 | The Tragedy of Pardon |  |
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ACT II
Scene I
An ante-room in the Castle of Tintagel, with steps leading up to the Presence-Chamber, shut from sight by heavy, purple curtains.Groups of Noblemen, among them Marjodo, converse and are joined by others from time to time. Melot sits on the steps reading.
1. Nobleman.
At last the revels end!
2. Nobleman.
Our Queen disordered
The daily ceremonial: to-day
We give Time all his customary dues,
And hour by hour his age's privilege.
1. Nobleman.
Is it the Queen?
Marjodo.
I scarcely think it is:
She gives such generous changes to the blood;
Her laughter is as little summer gales.
She alters us
As April alters—'Tis her coming hither.
3. Nobleman.
If I may speak, this Queen is full of peril.
4. Nobleman.
Well said—your wisdom, of your years.
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Ha, ha!
1. Nobleman.
It is Sir Tristan's coming.
Young Nobleman
(to Melot).
Aquitaine,
What is it? Tell us!
Melot
(glancing from the page of his small book).
Our great pelicans
Have fled the haunt they lorded 'mid the fowls.
It is the reason of their flight.
Old Nobleman.
Your wisdom!
Well, you are short of stature; and beside
No gossip! But the wind, my lords, I hear
Was rough and opposite . . . there is a whisper
They put to shore and in a primrose-wood
Tarried one starlit evening.
Marjodo.
Hist! Sir Tristan!
[They all grow silent. Tristan is about to fall into one of the groups silently—then he starts and looks round.
Tristan.
What do I interrupt, what colloquy?
There is no need for silence when I enter,
For nothing Cornwall's nobles can discuss
Could be of languid interest to my ear.
Melot.
We glorify the Queen.
Tristan.
How natural!
Until those curtains may be drawn aside
And all the heaven
Of her full beauty shine on us.
1. Nobleman.
Devout!
2. Nobleman
(on the outside of the group round
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But look—some angry apparition chides.
Enter Iseult by side-door
Iseult.
Tell me, fair nobles—I am much perplexed
By the dark-thridding stairways of this strange,
Enchanted castle. . . . I have found myself
Almost within the dungeons. . . . Urgently
I seek Sir Tristan.
Marjodo
(turning).
In the dungeons, lady?
Iseult.
Oh, everywhere! I am quite wearied out.
1. Nobleman.
Have patience, madam; we are waiting here
To do you homage.
Marjodo.
Is it secret-sweet
The reason of your search? Breathe it to me,
And word for word. . . .
Tristan
(parting the crowd round him).
My Queen, your kinswoman
Must be reproved for this.
2. Nobleman.
Ho, ho, his charge,
Confided to Brangaena, and she slips!
But she is lovely now, not veiled in purple,
Not deeply hooded.
Take our homage, Queen,
To you alone, here standing in our midst.
Your pleasure shall in all be ours.
[Turning their backs to the Presence-Chamber, they all kneel to Iseult.
Iseult.
Sir Tristan,
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Then we had taught them manners. But, Sir Tristan,
You do me wrong: it is not yet the hour,
Though close upon the hour, Brangaena sets
The crown upon my head. I sought you simply
To choose our music at the feast to-night.
Marjodo bade me choose it, and I could not;
Marjodo bade me to consult the king,
I would not, knowing you are all to him,
Attuning all his lays.
Tristan.
That now is changed.
My harp will have but little use; the king
In you has harmony so far more wondrous
Than I can weave into his dreams. I thank you
For your great courtesy. All that the throne
Commands me I obey.
Marjodo, take
The Queen back to her chamber.
Iseult
(to the nobles).
Keep your knees.
You have wrought much offence. Pardon, Sir Tristan;
My royal Irish manners are too plain
For this small, ceremonious land. But later,
When we are Queen, ourselves will breathe the rule.
Marjodo!
[Exit with Marjodo.
Nobles
(to Tristan).
May we rise?
2. Nobleman.
Are you appointed
The Queen's new seneschal?
