University of Virginia Library

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,
In state, while I have bent from clustered sapphires
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,
You should be gentle to me, for at whiles
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
A country of his own, and is it far?
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.

Brangaena.
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,
And never taking heed, how good to watch
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.

Melot.
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!—
You are a sorcerer—I ask not how,
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
A victim's part, for you are irreligious,
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!