University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE

Scene: The main-deck of a ship on the Irish Sea
The mast, on which the great striped square-sail is set, L.; the forepart of the poop, with ladders leading up from the deck, appears R. Between the ladders, in the bulkhead of the poop, is the curtained door of Isolt's cabin. Across the back of the stage runs the port bulwark, the closed gangway in the middle. Left of the gangway, under the bulwark, is a large loose coil of rope. Under the poop, between the door of the cabin and the farther ladder, is placed a movable seat. Abaft the mast, a great curtain of painted canvas hung from a rope, which runs from shroud to shroud across the deck, shuts off the forepart of the ship. A gloomy dawn is breaking, the poop lanterns still burning. A dark expanse of sea is visible over the bulwark.
The curtains of the cabin, of some rich stuff, are closed. Three sailors of the watch pace irregularly fore and aft. In the tops a young sailor is on the look-out.
Caradoc.

Blow wind, sail ship! A glad man I will be
with this voyage well over.

Llewellyn.

Cheer up, Father Caradoc! 'Tis the Cornish
land will be our bed to-night, my old seal of the sea.

Cara.

O ay!—if Cornwall be within cry of these waves.
I have heard tell of the ships that sail for ever, yet
never make port.

Mardoc.

It is wicked freight they will be carrying.

Llew.

What about this fair cargo Sir Tristram is bringing
King Mark?

[Points to cabin.
Cara.
[Mysteriously.]

Isolt of Ireland? Since she
sailed with us I have heard things on the blast,
seen things in the sea—terrible things—O ay!

Llew.

A fair face she has; but a foul temper, I doubt—
eh, Mardoc, lad?

Mar.

Och, man Llewellyn, but I would sooner see the
frowns on her than the smiles on any other woman
whatever!

Llew.

Yet Sir Tristram keeps well out of shot of her
smiles or her frowns. Spin us the yarn of that;
for 'tis five year gone since I have seen a Cornish
daisy.

Cara.

There is the blood-feud between them—O ay!

Llew.

The blood-feud?

Cara.

She was troth-plighted to yon Irish giant that
Tristram slew—what will be his name?

Mar.

Morough.

Cara.

O ay! This Morough was her lover. When he
came from the Irish king, Angus of the Black Ships
—Isolt's father—to get for him the tribute from
King Mark, young Tristram challenged him; and
they fought in lists on a sandy isle of the sea—O ay!
—a sandy isle of the sea. And there did Tristram

slay him; and in the casket he brought for the tribute
his own head went back to Ireland.

Mar.

And in the bone of its brow a splinter of Tristram's
sword.

Cara.

O ay! And at the sight of it the life went out
of the Irish king, for the wrath and shame that was
on him. And so ended a bad custom, O ay, indeed!
a very bad custom!

Llew.

No love is lost then between our new queen and
Sir Tristram?

Mar.

Love or no love, she will have put spells on
him.

Llew.

Spells?

Mar.

Sir Tristram took a wound from Morough—a
magic wound it was, none but an Irish witch could
heal; yet healed he was, and the secret of his healing
tongue has never told. But from that day the glad
song is no more in his heart, and he himself will
be looking like a death-doomed man.

Cara.

Death-doomed he is—O ay!

Llew.

They say there is the second sight in that one
eye of thine.

Cara.

I saw the shroud at his feet, and now it is risen
to his knee. And the death-shroud is at her knee
too. They will die the one day—O ay, indeed!

Llew.

Well, Death will get us all—some day.

Mar.

But, Sir Tristram he will be marrying himself
against the other Isolt, when King Mark has got
this one.

[Points to the cabin.
Llew.

The other Isolt?

Cara.

Isolt of Brittany—Isolt of the White Hands—
O ay!

Look-out.
[From the tops.]

Land ho! Land on the lee
bow!

Llew.
[Seizing the shroud and leaping on the bulwark.]

Bravely blown, North Wind! There stands old
Dundagil. How about your bodings now, mate?

Cara.

There is no end to Irish Druidries. I have my
bodings still.

Pilot's voice.