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My lords, you see
We are sold back to Ireland.
Tristan.
If enslaved,
Enslaved to Beauty.
Pass before your king.
At noon, in full assembly, he proposes
To read to you, his vassals, from his throne,
By how sure titles I have won you Ireland.
The curtains open: pass before your king.
[Mark and Iseult are seen on their thrones, Marjodo and Brangaena in attendance.
1. Nobleman
(to Tristan).
Then you are not a courtier?
Tristan.
To your duty!
Pass, pass!
[The Nobles enter the Presence-Chamber ceremoniously. The great purple curtains fall together.
O infinite, great Powers, O Light
Of Heaven, save her! She has struck among us
As fatal as a goddess.
That Marjodo
Has a sleek eye; he taunted me this morning,
Said he had tracked my steps: I thwarted him;
But as the fury rushed up to her face
Concentred on his visage, I took note
He twitched and writhed aside. Has he betrayed?
My bed-fellow, my early friend, my trusted,
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My imitator, and, in every wrangle,
Jealous, back-biting foe.
Iseult, I dreamed
Of drawing you away, of roving far
Across the seas: but you are framed a Queen,
And must be as the terrible white sapphire
Before your people. All my sanctity
Shall be to hold you white upon your throne.
Iseult!
[He sits on a bench at the side, with head bowed on his hands. The great curtains of the Presence-Chamber are swept apart by King Mark. He drops them and stands before them as they close.
Mark.
Tristan, look up.
Away from me, away.
Tristan, a breath
Of evil rumour has come near the Queen;
A buzz is in the crowd.
There are no weapons
But prayer and vigilance.
Tristan, no more
You may attend the Queen.
We must protect
Her senses from this slander; eye and ear
Will soil, if she suspect that any brain
Conceives of her save as an angel moving
Among us.
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Melot will serve her.
Tristan.
Mark, the infamy
You fix on me! Do you not feel the blow?
[Mark turns sharply away: the purple curtains fall behind him.
Scene II
Tintagel. The Queen's chamber. At the back a door, wide open, gives on a little stream that runs past.Brangaena is sitting with Iseult in her lap. Iseult's hair is shed round her.
Iseult.
I am so weary; but what rest I find
With thee! Brangaena, I have heavenly news,
Tidings, how wonderful! There are
No tidings I can give thee for thyself:
There thou art like a mother, blessèd one.
[Patting Brangaena's cheeks.
My news! King Mark is going from his court,
Is going, for seven days, on pilgrimage.
That is to me as if he said to-morrow
Winter is dead, to-morrow
The plague, the sickness of my days have end.
Tristan is sick—no matter!—for they leave him
Safe at Tintagel, and my touch can heal.
I shall not see him, as for weary weeks,
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Of mordant black, down from my throne, my ermine,
My majesty above him, as a goddess
His eyes are dreams of—his unbearable,
Gold eyes. . . . My triumph! Now I shall be mortal,
And he my god. Why do you pale? O blessèd,
Love guards us: we are following some law
As irresistible as when through havoc
Of flames and raid the orchard-trees come out,
And smile on all the world.
Enter Mark
Mark.
There is a rumour,
My Queen, that thou art sick. Our fair Brangaena
Lacks in no service?
Iseult.
Press your hand across
My forehead; do not speak to me.
Mark.
Most precious
To tend you thus!
Iseult.
It soothes me.
Mark.
Sweet, I come
To bid farewell, come unexpectedly,
The hour forgotten.
Iseult.
Look for no farewell.
You are deserting me, or for a hunt,
Or God, it makes no matter.
[With closed eyes.
Mark, my husband,
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I mourn for my own country, and a madness
Comes over me so bitter in its strength
I fain would die. You did not woo me, Mark;
I missed your wooing.
Mark.
But I never take
The least caress save as you give me leave.
I am your lover, and you free, Iseult;
[Suddenly binding her wrist with his hand.
Though the least freedom you should take, Iseult,
Iseult, would plunge me
Into sheer hell: that is your liberty.
