University of Virginia Library

Scene II

Morais. A Forest-glade in May
To the right an interior of a domed cave, a bed of rushes on the floor of crystal rock; a loaf and a few other things on a shelf of the same rock; Tristan's harp and hunting-horn slung on a

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spar. A window is seen in the roof, attainable from without by climbing the sylvan slope of turf. A brazen door, now standing open, gives on broken ground of the forest, that stretches from the cave to a linden-tree in first leaf and a spring with a stream out of it. Grass and flowers everywhere.
Tristan and Iseult come down the rocks of the wild-wood
Tristan.
Let me lift thee, all the boulders are not mossed;
Thy feet are weary.
[She springs into his arms.
Warm cheeks, where fresh roses
Are being mingled with the loveliest roses!
And yet thy hand is cold as water filling
A silver bowl, how shrewdly to the sense.
Come, let us rest.
[Sweeping the grass with his hand.
The dew is almost gone.

[They seat themselves by the fountain.
Iseult.
O Tristan, what a sound
Of peace and ardour; how the little waters
From the rock-vein are never intermitted
In song from jet to brink. And thou art here
With me among the lilies, the small lilies,
So unsuspected at the woodland's core,
We breathe them from a whiteness held remote
By the verdure of their bowers.

Tristan.
Breathe them lonely,
Till I have brought out Kurvenal's dry loaf,
And the dry grapes,
And fetched a rill for breakfast in my horn.

[He goes into the cave and brings out what there is to eat. He then brings water in his horn and they begin their meal.
Iseult.
No bread! I'll steep the raisins. Fie, you men,
I think you could eat bark like woodpeckers.
[She watches him devour a crust.
O loved, are we not happy?

Tristan.
Even as in Paradise.

Iseult.
I would not hear
The name of any other place or give
A name to this young freshness by the stream.
[On her elbows on the grass.
O little flowers and meadow-slips and tangle
Of growing things for June, there is no circlet
So sweet as one my lover can enwreathe
Of your young shoots and coral.
See, this clover!
Twist me a wreath and I will shine so fair
That you will pledge me queen of all the forests
Of Cornwall and of Parmenie and Erin,
Till the last summer tumbles into gold.
I will enchant you.

Tristan.
What, a clover-wreath!
[He plucks flowers and they weave a chaplet

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together, with which he crowns her. She nestles beside him, her head on his shoulder.
[A far away horn-call.
Listen!

Iseult
(rising impetuously).
Shut close the door,
And let us to the cavern!

Tristan.
Stay, this trail
Is right away. No fear, no fear!

Iseult.
But listen!

Tristan.
No danger, love Iseult. Think you that Mark
Hunts through the wilderness?

Iseult.
One joy, one sorrow,
One love, one life between us—and one dread.

Tristan.
No dread!

Iseult.
O comfortable voice, but I am shaken . . .
[Another blast rings along the distance.
The horn again!
Oh, how I hate the sound!

Tristan.
And I a hunter!

[A very distant horn is heard.
Iseult.
You will leave me, Tristan;
You must—ah, might it be here in the woods:
For then I should not light my pyre. So close
I keep me to the rivers and the trees,
Like Byblis, I should drop down in a fountain
When I was weary of pursuing thee;
Or else like Phyllis . . . often by this linden
I have thought upon her story, how she felt
She was forgotten in the great affairs
That drew Demophoon to Attica,
And breathed her sighs into the leaves so deeply
She found herself amid the waving branches,
And, being rocked of the great winds, had peace.
When you go forth to hunt—you are a hunter,
And you must leave me—leave me in the woods!

Tristan
(impatiently).
But this is music; I must set my harp
To such a song.

Iseult.
You will not greatly suffer;
You have your harp. I see that you are chafing
To track the horn.

[She walks from him to the cave; at the threshold she stands and looks back at him, then lies down on the couch of rushes, with glistening eyes.
Tristan
(as he follows her into the cave).
Nay—I will bar the door,
And we will rest till noon. He does not seek us;
But this for utter safety, if he come.

[He unsheathes his sword and lays it by her.
Iseult.
Tristan, put back your sword. Divide us not
In soul and body, while your glittering falsehood
Flows by me with base laughter. I revolt.
In Love's name, by his arrows, I conjure
Your flagrant, trothless weapon from my couch.
Quench it—the sinister, cold-flowing steel!

Tristan.
The sword must stay; it guards you.
I am judge,
In danger, of the means. Forgive, forgive!
And turn to sleep.

Iseult.
How can you so reproach
Your forest-queen?

Tristan.
That she should be assoiled
Before the world.

