University of Virginia Library

Scene IV

The orchard at Tintagel—as in Act II., Scene V
A burning noon at midsummer
The Queen's chamber in the background, reached by shallow steps. Melot is talking to himself among the old apple-trees hung with mistletoe.
Melot.

The world must not be governed by Beauty,
and the world must not be governed by Love.
O ancient Druids, if yours were the secret!
Guardians of the Universe, shedders of blood,
requiring the renunciation of all things that the
heart may a little feel the dew! But what is
this? A procession from the Queen's chamber!

[Melot draws back among the sweeping boughs of the apple-trees as the Queen's maidens come down the orchard with white and purple cushions which they spread on the grass. Then they sit down on the edge of the cushions and weave daisies.
Nessa.
Jocelinde, are you weeping? Will she die?

Jocelinde.
It thrills me through to touch her, like a harp.

Nessa.
She will not die . . .
(Picking a daisy.)
She loves him, loves him not,
Loves him. . . . Come closer, Jocelinde! She loves
Lord Tristan.

Jocelinde
(rising and settling the cushions).
This is all she bade us do.

[Iseult is borne in a litter down the orchard. She is dressed completely in cloth of gold. Brangaena is beside her.
Iseult
(to Brangaena).
So hot a noon!
(To the Maidens.)
Remember that you say I am asleep.
And trouble not to seek me till the eve,
For I would lie a long while in the sun.
[The Maidens pass down the orchard, up the steps into the Queen's chamber. Iseult pushes a low bough aside and looks up.
The sky is very hot . . . and now—fetch Tristan!
Fetch me the crystal cup
You plunged into the sea, give me the flagon,
The dim strong-scented wine that rose like music,
That sank down in my heart to swell again!
I cannot bear this consciousness: my senses
Are idle as the war-horse on the plain,
That hears the battle-neigh, that has no rider,
That champs and cannot graze. Fetch Tristan to me.
[Melot advances and stands before the litter, the postern-gate behind him.
[Startled and as if in defence.
Melot, how often you have led Sir Tristan
Here to this orchard, and in Love's own name.

Melot.
How often! And to-day he must not come.

Iseult.
Then I must die!

Melot
(eagerly).
It is a magic power.

Iseult.
Melot, you do not kill yourself; a dwarf
You are and loved of none, and yet you live.
What do you live for?

Melot.
For the seasons, child.
To see the snow again—it is enough.
My eyes have gathered simples from their sight,
And I have looked so far I do not weep.
Iseult's Iseult,
Is there no magic in you, and no power
For the scents upon the air? . . .
Death is the charm:
It is what you have drunk: your Fate persists,
And she is standing by an open grave.

Iseult.
I cannot! Melot, you as well might ask
The apple-trees, when every branch is crimson,
Of their own will to crackle in the fire.
I cannot die—not for a hundred years.
Since I have drunk the cup
There can be no more dying any more.

Melot.
You tempt your lover to his death.

Iseult.
Temptation!
You say I tempt . . .
[With free laughter in response to Melot's face.
There is no Paradise
To woman, till her Paradise is lost.
It is so sweet to fall into temptation,
And to draw down, to lead
Down to the edges of the precipice.
You see—it is the Charm!
. . . You love the King:
You will betray us?

Melot.
Were that for his peace?
You think Love has one season and one office!

Iseult.
But one; we do not weary of our food;
We should renounce our breath, renouncing it.
Melot, I am not steady for discourse;
I am estranged from you—the great estrangement
Betwixt the living and the dead.
(To Brangaena.)
Fetch Tristan!
(More bitterly to Melot.)
You love the King and you would see me dead.

Melot.
Ay, if you cannot change;
For we must die, or ripen, or be loathed.
[Brangaena unperceived slips through the postern.
The Charm is out,
And you can raise no further incantation.

Iseult
(rousing herself).
The Charm is out! Brangaena!

Melot.
She is sped.

[He turns down the orchard and passes through the open door of the Queen's chamber.
Iseult.
He leaves me, and he is my Genius.
I have no power to call . . . But I am glad!
[Again lying back and looking up to the sky.
O ecstasy—the serpent in the grass,
And the stillness of the dazzle!
Tristan, Tristan!
With every hour his lustrousness falls off.
. . . O little verdant paths, my feet are aching;
I walk on burning ploughshares, day and night,
But none are curious; I may suffer now . . .
My lover is grown kind—
As one should speak of age in youth; this kindness
Is contract between mortals . . .
He delays;
I tremble, and a music rushes through me
That cannot find its way. O my Desire!
Tristan enters: for a moment he does not perceive the Queen
And now I see him with no other eyes
At rest on him—O God!
[As Tristan approaches.
You stayed too long;
I have grown cold, and I am sick.