[She sways, and he draws her to his breast.
Brangaena, keep all noise from her.
Iseult
(opening her eyes and springing to her feet).
Deserted!
Go, I will ask no reason: then at least
Ask thou no reason, but give ear with speed
To my request: leave me not in the power,
Not for a day, an instant, of Sir Tristan.
Mark
(bending to look in her eyes).
He has offended thee?
Iseult.
Let him be absent
Long as my lord is absent!
Mark.
If it please you,
When I return I will send Tristan back
To his own land, to Parmenie.
Iseult.
Oh, has he
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How good to have a country one may hide in,
When one is bitter chidden of one's Queen
And hated!
Mark.
Dearest!
Iseult.
Banish him, forsake me—
What will your life be, Sire, without us twain?
Mark.
A desert. I am going to a desert . . .
I told you.
Iseult.
Sire, why will you go away?
Why will you draw
This misery upon us?
Mark
(scrutinising her as she kneels).
For my peace.
[Exit.
Iseult.
He loves me as a mortal in the talons
Of Jove's own bird; he plants the grip of love;
None could remove his passion, naught in the world.
Divert its set toward me, its jealousy.
[Arrested by Brangaena, who has not moved since she kept her eyes fixed in terror on King Mark.
You stand white-faced before me and you tremble . . .
I am gone mad! He praises you, your voice—
Brangaena
(rousing herself).
Hush! I must braid your hair.
Iseult.
Let it alone!
The king looks long on it.
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It must be twisted
Thus, with your crown.
Iseult
(looking into Brangaena's eyes, as she twists her hair).
You take authority?
Brangaena.
To braid your hair as queens must weave their braids.
Iseult.
So chill and distant! If you will not speak,
If we no more are sisters, but divided . . .
Tristan read to me of the placid queen,
Great Juno—softly she leaned up against
The thunder-bolts, a female Jupiter:
Yet in the Latin there were many fables
Of how she could not brook through all the heavens
That any woman should have eyes of Jove
To bathe her eyes in. So I am a Queen.
O Citheronia, they have not known me,
Nor am I come to strength!
Brangaena.
By my soul's saving,
Of the love-philtre not a dew-drop's droplet
Has touched my lips.
Iseult.
But you have stately motions,
A royal carriage. You at least I banish.
Go, fetch me Melot here!
Brangaena.
Iseult!
Iseult.
Fetch Melot.
[Exit Brangaena.
O little stream,
Flowing around my chamber, flowing, flowing,
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The catkins as they tumble in the waves;
To see them lift and drop and float away
And be forgotten.
How I love the tides,
And ebb and flow, and variable winds,
That carry through their storms and rock to peace.
[Perceiving Melot, who has entered quietly.
O Melot, are you there?
You are a dwarf;
'Tis terrible to face you; and you see
To the bottom of my heart.
You read the stars:
You read them; they are silent. Though you speak
No word to me, I lie
Under your searching quiet, as the lambs
Lie under moonlight. Melot, succour me!
Melot.
I come, with numbered and fore-trodden steps,
To you, a dwarf who frightens you, as all
Initiation frightens. . . . In the dark
I saw Brangaena leave your bridegroom's chamber,
Saw you and Tristan spill the bridal-wine
On the way thither as the morning flushed.
Iseult.
Then it were good indeed that she were dead!
Death is so quiet.
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Death is noisiest
Of all the elements and will not rest
Until it draw the living to its lips.
Brangaena offered me her life next day,
And I refused it, when her lips had proved
Their rank for ever. It is not the deeds—
But gossip of the deeds, of deeds ne'er done,
That makes the earth infectious. I have sworn
To guard your secret: blow your sin about,
And all my oaths are sunk. Be circumspect!
[Throwing herself at Melot's feet.
Iseult.
Melot, in all the world
I love Sir Tristan: he is all I am.
Melot.
