University of Virginia Library

Scene VI

Arundel: a terrace rimming the sea with its parapet, closed at one side by a round tower, at the other by a bold cliff, jutting out into the sea. Iseult of Arundel stands on the top of the cliff at watch.
Iseult of Arundel.
How I am weary, watching through the night—
A sentinel, lone sea-bird!—for a sail
Watching, and for the colour of a sail.
Oh, in the dark
There comes a little respite from my cares,
My sight being covered, and the sounds I hear
So gentle and of motion
Like a caress, and like the passing-over
Of a loved hand even as one falls asleep!
But now it is the dawn, the stars such lamps
They look as they would fall into the sea:
And the great night-clouds pile.

Kurvenal enters
Kurvenal.
Lady, Sir Tristan
Asks record of the night?

Iseult of Arundel.
How fares Sir Tristan?
Has there been sleep?

Kurvenal.
The change as when a diver
Is lost and reappears. Once in the night
I prayed that I might call you to his bedside.
He shook his head and answered, ‘She will come.’

Iseult of Arundel
(seizing his arm).
More record! Speak!

Kurvenal.
I said, ‘The dawn breaks cold; for pity's sake
Let me draw in our Lady from her watch:
She will be chilled to death.’
‘Is it so cold at sea?’
He answered. ‘Does the cold make it so long?’
Then heavily his head fell on my neck;
Nor could I break from him.

Iseult of Arundel.
Say that the night
Was cold, as I have seldom known the stars
Blazon its cold: say that the night was long;
And even now it moves
As it were scarce worth while to move aside,
So soon it will have business with the clouds,
And pressure of a day that cannot break.

Kurvenal
(looking round to a clear point of light in the East).
The words . . . your words!

Iseult of Arundel.
Say all
The words I give you as you say his words.
The rest be secret from you!
[Exit Kurvenal.
[Gradually an even daylight prevails, and a fleet of boats turns the point of the cliff.
Lo!—
They are come home, the small brown fisher-boats
From the night's toil! The wives
Of these poor fishers have had quiet rest;
And now they stir themselves within their houses,
And stir the children. . . . Presently the lads
Will crawl down to the beach and help the fishers
Pull up the boat . . . the wife will shade her eyes,
And give her husband welcome at the door.
My record—when again
Kurvenal comes to seek me—my true word:
‘There is no sail’ . . . only this little flock
Of the brown fisher-boats returning home.
(Yawning.)
How cold I am,
How sick of keeping record! Oh, it stifles!
. . . The sea so very still,
And very straight the line against the sky,
As sometimes I have seen it drawn in books;
While the day, coming gravely, promises
Continuance of itself. If the day wear
Silver and even to its close, and slowly
He drops down from his longing as a bird
Faint to its nest to die . . . still I am witness.
It stifles! . . . I would bring his fate down on him,
Upgathered in my hands.
Would he were dead,
As safely dead as the eternal Kings
Encoffined in the centre of the earth!

[While she has pierced the verge Tristan has been borne in by Duke Jovelin and Kurvenal. She hastens down to him.
Tristan.
No, pass within!—

Iseult of Arundel.
Your sentinel! . . .

Tristan.
The watch
Is changed: I give you rest, Iseult.
[He lays his hand out for her to caress.
Farewell!

[Iseult, without fondling him, passes to the tower, but pauses: over the top of the cliff for an instant a golden sail heaves into sight, lit by the risen sun; then it is lost behind the cliff.
Iseult.
The watch is changed!

[She gazes at the sail and goes within the tower.
Tristan.
Father . . . a fancy! . . . sisters!
I see them in procession, two and two
Pass to the Ark . . . and those that are not mated
Must pass alone.

Duke Jovenal.
Dear son . . .

Tristan.
I must be parted from your grief; it haunts me.
Keep her within!
[Duke Jovenal goes away, weeping. Tristan strokes Kurvenal's hand.
Now I am dying, all
I need is some one prompt to answer me,
Whatever it is in my heart to ask.

Kurvenal.
But give me some command, something to do
After . . . if you are dying!

Tristan
(raising himself).
Kurvenal,
I would be buried with my foster-parents
Deep inland, buried where the grass spreads flat,
Wild and neglected. I would be forgotten.

Kurvenal.
But I shall visit you.

Tristan.
The bees will visit!
It is my will—deep inland.

Kurvenal.
Think!—
It may be that the Queen will come, and then?

Tristan.
Oh, to and fro they pass, the many ships,
Kurvenal, to and fro: it does not matter;
For none have any haven.

Kurvenal
But some message!
You are thinking of your many voyages—
If she should come too late?