Stand by your braces, men! Ease away
the sheet!

[Sailors trim braces and sheets and exeunt L.
[The ship's course is altered and a distant headland appears on the backcloth L. Brangwaine comes out of the cabin, looks over the bulwark, and returning quickly to the cabin calls to Isolt.
Brangwaine.

Land, land, Isolt!

Isolt of Ireland.
[At the cabin-door.]

What means this
cry? Where are we?

Bran.

The clouds give way, rent by the rushing north,
and the ships strain for port. I feel my feet almost
on Cornish land.

Is. of I.
[Rushing out.]

Land, land! O never come safe
to land the ship that bears Isolt to Cornwall and
King Mark!

Bran.
A black wish on us all!

Is. of I.
How long have we been sailing, days or years?

Bran.
Three days, three nights, and now the fourth morn breaks.

Is. of I.
Three days, three nights of sailing; and this dark hour
The first I have looked in the sea's wizard face!
Hark how the keening wind sweeps from the shroud
Lamenting tones, and plays upon the ship
As on a Druid's harp!
[She draws Brangwaine to the bulwark
Look down, Brangwaine:
See how the subtle water, flecked with foam,
Darts from the plunging prow, and speeds by us
Writhing and hissing softly like a snake.
Its horror fascinates. Dost thou not dream
Of rare and delicate deaths, gentler than sleep,
Down, fathoms down, through the green glimmering sea
Following the diving eye, till wandering light
Swoons, mazed and lost in perilous ways obscure?

Bran.
Hush! for the sea may hear. Your mother's spells
Have sunk, ere now, brave ships.

Is. of I.
[Stepping back from the bulwark and sinking down upon the coil of ropes.]
O forlorn mother!
Her sorceries have grown tame since Ireland cowers
Before her tributary: she can but brew
Love-drinks and bale-broths every witch-wife knows,
Not storms.
Where are thy spells, mother,
That whispered lightly to the purring surf
Could sink us now?

Bran.
Tempt not the sea, Isolt!

Is. of I.
[Coming forward.]
Winds, winds of the sea, can ye not hear
The storm within my breast with sister's cry
Call you to rage? Hound on your hungry pack
Of howling waves, white wolves of the grey waste,
To hunt the staggering ship; whelm in one wreck
A hundred guiltless, with one guilty head!

Bran.
Call not the winds to chafe the spleenful sea.

Is. of I.
They hear me not! No more weak blustering words.
I have a thing to do—a thing to do!

Bran.
What sleepless worm gnaws at your hidden heart?

Is. of I.
Blood cries for blood. My bridemaid, Vengeance, wakes!

Bran.
Did you so love Morough that for his death—

Is. of I.
Who told thee I loved Morough, that I hate him? [Indicating Tristram.]

My heart has grown so poor in natural hate
That for mere shame I must abhor myself
Till we rest even with them, head for head.

Tristram.
[From the poop.]
Deck out the ship in all her bravery,
Ancients and pennons to the following winds,
Hoist on the poop the standard of King Mark!

[The sun shines out. Sailors hoist flags.
Is. of I.
[Looking at the flags.]
See how this haughty vassal of King Mark
Triumphs above my captive head, and tames
The servile waves to be the ministers
Of his insulting pageant!

Bran.
He ordains
But fitting honours for the chosen bride
Of his great uncle.

Is. of I.
O how he honours me!
Three days and nights the melancholy fields
Of ocean we have sailed, and yet not once
Has he with knightly homage kist my hand.

Bran.
The custom of his office bids him show
A liege's dread in distant courtesy.

Is. of I.
[With scorn.]
Ay, morn and eve his blunt squire, Kurvenal,
Comes with scarce-hidden malice in his smile,
To spy if tamely I endure my cage.
I am a queen by proxy, proxy-wooed,
And proxy-wedded; and by rule of state
Should love King Mark by proxy.

Bran.
Idle words!
What would you have?

Is. of I.
Bid Tristram come to me.

Bran.
[Looking towards the poop.]
How great must be
King Mark, lord of such knights!