Nay, you are more—a Queen. There are two paths
For every soul the limitless, great stars
Deign to brood over in their energy
To keep the rhythm of: they thread the crowd,
And, for the rest, attune, attune, attune.
Iseult.
But I have murdered my own heart, and all
Its crying death is in me. Melot, Melot,
My madness—for I bade the king myself
Exile Sir Tristan, far as he can exile,
To Parmenie, or where
The world drops in the sea.
Now I must perish
Of my own violence . . . except . . . I know not . . .
You stand up in my chamber, as if sent
And interposing. Give me sight of him!—
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Nor what shall happen, nor the consequence.
I must see Tristan, as the day must dawn,
As the stars must break through.
Melot.
O rigorous!
You know but one inevitable thing,
One moving power: so chaos in its atoms
Conceived the void, till one
More subtle and elusive shape prevailed,
And by persuasive ritual fell aside,
Parted the elements and gave them paths.
[Advancing nearer.
You must sway Tristan, and in Love's own name;
In Love's own name, too, you must sway King Mark:
It is inevitable to your husband
To love: he has a god's content in you.
Keep these inevitable loves from clash,
Unless you are a woman-fiend and care
But for the dance of chaos. Will you perish—
You, Tristan, Cornwall? You can wreck the kingdom!
Or will you learn of me the circumspection,
And the wide glance that takes account of all?
Iseult.
What would you have me do?
Melot.
It is his patience
Alone that builds and constitutes a god;
But you are playing
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And so the victim of your destiny.
Iseult.
I will learn of you; I will heed your counsel.
Melot.
Pass through the orchard to your lover, pass,
For seven nights, and on the eighth desist:
I will provide you meet in secrecy.
When the king comes back from his pilgrimage,
Hungered from fast, be loyal to his peace.
Farewell.
[Exit Melot.
Iseult.
I feel as some divinity
Hove into sight. Tristan is gay, is sad—
I only thought of loving him, and not
Of keeping all the elements in poise.
[She sighs deeply.
The orchard! And he said to-night,
And seven nights . . .
[Closing her eyes.
The rest is sky, is air,
Is immaterial. There are all the worlds!
Scene III
An orchard in moonlightMark and Marjodo enter stealthily. Marjodo climbs one of the apple-trees
Marjodo.
Sire, it is here we spy.
Mark.
Here that we watch.
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In moonlight
As clear as this? Sire, we shall be surprised.
Mark.
What could the moon look down on of so vile
As a king hiding stealthy in the dark?
It is the deadliest sin.
But whence that rain?
The flower-leaves of the orchard showering down
In moonlit bevies from each shaken branch? . . .
Marjodo.
Hist, hist! Climb quick!
Mark.
I am built deep in night,
And but in peril as the guilty are.
[Perceiving Iseult at a distance.
O sweet-paced steps!
I will learn of her why so guilelessly
She thrids the orchard. . . .
[Iseult starts, perceiving the shadows of Mark and Marjodo thrown by the moon behind them.
Iseult.
Holy Trinity,
Threefold of Love, protect me!
Mark.
She is moved,
Even as I; something she apprehends,
Yet simply and with prayer more confident
Than I have ever lifted to my God
Waits the event.
Marjodo.
Look yonder! (pointing to Tristan).
[Tristan perceives the shadows and stops: Iseult draws slightly back.
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Tristan! So I paused before
The mortal Venus when I saw her first.
I cannot see her: in his face I see . . .
Oh, push the boughs aside!
Tristan
(advancing).
How should I speak?
Iseult.
Speak not, there is no need.
Sir Tristan, I was come to chide with you.
O ghost, O misery, so wan thou art,
So haggard and unfriendly in thy motions,
Thou frightest me. How should I chide with death?
Tristan.
Chiding! Peace, peace!
I cannot suffer chiding 'twixt us twain.
Only receive my prayer—I have a prayer,
That you must make. . . . I would not curse my king,
For I am dying, for he is thy lord . . .