Tristan.
Farewell, farewell: Death in its open letters
Will front her with the word.
Now let me be;
For I must take last parting from myself.
. . . It lingers and it hurts.

[He remains quiet; Kurvenal paces.
Kurvenal.

He suffers, oh, he is suffering in the
wilderness of this air, breathing in a waste!
The breath wells up of itself. And a sea is
stretching glassy to his face. There is no sail
across it—there cannot be! And he does not
ask for a sail; he gives no heed. So his mother

lay with him beside her in her agony, and did
not fondle her babe any more. He is sinking
away into infinite night, and heeds neither time
nor light nor darkness.

[Suddenly bending over Tristan.
But this is darkness that one cannot wake:
And the sea's wavering tremor palpitates,
In vain . . . the tide is coming up—it stretches
Over the sand. . . . He loved the rising tide . . .
But though the dawn be shining, Arundel
Is dark for ever—loud be her lament!

Tristan
(in a murmur, with closed eyes).
‘Would I were dead upon my Irish coast,
Dead on my shore!’ . . . The great refrain
That is my passing bell!
She cannot come!
Are not our merchants sailing back to me
With the silk bales and treasure? I perceive
Now in the dawning that she cannot come;
That she is sitting by King Mark—as lonely
As fellow-Sphinxes guarding a great stair,
Indifferent to those that pass within,
To those that pass without.
[Kurvenal has raised his head and watches intently an emergent gold sail.
Would we had died—
The only cup that we can ever drink
To overtake the cup of Destiny,
And spread its balm upon the bane! Not now,
I would not now that she should come! . . .
To leave her
Upon these ignorant and savage coasts . . .
There must be no more meeting now,
Nor parting any more—only the dark
To creep up to our spirits as a tide;
And quiet graves for us—there must be graves,
Where we shall rest in quiet.

[Kurvenal is now beside Tristan, smiling down on him.
Kurvenal.
Wake, revive!
The ship is at the beach.

Tristan.
You see her, Kurvenal?

Kurvenal
(at the edge of the balcony).
Close, close I see her . . . and the cup of Tours
Is in her hand: she is most glorious
In crown and purple robes.

Tristan
(his hands tight over his eyes).
Go, Kurvenal, within!
Let none salute the Queen . . . stretch wide the door.
[Waving his hands despairingly.
Keep them within! I cannot bear the tumult.
She should have worn disguise, she should have come
In secret as a magic healing Power,
Or as a leper, or an anchorite. . . .
O Kurvenal!
See that none look upon her. . . .
Turn the helm,
Turn the helm backward to the Irish coast,
Back to her mother. . . .

[Kurvenal goes out: Tristan lies in swoon. After some moments Iseult of Ireland enters with Kahedin. Merchants behind her leaving spices and a flask of wine.
Kahedin.
Queen, but he is passed!

Iseult.
No, no! Not dead; he is not dead . . .
[She kneels by him.
He tarries,
And cannot die more than a king expectant
For news of a great battle. . . . Tristan, Tristan!
Listen! I streamed
The sail in calm as a wide bannerole,
Held wide before a host . . . By night
I burned it red with torches: day and night
The sail has been assured; the sail rose up
Before the land . . . Tristan, the sail rose up!

Kahedin.
Oh, he is passed!

Iseult
(more desperately).
No, no!
And if he were—I could arouse the dead. . . .
Tristan . . . as if I called you from the woods,
Tristan . . . as if I called you from the sea,
Tristan . . . as if you heard me from Tintagel,
Striving amid the gulleys. . . .
Tristan, Tristan!
[He opens his eyes.
I am come . . . Iseult!

Tristan
(faintly to Kahedin).
The ship is in the port?
. . . The ship!
For you will bear her home? . . .
And all will be,
Beloved, as it had never been!
[In a voice of triumph.
How firm
The jewels dartle from her crown!
[Iseult, with a shriek, falls prone across the foot of the bed.
Oh, save her!
See, they are pressing in. . . .

Re-enter, at the sound of the shriek, Iseult of Arundel her father, Kurvenal, and a crowd of servants
Kahedin
(to his sister).
Keep back, hold back!

Iseult of Arundel.
But I will be the mirror
To take the last stain of his breath. . . . What hinders?
[Dragging back Queen Iseult by her hair.
Dead, dead! Is this his hope?—
A crown fallen off
Amid the meshes of long, golden hair!

Duke Jovelin.
Peace, child . . . peace, peace! His soul is on the verge;
Let it put forth in peace!

[He violently snatches his child to his arms: the golden hair of Queen Iseult, still held in Iseult of Arundel's hand, is spread out wide; sunlight falls on it.
Tristan
(fixing his eyes on it, as on a golden sail).
The ship! . . . .

[He dies.