University of Virginia Library

Scene III

The Interior of the Minster Church at Caerleon, with view of the Choir, the Choir-aisles, and, on the north side, of the Sacristy; on the south side, of the little Chapel of St. Mary Magdalen.
Relics are being laid on the altar; the King's throne is brought in. The Bishop of Thames, with attendant Priests, enters the Sacristy.
Priest.
Then will you put your robes on you, my lord?

Bishop.
It is not yet the hour. Shall we not pray?

Priest.
The king is in a marvellous distraction:
He watched all night.

Bishop.
I cannot aid the king.
[To Attendants who pass with brazier and bar of iron.
Stir not so noisily. Remember, caitiffs,
This lady is your queen. Of noble grace
She yields her to the bitter degradation.
[To others.
Bear very humbly
This habit of a penitent, this girdle,
Round to St. Mary's Chapel. Churls, remember
The thorns, the nails, the scourge that we adore
Are but adored as they are instrument
Of torture to pure sanctity. Step softly.

[He kneels. Slowly a crowd begins to fill the Church. Iseult and Brangaena enter St. Mary's Chapel. Attendants set the brazier, hissing round the iron, before the altar. Melot props himself against a column and looks up.
Melot.

I wonder . . . Is it in this woman to put
forth the miracle of truth? If she do it, we will
trouble no more for the philosopher's stone.

[An Attendant approaches him.
Attendant.

We may not disturb the bishop, we
may not disturb the king. Do we set the queen's
throne beside the king's?

Melot.
Assuredly, and lay across the seat
Her golden robes and over them the tarnished
And venerable crown that at her marriage
King Mark set on her head. He will re-crown—
That is the ceremony. Move with care.

[Iseult puts aside her regal robes. Brangaena receives a dark woollen garment and twisted cord from an Attendant; then, the penitent's dress in her hand, she watches Iseult, as if transfixed.
Iseult.
Help me; my crown is tangled in my hair,
My hair unloops: it must be tightly bound.
Help me . . . I tremble . . . I am not afraid,
Except at bungling. There!

Brangaena.
You snapt the circlet
With your fierce handling.

Iseult.
There! The crown, the jewels—
And, see, this little topaz at my heart,
With all my silks and raiment, the brown samite. . .

Brangaena.
Ay, beauty—

Iseult.
There! I give them to the poor.

Brangaena
(holding the topaz in her hand).
This?

Iseult.
Oh, how blessèd is the emptiness!
In my hands nothing. Sweet, I cannot wait.
This power is not for ever in my heart.
Help me, unknot this girdle, help, Brangaena!
O mortal cruelty! How thou art dangling
That topaz . . . Throw it to the jewel-heap;
And bid them hasten.

Brangaena.
Let me guard it, Queen:
Not that it is a jewel—for thine heart.

[Iseult takes the topaz and flings it away.
Iseult.
Is Tristan safe? I shall have need of him
In all the buzz when they are giving thanks.

Brangaena.
Tristan is fled. Iseult, how cold you are!
How far apart! Your feet are in my hands;
I try to chafe them. Think of me a little!
You are not dying: then I know the face
Looks off as it were staring at a sea,
And has no pity?
Nay, be merciful!

Iseult
(rubbing her hands together).
But, sweet, I cannot wait:
This power is not for ever in my heart.
Help me, unknot this girdle, help, Brangaena!

[Brangaena, as if waking, dresses her as a penitent.
Brangaena.
Though you are dark and humble before God.
Sweet, wild one, yet God knows it is a mask;
He will not be deceived: you go forth guilty
To the ordeal, and the iron will burn.

[A pilgrim passes up the south aisle, and enters the choir, brushing Melot, who slightly shrugs his shoulders.
Iseult.
Is Tristan safe? I shall have need of him
In all the buzz, when they are giving thanks.

Brangaena.
Tristan is fled.
(Suddenly clasping her knees.)
Iseult, be merciful.
Have mercy on me! What is Tristan's love?
He flees. But I am with you at the pyre,
And may not burn beside you. Pity me!
I cannot let you go. There is love
Of woman unto woman, in its fibre
Stronger than knits a mother to her child.
There is no lack in it and no defect;
It looks nor up nor down;
But loves from plenitude to plenitude,
With level eyes, as in the Trinity
God looks across and worships. O my dear,
To keep you moving in and out my days!
Let me go forth and to the multitude
Publish the story of my great neglect;
And I will take the iron in my hand,
And pray that it may burn me to the bone,
If all I speak before the holy bishop,
The king and all his lieges, be not true:
That you are under spell and innocent,
That you and the lord Tristan are as one,
Are fashioned to each other, as the cup
To acorn; and no other use is yours,
Or purpose in the world.

Iseult
(breathing hard).
But where is Tristan?
Go, peep into the church. I hear such noises,
I am turned sick.
[King Mark enters and takes his throne.
Tell me what you behold,
And if they soon will come to summon us.
[Exit Brangaena into the Church.
I quail a little, I am very chill.
If he have shrunk away! He disappears
As suddenly as I have heard Tintagel's
Whole fairy fabric falls from tower to base,
As in a dream, at the appointed day.

Re-enter Brangaena
Brangaena.
The king is waiting: he is on his throne;
He becked me to him, said that he should crown you—
I could have bowed me down upon my knees,
But for an awe. . . . I could have owned my sin,
And wrought you liberation.

Iseult.
He shall crown me.
What saw you, what beside?

Brangaena.
Close to the altar
A pilgrim, very fervent at his prayers.
He trembled as I passed him.

Iseult
(with a low laugh).
At his prayers,
Poor devil!
[She takes a step toward the Church, then hastily returns to Brangaena.
Sweet, I will not kiss you now;
But afterwards. . . .
Come first, for the first kiss.

Brangaena
(detaining her).
The bishop is not robed.

Iseult.
The iron glows;
I have to seize the iron. Follow me.
O Love, Love, Love,
Thou burn'st too hot: the iron will drop cold
And hissing at my feet. Brangaena, you
Have saved me, for your crystal cup it is
Sustains me at this hour. Walk steadily. . . .
You must not stay me. . . . I must walk alone.

[She goes far up the aisle and by the side-door enters the choir, ascends the steps, to the amazement of all, passes Tristan, snatches the iron from the brazier, goes back a few steps and waits the Bishop who, with a procession, advances. In dumb-show the relics are uncovered, a vow is proposed and repeated—at the end of the repetition Iseult waves her hand toward the pilgrim, praying with hidden face: then in a voice that can just be heard the Bishop speaks.
Bishop.
Lay down the iron.
[He descends the steps, with her, lifting her hand.
See, the hand unscarred.

Iseult.
Brangaena!
[She embraces her.
Bishop, but this faithful soul
Hath not passed scathless through her agony.
[Looking round.
I thank you, gentle people, for your prayers;
[Fixing her eyes on Tristan, who has fallen prone on the altar-steps.
You have remembered how a soul is lonely,
Being accused.
(To Bishop.)
Now lead me to my lord.
[She stands before the King, who has risen, with clasped hands.
No speech between us: you have promised triumph.
Crown me!
(To Brangaena.)
Lay on my robes.

[The Bishop and King place the crown on her head. The Church is thrilled with strange music. Iseult again stoops to Brangaena and kisses her: the crowd looks up reverently as to some miracle.
Iseult.
Belovèd, it is thou and I that hear,
Not that poor pilgrim, thou and I together:
We share the secret. Is it not the same
Sweet singing, as of currents in the air,
That you so oft have told me ravished you
When the little flask was sealed?

Brangaena.
It is the same.

[She falls in swoon at Iseult's feet.