But pray him, thou,
Fair morning sun of thy fair mother's dawn,
Stricken of him to devastate the heavens,
And cast a thwarting light upon the earth,
Pray him have patience with me, give me leave
To tarry on my bed a little while:
I am too sick to journey. I should die
As unespied and secret as the birds
That leave a little voidness in the woods,
And have no funeral.
Iseult
(steadying herself against a tree-trunk).
Remember this,
Sir Tristan, it is I that banished you.
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He praised her; and from me you take your death.
Tristan.
You will live on, trample the slander out.
Iseult
(turning resolutely away).
I shall live on and very slowly die.
[She disappears.
Tristan
(treading on Mark's shadow).
Would I were dead or he!
[Exit.
Mark.
Go hence, Marjodo;
Deceiver, hence, before my tears are hot
As Iceland's fountains.
Marjodo.
If I were mistaken . . .
Mark.
Go hence, Marjodo. Leave me!
[Exit Marjodo.
O my God,
I am no more Thy hermit, if my wife
Is jealous of me; and for me she lets
That lovely knighthood fall into the dust.
She is gone back alone to her lone bed,
Her tears, her jealousy.
O Moon, you saw,
You saw that she was chaste; but better far,
Dearer, of more account, in accusation
Confounding me, and yet more infinite
In solace to my heart—that she is jealous!
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Scene IV
Tintagel. The Queen's ChamberIseult is looking forth toward the shrine of St. Neot's
Enter Mark
Mark.
Not there, Iseult!
The pilgrim is returned, peace in his heart.
How hast thou passed the time?
Iseult
(turning).
In idleness,
Undeserved sorrow.
Mark.
Blessèd be the grief
That gives me sight at last of dropping tears.
You came to me fore-fated as my Queen,
Passive and even-eyed . . . I find you sorrowful,
I find you watching even as a wife
Is sorrowful and watches. O Beloved!
[He takes her hand.
Still speechless in your welcome, still resentful!
Iseult, you cannot know the awful worship
Your husband has in hoard for you. My pearl,
Found flawless, inconceivable the joy,
The dazzled avarice of possessing you.
Iseult.
My lord, I have a suit.
Mark.
No suit, Iseult.
For thyself freedom; for me ignorance
In all thy pleasure. Give me now such news,
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Craves to disburthen.
Iseult.
Tristan is fallen sick.
The suit I have from him
Is that you give him grace for seven days
To gather strength, and afterwards to leave
The court, the land for ever, no suspicion
Clouding your honour. This he prays for both.
Mark
(withdrawing his hand).
Tristan is innocent.
Let there be peace between us!
[He speaks to Melot at the door, then returns to the Queen.
Iseult.
There is more,
A suit that is my own. You have put peril
Between me and Sir Tristan, names, imaginings
He cannot bear for me, nor I for him.
I love your knight . . . and I would take my love
Back to my mother, to the Queen Iseult.
[She weeps.
Mark.
If these are lovers,
And would not wrong me, but are doomed to love!
So at the shrine
My heart was softened, so as in a vision
One instant I beheld.
Enter Tristan; he has his bow and quiver. He advances to Mark
See, Tristan, see!
I have so wronged her that she prays for exile
For ever from me.
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Sire, you are confused;
I pray for exile.
Mark.
All men flee from me!
Why do you pray for exile?
Tristan.
You have fixed
At last suspicion on her.
Mark
(after a long, remorseful gaze on Iseult).
Tristan, Tristan,
The wrong that I have done you is but little—
The jest, the tragedy 'twixt man and man:
I have been jealous.
Tristan, take the charge
Of the Queen's chamber, be her constant guardian,
Among the courtiers be her constant courtier,
Win her again to pardon me. Remain!
For I indeed must pass to solitude;
I have done outrage to the common air,
And know not what the gods will do with me.
[Exit Mark.
[Iseult rises and turns with lightning-like rapidity to Melot.
Melot.
I watch no more.
But, Queen, be circumspect!
[Exit.
[As Iseult passes Tristan, her robe brushes against him: suddenly he catches her to his arms.
