram!

Tris.
[Struggling to rise.]
What weight is on my breast?
Off! Off!
Thou nightmare! It is she, she calls—Isolt!

[He flings Isolt of Brittany off, and rises and walks firmly to Isolt of Ireland. They embrace.
Is. of I.
Tristram, I come to heal thee.

Tris.
Oh, my love,
Thy arms, thy eyes indeed! My queen, my star,
My health shines in those eyes, and I am healed.
Let us to sea, we'll give the slip to death
And sail for ever—Ah! it is too late!

[He staggers and falls back into Kurvenal's arms. Kurvenal lays him down on the couch.
Is. of I.
He swoons. I have the cordial here. O Tristram!
Tristram!

[Coming close.
Kur.
Madam, this clay was Tristram.

Is. of B.
Death, I thank thee!

[She laughs, kisses Tristram and sinks down by the head of the couch.
Is. of I.
[Passes behind couch and stands near the head gazing at Tristram.]
I keep the last kiss of thy living lips,
And will not kiss thee, dead. By your leave, lady,
I would but look upon the face I loved.
'Tis an old tale, no need for jealous hate.
Tristram, we drank together once, but now
I drink alone. The love-drink brought us death;
I pledge love in the death-drink.
[She drinks the death-drink and gazes in Tristram's face.
Enter through archway behind, R., King Mark and Brangwaine with knights and attendants.
Now I give place.
[Isolt of Ireland passes to lower end of couch.
Lie by thy husband's side,
Let me, his mistress, at my lover's feet
Take the great rest of death. Hark how the sea
Mourns more divinely than a thousand harps.
It is the dirge of Tristram and Isolt.

[She kneels at Tristram's feet.
Tableau
[King Mark approaches and stands behind the couch at Tristram's head, R. He draws his sword, kisses the cross of the hilt and lays it on Tristram's breast. Brangwaine draws near. Isolt of Ireland looks up, smiles and sinks dying at Tristram's feet. King Mark remains standing, extends his hands over Tristram's dead face in benediction. The others kneel: Kurvenal, R. of King Mark slightly up-stage behind and R. of Isolt of Brittany; Caradoc, L. of foot of couch, behind and L. of Isolt of Ireland, by whom Brangwaine has knelt, supporting her in her arms. The knights and attendants form a semi-circle behind King Mark and Kurvenal.
Funeral March. Slow Curtain.