Is. of I.
[Turning her back towards Tristram.]
A doughty champion truly—dares not look
His captive in the face.

Bran.
Dares not?

Is. of I.
Ay, dares not!
Bid him on his allegiance come to me,
And with his harp make music that can steep
The present in oblivion—Go—defy him!

Bran.
Defy him! Wherefore?

Is. of I.
Spend not thy breath, but go!
[Exit Brangwaine. Isolt turs and looks at Tristram.
Set are the lists of fate, the herald hour
Blows a stern summons on the hastening winds,
And vengeance claims yon death-devoted head,
This death-devoted heart. Would it were done,
And peace for ever sealed between us twain!
Re-enter Brangwaine.
Well? Dares this Cornish lion look on me?

Bran.
He lays his homage at his lady's feet,
But duty to his sovereign chains his hand
Fast to the helm, till we ride safe in port.

Is. of I.
[Laughs.]
His sovereign is pale fear, he dares not look
A woman in the face. Did he not blench,
Hearing my name and message? Did he not blench?

Bran.
His face grew pale; but stern his fearless eyes.

Is. of I.
'Twas not so once. His face in peril's face
Kept its own manly red. Many a strange tale
Sleeps in a woman's heart, untold, untold!
He will not come, then?

Bran.
He but keeps his vow.

Is. of I.
What wilt thou wager he will keep it still,
Though I again demand his presence here?

Bran.
My girdle against yours.

Is. of I.
I'll win my stake.

Bran.
Are you so sure?

Is. of I.
Brangwaine, dost thou remember
That nameless knight whose magic wound I healed?

Bran.
I heard the tale, the man I never saw.

Is. of I.
Once, while he slept, his sword did I unsheath
And the gapt blade showed its own secret wound.
Then from my breast, where burning cold it lies,
I plucked this fateful splinter—which gave death
To Morough in his last inglorious field;
And by the token of the sword made whole
I knew his deathsman.

[Showing the splinter in an embroidered case.
Bran.
Tristram!

Is. of I.
Ay, Tristram.

Bran.
What ransom paid he then his deadliest foe,
To keep his perilous secret so well?

Is. of I.
He woke from sleep, and saw me with the sword
Stand like eternal vengeance over him.
Yet on the sword he looked not; but his eyes
Looked into mine—and after that long look
The sword fell, and I wished him scathe no more

Bran.
What spell took hold on you?

Is. of I.
Was it not some spell?
Are there not dark enchantments shot in a look?
Yet the new faith bids “love your enemies”;
Fools may! This Tristram took his life from me
But as a loan I might require again.

Bran.
His life?

Is. of I.
So hath he sworn. His tenure holds
But while I keep this shred of his own sword,
[Showing the splinter.
When I put in this pledge I claim in full.

Bran.
O fling that ghastly token in the sea!

Is. of I.
That splinter gave Ireland to grey King Mark.

Bran.
King Mark is yours.

Is. of I.
Carrion for kites! This bond
Shall yield me in its quittance blood for blood.

Bran.
The blood-fine has been paid for Morough's death,
His bones with reverence buried.

Is. of I.
Let him rest!
But for my country's honour gored and slain,
What blood-fine? For my father's head gone down
In shame, what blood-fine? For their slights to me,
What blood-fine?

Bran.
Is this passion love or hate?

Is. of I.
There was such parting twixt us as when two
Who haunt each other in the soul of sight
Must smile with hidden hearts; when every word
Is dark with things unsaid. It maddens me
To think how then we parted. And this man
Comes back—this man to whom I gave dear life—
And haughtily demands me for King Mark—
O death, death to us both!

Bran.
Wedding King Mark you heal not one red wound,
But many wounds which drain two bleeding lands.
Surely his very fame blown in her ears
Might win a woman, though your mother's care
Had brewed no love-drink for King Mark and you.

Is. of I.
[Scornfully.]
The love-drink!

Bran.
None shall sunder whom it binds!

Is. of I.
O careful mother with her beldame's charms!
I would herself had wed this ancient king,
And drunk with him; or thou—Now by the rood
This is thy dream!