Iseult.
Oh, give me speech,
Beloved . . . at least your eyes! I cannot bear
The blackness of this ecstasy. Oh, let me
Look on you—still the russet hair, and all
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Grown wintry for Iseult. Where hast thou been,
These days, these nights
We have not been together?
Speak to me!
Have you been dying?
Tristan
(shudders).
With the shadows. Oh,
Speak not; I heard thee in the orchard speak.
Scan me not; in the orchard thou didst scan.
Give thyself to me!
Iseult
(she caresses him, puts her arm round him, and whispers).
Seven nights, beloved,
He promised us; the first we were betrayed;
The first will be to-night.
Tristan.
Then day be night!
Oh, how I suffer, when by day and night
For days and nights we are but to ourselves,
Not to each other; and the sun goes out
Sighing, and eve is as a farewell groan.
Give thyself to me now.
Iseult
(laying her head on Tristan's bosom).
Be merciful,
And comfort me. Was not my wit a lanthorn
Thrown on the shadows? And the dwarf . . . Beloved,
You must praise Melot, who so tenderly
Contracts us, who has promised us seven nights,
To-night the first.
Tristan.
I bid you trust not Melot. Brangaena—
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Ho!
Name not Brangaena; thou hast kissed her cheek;
She told me, and I slapped it.
Tristan.
For her service
I kissed her, for her great fidelity.
Iseult.
There is no more Brangaena! But this dwarf,
Who is no dwarf, Melot the sorcerer,
The something like a whisper in one's speech,
The smallness of a creature made so fine,
Of such gold-dust and deep-welled gems, the bulk
Cannot, with all the worlds to make, be large,
He serves me: I must kiss him on the cheek
For his fidelity.
Tristan.
O breaking smile!
Do anything you will.
Iseult.
I shall keep Melot.
Tristan.
To see you smile! Would we were simple lovers!
Could you but shine upon me, and, rejoiced,
The world take light about us, as when lovers
Are seen and watched and passed with kindness by.
Iseult, it is our curse,
We cannot live through the sweet daylight hours
With kisses, little moments of offence,
Misgivings and delights of wrangling love.
We cannot; therefore we must wipe away
The memory of those blinking moonlit trees,
The stalking-horse, the unreality.
Give me thyself, let me breathe warm again;
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Now in the noon, the sun at blaze on us,
The friendly sun. . . .
God's grace, another shadow!
[He points to the form of Marjodo thrown on a piece of linen veiling the window. Iseult points to his bow and fixes the arrow when the bow is brought. Tristan shoots, and the long arrow passes whistling through the Shadow's head.
Iseult
(looking forth).
Triumph! The slandering face is stiffened. Bring me,
Love, in a wallet, these marauding heads.
My hunter!
(Embracing him.)
Swift, give him swift burial.
Say, do I love thee fierce or in a dream?
[Tristan lets himself stealthily down from the window, watched by Iseult.
Scene V
Wild, marish country beyond the orchardMelot is laying the last spadefuls of earth on Marjodo's body
Tristan stands by with a torch
Melot.
Your lamentations will raise up the ghosts.
Tristan.
He has been faithful to his king; in duty
Confided his suspicions.
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If this fen
Were a wide burial for his kind, the earth
Would very soon give hint of paradise.
(Stamping more vigorously.)
Were the earth cleared of these,
The slandering, inventive, slippery tongues—
No need of other remedy—I tell you
(And the stars oft have dropped their dew on me),
That very soon, as in a toward spring,
A freshness would draw on across the earth:
There would be no more plague, but natural
Afflictions, sorrow; at last, balmy death.
Tristan.
I should be buried by his side.
Melot.
Sir Tristan,
Go to your lady's side; there is your place.
The grave is not for lovers.
Tristan
(going, but looking back at Melot).
Curse you, dwarf!
Where is your loyalty?
[Exit into the orchard.
Melot
(leaning on his spade and looking up).
I serve the stars.
| The Tragedy of Pardon | |