 | The Tragedy of Pardon |  |
38
Scene IV
Tintagel. The Queen's ChamberIseult is looking forth toward the shrine of St. Neot's
Enter Mark
Mark.
Not there, Iseult!
The pilgrim is returned, peace in his heart.
How hast thou passed the time?
Iseult
(turning).
In idleness,
Undeserved sorrow.
Mark.
Blessèd be the grief
That gives me sight at last of dropping tears.
You came to me fore-fated as my Queen,
Passive and even-eyed . . . I find you sorrowful,
I find you watching even as a wife
Is sorrowful and watches. O Beloved!
[He takes her hand.
Still speechless in your welcome, still resentful!
Iseult, you cannot know the awful worship
Your husband has in hoard for you. My pearl,
Found flawless, inconceivable the joy,
The dazzled avarice of possessing you.
Iseult.
My lord, I have a suit.
Mark.
No suit, Iseult.
For thyself freedom; for me ignorance
In all thy pleasure. Give me now such news,
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Craves to disburthen.
Iseult.
Tristan is fallen sick.
The suit I have from him
Is that you give him grace for seven days
To gather strength, and afterwards to leave
The court, the land for ever, no suspicion
Clouding your honour. This he prays for both.
Mark
(withdrawing his hand).
Tristan is innocent.
Let there be peace between us!
[He speaks to Melot at the door, then returns to the Queen.
Iseult.
There is more,
A suit that is my own. You have put peril
Between me and Sir Tristan, names, imaginings
He cannot bear for me, nor I for him.
I love your knight . . . and I would take my love
Back to my mother, to the Queen Iseult.
[She weeps.
Mark.
If these are lovers,
And would not wrong me, but are doomed to love!
So at the shrine
My heart was softened, so as in a vision
One instant I beheld.
Enter Tristan; he has his bow and quiver. He advances to Mark
See, Tristan, see!
I have so wronged her that she prays for exile
For ever from me.
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Sire, you are confused;
I pray for exile.
Mark.
All men flee from me!
Why do you pray for exile?
Tristan.
You have fixed
At last suspicion on her.
Mark
(after a long, remorseful gaze on Iseult).
Tristan, Tristan,
The wrong that I have done you is but little—
The jest, the tragedy 'twixt man and man:
I have been jealous.
Tristan, take the charge
Of the Queen's chamber, be her constant guardian,
Among the courtiers be her constant courtier,
Win her again to pardon me. Remain!
For I indeed must pass to solitude;
I have done outrage to the common air,
And know not what the gods will do with me.
[Exit Mark.
[Iseult rises and turns with lightning-like rapidity to Melot.
Melot.
I watch no more.
But, Queen, be circumspect!
[Exit.
[As Iseult passes Tristan, her robe brushes against him: suddenly he catches her to his arms.
Iseult.
Oh, give me speech,
Beloved . . . at least your eyes! I cannot bear
The blackness of this ecstasy. Oh, let me
Look on you—still the russet hair, and all
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Grown wintry for Iseult. Where hast thou been,
These days, these nights
We have not been together?
Speak to me!
Have you been dying?
Tristan
(shudders).
With the shadows. Oh,
Speak not; I heard thee in the orchard speak.
Scan me not; in the orchard thou didst scan.
Give thyself to me!
Iseult
(she caresses him, puts her arm round him, and whispers).
Seven nights, beloved,
He promised us; the first we were betrayed;
The first will be to-night.
Tristan.
Then day be night!
Oh, how I suffer, when by day and night
For days and nights we are but to ourselves,
Not to each other; and the sun goes out
Sighing, and eve is as a farewell groan.
Give thyself to me now.
Iseult
(laying her head on Tristan's bosom).
Be merciful,
And comfort me. Was not my wit a lanthorn
Thrown on the shadows? And the dwarf . . . Beloved,
You must praise Melot, who so tenderly
Contracts us, who has promised us seven nights,
To-night the first.
Tristan.
I bid you trust not Melot. Brangaena—
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Ho!
Name not Brangaena; thou hast kissed her cheek;
She told me, and I slapped it.
Tristan.
For her service
I kissed her, for her great fidelity.
Iseult.
There is no more Brangaena! But this dwarf,
Who is no dwarf, Melot the sorcerer,
The something like a whisper in one's speech,
The smallness of a creature made so fine,
Of such gold-dust and deep-welled gems, the bulk
Cannot, with all the worlds to make, be large,
He serves me: I must kiss him on the cheek
For his fidelity.
Tristan.
O breaking smile!
Do anything you will.
Iseult.
I shall keep Melot.
Tristan.
To see you smile! Would we were simple lovers!
Could you but shine upon me, and, rejoiced,
The world take light about us, as when lovers
Are seen and watched and passed with kindness by.
Iseult, it is our curse,
We cannot live through the sweet daylight hours
With kisses, little moments of offence,
Misgivings and delights of wrangling love.
We cannot; therefore we must wipe away
The memory of those blinking moonlit trees,
The stalking-horse, the unreality.
Give me thyself, let me breathe warm again;
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Now in the noon, the sun at blaze on us,
The friendly sun. . . .
God's grace, another shadow!
[He points to the form of Marjodo thrown on a piece of linen veiling the window. Iseult points to his bow and fixes the arrow when the bow is brought. Tristan shoots, and the long arrow passes whistling through the Shadow's head.
Iseult
(looking forth).
Triumph! The slandering face is stiffened. Bring me,
Love, in a wallet, these marauding heads.
My hunter!
(Embracing him.)
Swift, give him swift burial.
Say, do I love thee fierce or in a dream?
[Tristan lets himself stealthily down from the window, watched by Iseult.
| The Tragedy of Pardon | |