Bran.
[Laughing.]
May fate no worse be mine!

Is. of I.
There is another potion in thy care,
That which, when it shall spice the brimming mead,
Lives are but bubbles at the mead-horn's brim.
Fetch me the casket which contains that drink—
The death-drink! It enshrines the last stern word
Of mother's love to the new-wedded bride—
It fills my heart with whispers. Darest thou speak
That word, Brangwaine?

Bran.
“Better be dead than false!”

Is. of I.
O tenderly my mother counsels me!
Fetch here the casket.
[Exit Brangwaine into cabin.
Better dead than false!

Enter Kurvenal. He brusquely salutes Isolt.
Kurvenal.
My service to you, Princess!

Is. of I.
Well sir? Your message?

Kur.

Fair landing after foul voyage! 'Twill be anchor
down with us anon, and then after long tossing
we shall ride safe in the shadow of King Mark's
land.

Is. of I.
What more?

Re-enter Brangwaine with the casket. She remains in the background.
Kur.

My noble master, Sir Tristram, bade me say, that
being safe over the sea we must now go ashore; and
as we have decked the ship out in all her bravery,
so we must make ourselves brave in holiday weeds
and holiday faces.

Is. of I.

Oh, for that you must trust my vanity!

Kur.

I thank you, madam—and so I take my leave of
you. [Going.]

Is. of I.

Stay, sir! Can you vouchsafe me a word
more?

Kur.

As many as you please, an they be brief.

Is. of I.

I would speak with Sir Tristram.

Kur.

That's as it may be.

Is. of I.

What must be shall be. As thou lovest thy
master, give him this token [gives the splinter],
and
say I await his coming.

Kur.

As I love my master? I'll do it. May all your
days be happy!

[Exit Kurvenal.

[As Brangwaine comes forward with the casket, a rocky promontory appears close to the ship on the backcloth R.
Is. of I.
The casket!
[Brangwaine gives her the casket. She opens it.
In which phial hides the juice
That gives to mortal hearts immortal sleep?

Bran.
The death-drink! Ask not that!

Is. of I.
I need not ask;
For now I well remember 'tis the golden.
Is it not so?

Bran.
Yes.

Is. of I.
'Tis well shrined. The best
Should hold the best. Pale silver is too mean
To shape the flower whose honey cloys desire—
[She takes the golden phial and gives the casket back to Brangwaine.
Have this still in thy care. There lurks more danger
Within, than in this physic for hot blood.

Bran.
You tread the ways of madness!

Is. of I.
Peace; no more!
Fill me with sparkling mead my golden cup.
And set my table here, the cup upon it!

Bran.
Isolt! what would you do?

Is. of I.
Drink peace with Tristram.
Away!
[Exit Brangwaine into cabin.
To die! To still the bounding veins
Of passion in full ache! In the sick world
Where age binds youth, and the false marriage bed
Is but love's death-bed, what is there left to do
But stop the beating heart? [Calls.]

Brangwaine, the cup!

Re-enter Brangwaine. She places the table and sets the cup upon it.
Is. of I.
'Tis well. Now, quick, Brangwaine, my broidered mantle
My royal brooch, my tire! I must make ready
To meet my royal bridegroom like a queen.
[Exit Brangwaine. Isolt gazes at the phial.
O shrine of rest! My eyes looking on thee
See but blue lurid flowers, my bridal flowers,
That ominously wave o'er drowsy roots
Whose clotted venom I hold cloistered here.
I see my mother dig them at full moon
In her witch garden, muttering magic words—
Come, Wolfbane, whose blue flowers with trembling hand
I dared to pluck, a child, be thou the bale
Of Tristram and Isolt!
[She pours the contents of the phial into the cup.
'Tis done; and now
This empty tribute to thy waves, O sea!

[She flings the phial into the sea.
Re-enter Brangwaine with mantle, etc.
Bran.
[Looking at the cup.]
Isolt! Let me but know—

Is. of I.
Be wise, know nothing.
[She casts off her mantle.
Slip off this belt! My girdle—set it straight.
Good haste, no hurry.

