University of Virginia Library

ACT V

Scene I

By a burial-mound in Parmenie
Tristan and the Sons of Rual
A Son of Rual.
Lord Tristan, it is yonder. There they lie,
Thy foster-father and thy foster-mother;
One for ten years alone, before he bedded
His dust in peace with hers he so had loved
That every night he prayed to lay him down
By her spent earth.

Tristan.
She was a silent light,
Gay in the shadow, that we men discovered
As strangely to our need.

A Son of Rual.
Dear liege, you loved her:
And as she died and lay in amplitude
Of passing with all unction to her God,
Her eyes went round our group dissatisfied,
And a babe's voice cried at her husky lips
For Tristan.

Tristan.
God allow she sees me weeping
Beside this solemn grass! The good are mighty;
They are the power of God within the world.
I kiss this mound . . . the ash-leaves drifting over
Fall rightlier than my kisses. Foster-brothers,
By Rual's grave I could cry out for bread,
I stand so beggared in my emptiness
Beside the rich, informing solitude
Where saints are buried.
Let us go! . . . Yet linger
One moment while the arc of sunset sinks
Down the great arc of the turfed sepulchre.
It is my chastisement to feel the blessing,
I cannot take, relentless in its passion
To find me what I was when young and loyal
I left the land.

[A cry from the Sons of Rual.
Sons of Rual.
Remain!
Father and mother, we have laid to rest,
But God hath sent thee back, and with one voice,
One heart, we pray thee bide in thy own land,
With thy own men.

Tristan.
Forgive! I still must wander;
My feet must hasten from this grassy turf
And little crackling grass-shells that I crush.
I cannot stay . . .
Forgive me!

A Son of Rual.
Wherefore seek
Continual, sad adventure?

Enter Kahedin
Tristan.
Who is this?
He has an English face, a cheerful health
Of beauty, the brave lad! . . . Much of my build
Before I reached Tintagel.

A Son of Rual.
Kindly greeting!

Kahedin.
Is not that man, long-limbed and tall and wasted,
The great Sir Tristan?

A Son of Rual.
Our liege lord, Sir Tristan.

Kahedin.
May I have speech with him?

Tristan.
He listens, boy.
As to himself, for he was scarce your age
When last he stood where you are standing now,
Your great lord Tristan.

Kahedin.
I am Kahedin,
The only son of the Duke Jovelin
Of Arundel, that lies on English sea-coast
With southern crouch. My father's enemies
Have power beyond his compass of defence:
His land is waste, his villages in ruin,
Or smoking from their wild-fires to the wind;
His thralls and beasts are driven in multitude
To alien fields. And I am come to pray thee,
The mightiest lord of war in all the islands,
To aid my father.

Tristan.
I will aid him, boy.

Kahedin.
I am a Knight.

Tristan.
Sir Kahedin, your hand.
Will you be mine in friendship?

Kahedin.
To my death.

Tristan
(turning to the Sons of Rual).
I need your aid—five hundred men at least
With store of food and forage. Muster swiftly—
We ride to-night.

Kahedin.
O miracle! My father
Will welcome us in five short days; Iseult
My sister come to meet you.

Tristan.
Has the duke
Your father but one daughter? And her name?
You said her name . . .

Kahedin.
Iseult.

Tristan.
And is she fair,
Iseult, your sister?

Kahedin.
Yea, my lord, a maiden
Of beauty very still, as for itself.
She has white hands. Iseult of the White Hands
We call her for their loveliness of white.

Tristan.
A winning grace, white hands! Come, you and I
Banquet together, ere they harness us.
(Turning back.)
Farewell, dear grave. We leave thee in thy dusk:
The stars will come—the evening star is come,
Farewell!

Scene II

Arundel: a corridor of the Castle; through the columns the great Hall is seen lit and full of guests, breaking from a dance. Couples pass out of the Hall down the corridor. It is near midnight.
Duke Jovelin is talking to an old friend and guest under a column
Jovelin.

Sir, I have a son, a son that is no longer
his own master. Kahedin has chosen him a lord;
my daughter has chosen her a lord: they have
chosen the same lord. But what matter! This
Sir Tristan is an enchanter.

The Guest.

