 | The Tragedy of Pardon |  |
Scene I
An early spring morning on the sea.The ship of Tristan is moored by the coast of Wales: the sailors are gone ashore. The stern of the ship is higher than the head, so that the deck slopes toward the hidden head. Immediately in front is the mainmast and the door of the cabin. Tristan, with his back turned, leans against the helm, his arm over the wheel. His form is seen against the light green hills of the coast.
Once or twice he whistles bird-notes—then keeps silence.
A few Little Maidens are playing amid the tackle on the foremost part of the deck. Tristan, roused by their cries and laughter, turns and watches them.
1. Little Maiden.
Catch me, if you can, O Hoodman, blind as buzzard.
2. Little Maiden.
As mole or bat or beetle.
4. Little Maiden.
Or as the blinkard owl.
Lo and behold me here!
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Look and observe our ambush!
Who put your eyes out, Hoodman?
2. Little Maiden.
Away!
1. Little Maiden.
Away!
4. Little Maiden.
Away!
[They rush off with screams of merriment to starboard.
[Iseult enters from the cabin, coming up the steps. She stands fronting the head-sea and her country left behind.
Iseult.
Would I might lie down on my Irish shore,
Dead on my shore!
[She falls on the deck.
[Tristan draws near and stretches one of the idle sails out to shadow Iseult; then he paces a little distance from her.
[Unheeding.
Cursed be the sea!
[Tristan comes up softly, and says in a low voice, as if to himself.
Tristan.
He loved me from the sea; I was an orphan,
A cast-away, a wandering child;
He loved me from the sea, as his own son—
[Iseult raises her head.
I looked on you
In Ireland, when your Mother bore me in
As a sick wandering harper from the sea . . .
Iseult
(rising).
My Mother, very dark shall be her sunset!
Tristan
(fixing his eyes on her and continuing
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And when I left the dream was in my heart
To sing your beauty to the only mortal
Worthy of men to hear. Not Tantris' harp—
Tristan's—with fame that rustles through the world,
Sang to King Mark of Cornwall, my liege-lord—
Iseult is fair; there is no woman's child
So fair to look upon.
Aurora's daughter and her child, fair Helen,
Are rumoured fair, as if all beauty
Were gathered up in them as in two flowers.
O King, such idleness
Thou shalt no more believe! The sun of beauty
Dawned not in Greece! 'Tis risen in our day,
In Ireland, where the sun, born of the dawning,
Iseult, the daughter of Iseult, shines down,
Gladdening all creatures, giving fame to all;
For so her beauty is diffused, through her
All women in her brightness are shown bright.
[Iseult sinks on the gunwale.
Queen, you are faint . . . these days you have not eaten
Nor drunk! . . . And it is hot within the sun,
Burning down on us in his noon—you parched.
Maidens (turning)
, a flask of wine, a cup!
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Where find them?
2. Little Maiden.
Here is a cup the helmsman threw away
Before he left the ship.
[She gives it to Tristan.
3. Little Maiden.
Brangaena set
A flask of wine above her bed.
1. Little Maiden.
Then fetch it.
[Exit one of the Little Maidens.
[Tristan and Iseult stand silent. The other Maidens clustered at a distance chat in clear voices.
1. Little Maiden.
Look, Nessa,
The pebbles and the sand within the green
Of this still harbour are as white as flour
Upon a miller's stones.
2. Little Maiden.
And all at once
The sea-mews dive.
3. Little Maiden.
And how the seamen laugh
Around the little boat that bore Brangaena.
I wonder what she buys for us.
1. Little Maiden.
She landed
To sit upon the grass again, to wander
Along the seaward banks of primroses,
And smell soft breathings through the salt.
3. Little Maiden.
O Nessa,
Can you not smell the primroses? I can.
[The Maiden returns with Brangaena's flask: she gives it to Tristan and runs to join her fellows, who have begun a new game round the wheel.
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(pouring).
And you will touch the wine-cup with your lips?
Iseult.
No, I will drink the wine . . .
[She stretches out her hand, half fainting, for the cup, and as she drinks gazes at him over the brim.
As sweet as hydromel and bergamot:
How exquisite a fume!
[She drinks no more and hands the cup to him.
Tristan, the wine! . . .
Tristan
(as the empty cup falls from his hand).
But you are beautiful!
But you are very beautiful!
[He turns and moves away down the vessel.
Iseult.
Not gone?
Tristan!
Tristan
(returning).
You called—
Iseult.
The wine!
It covers me like death.
[Iseult faints.
Tristan.
She stirs her lids,
Her lips; the little movements gall me, pester
Till I could cast her from me. Yet so warm
A fervour mantles through me from her breath,
A solace that forbids me to be lone
And inauspicious any more. Iseult! [OMITTED]
I cannot love her. Ah, what have I thought!
Almost I am his son, and she . . . almost she is his wife.
[Iseult moves.
I cannot meet her eyes; there must be silence
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To give or take.
Iseult.
How lovely is the light,
And a white sea-bird sails across. . . .
[She lies looking up; a slow smile spreads over her face: she keeps looking up for a little while; then she closes her eyes.
What darkness!
[Suddenly she opens her eyes on Tristan.
My life, my death!
[They kiss.
No, opening flowers. . . . It has no name . . . far off
As Africa. I think it is the magic
My mother knows. Why do you vex yourself?
Tristan.
But I have wandered
So far I never more shall find the path.
Iseult.
There are no paths marked out before. Beloved,
The way is where we tread. There are no ways
For the arrow and the stars.
[Cry of the Little Maidens as they rush from the seaward side of the vessel to the landward.
All.
Brangaena comes.
1. Little Maiden.
Her bosom full of primroses.
2. Little Maiden.
Brangaena!
[She gradually appears up the side of the vessel. As she steps on board she sees Tristan and Iseult. The primroses drop on the deck.
Voice of Sailor
(below).
Heigh there, be quick!
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We shall be rowed ashore!
The salt grass must be lit with primroses,
And dances on about the hostelry.
Joy!
2. Little Maiden.
You are white, Brangaena, as a ghost.
[She waves them away. They get down with cries and laughter.
Brangaena.
—But she is in his bosom;
But they are lovers, and King Mark abused . . .
The flask! . . . Iseult, Iseult!
She lifts her head and smiles. O royal mother,
Whose prayers pursue our sailing! . . .
[Coming close.
Woe is me,
Sir Tristan, at this sight.
Tristan.
I have no sorrow,
No shame to call upon.
The whirr of pinions,
Strong as the elements, is all I hear
When mortal voice condemns me.
Brangaena.
O betrayed,
I do not speak your condemnation; never
May I accuse . . .
Tristan.
Brangaena,
Death could not part us! Is there anything,
O God Thyself, could part us?
Brangaena.
There is nothing.
[She turns away and stands on the scatter of primroses.
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Shut up for ever! . . .
[She throws the goblet to the waves.
Sunken, and for ever.
| The Tragedy of Pardon | |