Bran.
O, my fingers tremble!

Is. of I.
I tremble not; have thou no dread!
[Brangwaine clasps the girdle, brings forward a chair and Isolt seats herself.
My mirror!

[Brangwaine gives her the mirror, and proceeds to adjust her tire, and fix the golden apples at the ends of her long plaits of hair which she brings over her shoulders.
Is. of I.
Do I not look the bride for a great king?

Bran.
I never saw such stern eyes in a bride.
You cannot think of death?

Is. of I.
[As Brangwaine puts on her armlets.]
Nay, of rich life
That bursts the bondage of this common clay
And wings eternity.
[She rises.
[Brangwaine puts on the mantle, etc. Isolt laughs.
This Tristram scorns us.
[Suddenly clasping Brangwaine in her arms and kissing her.
Farewell, Brangwaine!
[Kissing her again.
This kiss take to my mother.
Tell her how dearly I thank her for her cure
For wanton blood. Better be dead than false!

Bran.
[Struggling to reach the cup.]
O, this is madness!

Is. of I.
Touch not that sacred cup!
If thou but spill from it one golden drop,
May devils dash thee from thy hopes of heaven!
[She thrusts Brangwaine away to C., glances at the poop, and takes the cup.
Sir Tristram quits the helm! These weeds away!

[Brangwaine takes up the old mantle, belt, etc., and exit into the cabin as Kurvenal enters from the poop.
Kur.
Sir Tristram comes!

Is. of I.
I am here to give him welcome!

Enter Tristram moodily, Isolt's token in his hand. He salutes Isolt.
Kur.
[Aside, and plucking him by the sleeve.]
Ware danger, Tristram! Trust not woman's tongues!

Tris.
Leave us alone. See all prepared for anchoring.
[Exit Kurvenal, L.
Madam, you send for me in pressing terms.

Is. of I.
Nay, in more pressing terms I sent before,
And yet you came not. Why am I flouted thus?
How is it, sir, that for three weary days
You break not, to beguile my melancholy,
With harp or song, or any cheerful speech,
The long monotonous chanting of the sea?

Tris.
Even as you know, I am dear honour's thrall.

Is. of I.
What hold'st thou in thy hand?

Tris.
My, life, I know,
Perchance my death. If so, here is my sword—
Avenge your lover!

[Kneels and offers his drawn sword.
Re-enter Brangwaine.
Is. of I.
Sheathe it—that blade remembers
It once from my weak hand fell at a look.
The past is dead, drowned in this loving-cup.
[She takes the cup. He rises and sheathes the sword.
Come, drink forgiveness of thy thousand wrongs!

Bran.
[Aside.]
It is the love-drink!

Tris.
Though it be death, I'll pledge thee!

Bran.
[Who has drawn gradually nearer.]
Tristram, drink not!

Is. of I.
Peace, fool! See, Tristram, thus I drink to thee!

[She drinks. Brangwaine sinks back on the seat and covers her eyes.
Tris.
Hold! I demand the cup!

Is. of I.
Nay, have no fear!
I will not stint thee of one rightful drop.

[She hands him the cup.
Tris.
[Raising the cup.]
Peace be between us two!

[He drinks.
Is. of I.
That peace is made—
Now, Tristram, look thy last upon the sun,
For there thou hast thy death.

Tris.
[Setting down the cup.]
That needs no word.

Pilot.
Clear the anchor! Bring her to the wind!
Strike sail!

Sailors.
Ay, ay, sir!

[They lower the sail. The ship comes round. The rocky promontory disappears L. and Dundagil Castle appears on the backcloth R. Short symphony during which Tristram and Isolt remain gazing at one another.
Tris.
Can this be death, which fills my veins with fire,
And chants within the chambers of my brain
Forgotten songs of love? Isolt! Isolt!
What hast thou done?

Is. of I.
I know not what—blind work!
We are the fools of fate! Tristram!

Tris.
Isolt!

[They embrace passionately.
Is. of I.
Sink, world, away; this is the glorious dawn
Of love's eternal morning! Honour and shame
Are but grey ghosts, the minions of dead Time,
And we, Time's outlaws, on a mightier stream
Than sweeps down his vain tide customs and kings.