That is what I fear—if there should be
infatuation, and our land ruined.

Jovelin.

Tut, tut! The land is not ruined that is
infatuated, the land is not in ruin that welcomes
happiness. We are a small people: a very great
warrior is come among us. There is no such
Roman Knight alive; he carries the banner of
the Empire to its triumph—he is come to rule,
and he shall rule us all. I am devoted to him as
his faithful servant, Kurvenal.

The Guest.

My lord, would you have us transfer
our allegiance to Sir Tristan?

Jovelin.
Ay, now that Sir Tristan is my son.
It is a happy marriage, a blest marriage—the
Smile of Heaven is upon it. Look there—
[He points through the moonlit corridor.
Look where our beeches slope across the land,
How pleasantly . . . Sir Tristan has established
Our Dukedom in such settlement, the bird
Broods o'er her nest, her patience unannulled;
The seasons have their flow and reckless summer
Dare gambol for a while. A happy marriage!
[He turns from the moonlight to the lamplit guest-room.

Now we shall all breathe free, and my old age
drop down in dreams to God.

[Tristan and Iseult of Arundel cross the Hall, hand in hand.

My dove is a rare dove . . . I drew them
together; the harp did much, but her father
more: I drew them together with the warm
guile of age.

[Kahedin and a lady pass out: they are followed by other couples seeking the fresh night. The old Guest is greeted and joins the procession.

So—they pass!

[A band of youths enters from the other end of the corridor.

But we must still give welcome; we must stand
at the portal and give welcome to the young.

Our welcome, welcome!

[The wedding-guests, saluting him, pass into the Hall. Tristan and Iseult of Arundel come out together.
O comfortable Vision!

[He passes them with a smile and a gesture of blessing, then goes within.
Tristan.
My little princess of the darting eyes,
So tender,
And small and dark, thine eyes are mine far closer
Than any jewel that I wear—their tears,
And their wet shining when I play the harp.

Iseult of Arundel.
Tristan, your harp—it is the dearest thing
To me in all the world.

Tristan.
You love my harp?

Iseult of Arundel.
It is my glory . . . Burthen of Iseult!
I have no music—
But I have wooed you to the brink of death
With sighs, with open, long-drawn sighs, with service
Too eager for the bidding of your thoughts.
I need no longer strive. En vous ma vie.

Tristan
(caressing her).
Mad, little echo, but you must not take
Such wild reverberation from the hills,
Of life or death: the bleating flocks, the call
And invocations of the shepherd-folk
Alone should stir these lips.

Iseult of Arundel.
‘O Love, Iseult’
I echo what you breathe me, you sweet Angel!

Tristan.
Beloved,
How sweet thou art!

Iseult of Arundel.
I love thee.

Tristan.
Ah, I wonder!
It is a wish I found among my thoughts.

Iseult of Arundel.
I loved thee all the while.

Tristan.
There is no hatred
In thy soft face, nor any pride with hate.
Thou must not change, Iseult.

Iseult of Arundel.
Tristan, ‘Iseult’
Is music on thy lips and to my ears
Excelling music. Perilous, sweet eyes . . .
How I have watched them in their wanderings
More than thou ever canst have knowledge of.
Look down, look down upon me.

Tristan.
Ah, most sweet.
Soon they will come to lead thee to thy bridal,
To pluck thee from me—and then give thee back
My own for ever.

[As he withdraws his arm, caressing her, a ring drops from his finger on the floor.
Iseult of Arundel.
Tristan, give it me!
I covet it; thou hast no other gem.
Tristan, a bridal gift.
Not on thy hand;
There it displeases me.

Tristan.
O Gentleness,
But thou art mine, and all my will to rule—
[Struggling to speak.
. . . Sweet wife,
If I may trust thee—
I must wear this ring
Through the ages, in my tomb.

Iseult.
Is it a vow?