Iseult.
O Tristan!

Tristan.
Sleep, forget.

Iseult.
We are apart and of your will.

Tristan.
No woman
Can brook a lover's screen. You fret me. Sleep!
[He goes to the door and pauses.
How full of song
The forest—an announcing, tell-tale jangle,
And weary to my head. The horn has filled me
With bent for change, and there is listlessness
In country haunts. But Kurvenal will come
At noontide from Tintagel with his news:
Meantime I must keep guard upon the grotto.
(Turning back.)
'Tis breathing-time with her,
Deep sleep and rest. O perfect loveliness!
The holy clover round her eyes, the weapon
Alert beside her, she enravishes
More that she foils audacity. One kiss
Across the spiteful flash! O god of Love,
Be worshipped that this check is but a lie.

[He shuts the door and secures it. There is a near horn-call; King Mark and his Master-Huntsman come through the forest.
Huntsman.
The doe's-track ceases. Where then is our quarry?

Mark.
See, in the crystal rock a brazen doorway.

Huntsman.
Then this, Sir King, is a love-grot, once hollowed
By giants of heathen ages in the hillside
For secret dalliance, and then closely sealed
By Christian monarchs as a haunt of devils.

Mark.
This door inside and very hard is fastened.

Huntsman.
A marvel! Such-like caverns in a mountain
Are lighted, so my father's father told him,
With windows through the rock's acclivity.
Shall I make search over and round the ridges?

Mark.
Thou shalt.
[The Huntsman climbs.
This weary hunting that brings freshness
To head and cheek, but to the heart no service!

Huntsman.
Here is the casement, clear of roots and staring.

Mark.
What see you?

Huntsman.
Christ, 'tis magic! Is she mortal?

Mark.
A living soul within?

Huntsman.
A man and woman
Each side a sword that twinkles glassily.
The man is even as other men, the woman . . .
But I will look no further.

Mark.
How you tremble!

Huntsman
(springing down).
Look not, my king, come with me from the cavern.

Mark
(climbing).
Is this the zigzag that you took?

Huntsman.
God help you!

Mark
(looking in).
Even so. Good huntsman, lead my hounds to kennel;
I hunt no more this forest. All go home.
[Exit Huntsman.
My heart is cold with joy—the naked sword,
They in their beauty and seclusion: round them
Noon's fervid hour; both guileless, innocent.
O Easter-day, how can my heart arise
To greet a joy like this!
Iseult!
Thy face
Hot, flushed with childish vermeil, underneath
The purple chaplet of the clover-flower;
Thy sunlit mouth, so lovable, my kisses
Would rain down in a galaxy of flames,
As though this sun had sped them! Stay, a shaft
Falls harmfully; it will awaken her.
Ah, Tristan, I can shield her slumber too:
Thou with thy good drawn blade, I with this rumple
Of leaves and grass and flowers in mat and lattice
Across the flood of day. God keep thee secret!

[After covering the window, he descends and goes out.
Iseult
(within).
Tristan! wake! Tristan! wake!
We have been spied and from the casement yonder,
For it is closed with grasses, lily-leaves,
And bluebells. Tristan!

Tristan
(within).
I will look around.
[He unbars and opens the door.
Oh, here are steps!
We are discovered.
We must fly—but where?
How get thee to a vessel? All the coast
His spies will guard against us. O sweet days,
For ever shaken from us! Yet if Mark
Spied on us, heaven be praised the sword was there.

Iseult.
Would he had seen the truth and drew us now
From lambent Maytime to the lighted stake—
An indivisible close! Where is your pulse?
I would be firewood to a blaze that quenched
My ashes with thy ashes.

Enter Kurvenal
Tristan.
Kurvenal,
Our refuge is discovered.

Kurvenal.
By the King.
He met me on the forest-edge and bade me
Seek you with prayer you would return to him,
You and his Queen, unhazarded in honour,
Pardoning and faultless. He recalls his wife
And you the prince and heir of Cornwall, pledging
To you his kingdom's welcome, and oblivion
Of all past mischief in the people's tongue.
'Tis generous homage from a King, my lord;
See thou demean thee in observance worthy
Of such a reconcilement.

[He is going into the cave with a loaf when Iseult calls him back.
Iseult.
Kurvenal,
Carry his harp away, he is impatient,
And it is time to part. My holy crown
Shall drench its triplet leaves in the blessed fountain
Still voluble of us, that gives my queenship
The lightning of a smile.
[She throws her clover-crown into the water.
Farewell, Farewell!
O sun and valleys, he knows not where he goes!