Tris.
Isolt, my bride, my queen! There is no law
Can bind us now, save one, laid on us two
By Love, the first and last and best of gods!

Pilot.
Let go the anchor!

Sailors.
Ay, ay, sir!

[The anchor is let go. The ship gradually gets sternway on her until brought up by the cable. Distant trumpet heard.
Tris.
[Starting.]
Yon trumpet breaks my dream, I must be gone!

[Tearing himself from Isolt, he rushes on to the poop. Isolt reels backwards, sees Brangwaine and seizes her by the arm.
Is. of I.
Traitress! What drink was that?

Bran.
It was the love-drink!
Blame your dark thought: in fear I changed the draughts.

Is. of I.
This is thy sin, not mine; thou shalt atone it.

Bran.
Oh, kill me not!

Is. of I.
Nay, thou shalt live to save me.

Bran.
Ah, how? What must I do?

Is. of I.
That thou shalt know;
But first swear by the stone of Destiny
That stands on Tara's hill; by heaven and hell,
To do my bidding.

Bran.
Yet, before I swear,
Tell me what dreadful thing I have to do.

Is. of I.
[Clutching her by the throat.]
Swear! Swear! or by the rood I'll strangle thee;
Tear thy false heart from that white breast of thine,
Or hale thee by the hair to the ship's side,
And fling thee to the sea! Swear! Swear, I say!

Bran.
I swear.

Is. of I.
By every oath!

Bran.
By every oath!

Is. of I.
[Releasing her.]
Save me, Brangwaine! There is no second way.
By thee I have become the thing I feared,
His, his, body and soul, his bride—unwed.
Be thou King Mark's.

Bran.
What would you have me do?

Is. of I.
But a light penance.
Fill, in my place, the arms of Cornwall's king.
We have one height, one mien, almost one shape,
Complexion, Irish voice. Day barely knows
Each from the other. Night's dull eye confounds us.

Bran.
This cannot save you from suspicious eye;
My fault will come to light.

Is. of I.
What if it should?

Bran.
This were foul sin; show me some innocent way!

Is. of I.
Where all is foul the lesser foul is fair;
Come, thou hast sworn.

Bran.
[Weeping.]
I knew not what I swore!

Is. of I.
Yet thou didst swear! There is no other way.

Tris.
[From the poop.]
No! clear the gangway! Guards ho! man the deck!
The king comes!
[Isolt and Brangwaine retire to the cabin. The gangway is opened, and the guards rank themselves on either side. Enter Tristram and Kurvenal bearing Tristram's shield and pennon. A loud flourish of trumpets is heard, and is answered from the poop.
Go, Kurvenal, be herald to the queen
Of the king's near approach.

Kurvenal.
[Goes to the door of the cabin.]
Madam, the king!

Re-enter Isolt and Brangwaine.
Tris.
[Aside.]
Isolt, the world's upon us, full of eyes.

[Isolt bows. The king's barge appears at the gangway, and while the bridge is being prepared for the king to come on board, the fool Melot skips over the bulwark and approaches Isolt and Brangwaine with quaint gestures and grimaces.
Melot.

My fair greeting to King Mark's queen! But
by my cockscomb I have two minds in me which of
you to choose for my mistress; for one of you is as
like the other as two swans on a lake!

Is. of I.

What misshapen piece of God's handiwork
art thou?

Melot.
[Strutting about.]

The king, madam.

Is. of I.

Or the king's fool?

Melot.

Say the king's king, lady; for when the king's a
fool, the fool is king.

Tris.

Begone, fool!

[As Tristram raises his hand to strike the fool, he ducks with a shriek of laughter, and runs up the steps to the poop on the front of which he sits with his feet dangling over the deck.
Enter King Mark from his barge, leaning on Mariodoc, two pages bearing his train.
Soldiers and Sailors.

Hail to King Mark!

[A flourish of trumpets. As Tristram leads Isolt forward to meet King Mark, the curtain falls.