Tristan.
Beloved,
But I am all your sickness.

Iseult.
All.

Tristan.
What is it
That flushes you so darkly?

[He kisses her hand.
Iseult.
Nay, no more,
No more joy of you! 'Tis the crystal cup
That binds us—we are utter weariness
And dolour to each other; our desire
Burns, as the spices that embalm Love's corse,
And leaps and sparkles as Love's very brand.
O Love, O Charm! The Charm is broken up;
The crystal flagon has sailed far to sea;
The sea-wrack has set root in it; it sails
A hairy skull across the universe.
Now. . . . You would pledge me, and there is no wine,
Only great recollections and the hour.
O misery, what are you?

Tristan.
I am Tristan.
Wherein have I offended, that you keep
So sealed from me? It is like banishment.
Wherefore?

Iseult.
So Melot asks, so asks Brangaena,
So Love would never ask. Lie back a little,
Your arm across my pillow! Ah, as sweet
To me as hydromel and bergamot. . . .
Now swear me all your curse.

Tristan.
Heart's Sorrow, hush!
God shield us, there are voices
Within your chamber.
[Iseult more closely clasps him.
There is struggle even . . .
[Seeking to free himself.
Sweet, for your sake . . .
[His eyes remain fascinated on the open doorway of Iseult's chamber. There is the sound of

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a scuffle. Presently the King stands on the threshold: he meets Tristan's gaze, and silently withdraws, closing the door.
Iseult, love, you behold not!

Iseult.
How should I?
Still so fearful of the flame?
Tristan, it does not scorch; it hurts no more
Than yonder blazing noon.
Feel my soft hand;
Put by all terror; wait as in a trance.
Are you my lover, Tristan? I put on
For you my wedding-raiment, this gold raiment—
Nothing I wear has ever been King Mark's.
Look, look!
[She passes her hand through her hair.
How the gold matches with the gold . . .
No grey: I never will bear age for you.
Am I not blonde?

Tristan
(starting).
There is a flow of blood
Down from your chamber-door. Yet all is silent.
Love, it is trickling down to us.

Iseult.
What matter!
Sweep back my hair. Conceive
The glory wouldst thou lay me on the pyre,
Carry and lay me there: I would enfold thee
In my swift arms of flame.

Tristan
(still gazing toward the place where Mark stood).
You shall not die,
God's peace, you shall not. We must bid farewell,
For ever we must bid farewell.

Iseult.
For ever?
Then to the waste again, then to the storms!
And paths that are but foot-prints in the sand,
One's own fresh foot-prints. I shall let you go;
I shall walk on alone!
But take this ring,
A pledge, a jewel, an eternal kiss . . .
For I shall ever dwell within thy heart,
As Christ's own wounds dwell with Him evermore,
In Heaven with God, or wandering 'mid the damned!
[Pressing her face down on his arm.
Remember—
I shall awake . . . remember, let it haunt you
How I awake, how I breathe through the noon,
The sunset, and the long close of the night.

Tristan.
Thy wedding-dress,
Thou art in thy wedding-dress . . .
[Kissing the ring.
Our love henceforth
Be vain and be for ever. Cloth of gold . . .

Iseult.
The Charm is broke!

Tristan.
The Charm is just begun.
Pure cloth of gold . . .

[He stands apart from her for an instant with wide, blank stare, then, sharply turning, goes out by the postern.
Iseult
(deeply sighing).
Then I will bend myself
To his pleasure and be lissome—play the harlot
Here, in the orchard.
I will veil myself,
I must, I am not dim.

[She stretches herself, veiled, as if recovering from sleep, as King Mark, Courtiers, the Bishop of Thames and Priests enter and draw back.
All.
Alone!
The Queen alone!

[The King comes forward, his arms wide to Iseult. Then suddenly he turns to his Court.
Mark.
Truth, truth! And I surprised
A noontide sleep in the orchard. Go your ways,
Speed on, return to villages and streets.
If you encounter
A troop of lepers on your way, with haste
Bid them come tinkling hither. I have one
To join to their abhorred company.
[The Courtiers, Bishop, and Priests retire.
Iseult,
What would you? You are damned so very deep
I would but pamper you as all the fiends
Are pampering. You keep a royal state—
Would you still keep it?
Would you be my Queen?
You smile: none other
Can fetch that smile, and I have rarer jewels;
My sceptre—you shall wield it—anything
That I can give you, ask! . . . for I would sell
My soul to please you.
Could I join your tribe.
And catch you underneath this burning heaven!
I am devoted to you now, Iseult;
It is a magic hour.

Iseult.
Sire, I would live.
. . . Let me live on
To sunset, and the long close of the night.