Tristan
(staring at it, as he slowly turns it round his finger).
I had forgotten it . . . Now like a ghost
It haunts me with remembrance of a vow.
[The Matrons are seen gathering in the midst of the Hall, and receiving each a torch.
Thy Women
Come for thee . . .
[Kneeling to her.
Fairest, but the vow forbids
Our marriage-rites until a year be passed.
I give this secret to thee as the jewel
Of my own soul: I have no other gift.
[Iseult of Arundel swoons. Tristan supports her, and then lays her in the arms of the women, who have advanced with their torches.
Bear her away. Oh, comfort her!
[She is carried out by the Matrons.
Beside him,
She sits beside him; we are coupled now,
Chained, coupled each of us! I have been free,
Free to forget her, free! Iseult, Iseult!
Would I were in the tomb.

Kahedin
(returning).
A longing bridegroom.
Come, cheer! The revels fail.

Tristan.
I am struck to death.

Jovelin
(approaching).
They say the bride has swooned—
Nay, nay—her father
Is not too anxious.
I have set a measure
To check the laugh.

Tristan.
A measure—I will lead.

[Exeunt into the Hall, as the minstrels strike up the measure of a dance.

Scene III

A wild slope covered with brambles, under the walls of Arundel Castle
Tristan and Kahedin are walking together: suddenly Tristan sits down on the root of a beech-tree.
Tristan.
You strive,
And follow me about, and cannot open
This secret that is guilt: I know your trouble:
She that you love is wedded.

Kahedin.
She is mine,
As your Iseult is yours.

Tristan.
Yea, for all ages
Iseult is Tristan's. . . . I will keep you guarded
To night with naked sword.

Kahedin.
How prompt you are,
How merciful. . . . But, Tristan, think—the peril!
[Looking at him uneasily.
You are not going to your doom?

Tristan.
. . . So surely
Love crumbles all things, it must come to pass.

Kahedin.
You know this love? What must be told of it?

Tristan
(looking out over the country).
That it must come to pass,
And that it crumbles all things, even itself,
Even its own desires.

Kahedin.
Tristan, my brother!

Tristan
(rising quickly).
For this adventure.

[Kahedin perceives his sister straying among the clumps of covert.
Kahedin.
I have told her all.

[He goes out as Tristan advances towards Iseult of Arundel.
Tristan.
What are you doing?

Iseult of Arundel.
Gathering blackberries.

Tristan.
You shall not. They will stain your hands—white hands,
These whitest hands.

[He takes her hands, kisses and fondles them. She stops picking the berries.
Iseult of Arundel.
My lord, your will to me
Is sweeter than the taste of any fruit,
And it is all I have—your will, your pleasure.

Tristan.
Pleasure of mine!

Iseult of Arundel.
Were there compassion in you,
If you could feel—

Tristan.
What can I do for you,
Nor break my vow?

Iseult of Arundel.
Sing to me, as you sang, sing of Iseult.
[Tristan moves away, she follows.
For if I may not pluck the fruit,
And may not catch your music for my harp,
Nor open up my grief . . . a little help me!
Help me a little! Twenty times a day
You would pick up my missal, bind me flowers,
Put by a tress of my hair. Is that forbidden?
Then, on my knees, I supplicate, companion
My hours with something of your thought.

Tristan.
I journey . . .
And, listen, I adventure life and limb
To night that Kahedin, our best beloved,
Should rescue or embrace
The lady who so long has wasted for him,
Who now is wasting. Pray for Kahedin.

Iseult of Arundel
(with anger).
For you!

Tristan.
No, I am damned. Open your thoughts
To Kahedin. . . .
Take as your sister, if she needs a refuge,
The lady that he loves. Open your thoughts.
[Looking back at her defiantly.
Can you not pray—not with these cursed, white hands?

Iseult of Arundel.
My hands—I plunge them in the blackberries:
I will not stain them with a harlot's touch.

Tristan
(more defiantly—singing).
Is that the song, Iseult?

[Exit.

Scene IV

Arundel Castle. A passage by the door into Tristan's chamber
Iseult of Arundel, with a small dog, leans against the partition
Kurvenal enters
Iseult of Arundel.
No, Kurvenal!

Kurvenal.
But I am older than your tart refusals;
And my dear Master
So strangely sick, I will have access to him . . .
Wounded and venomed—sick to death! This stillness
Has nothing of the heaving up and down
In the air where there is breathing.

Iseult of Arundel
(listening).
There is breath;
Have patience, Kurvenal. My brother watches.

Kurvenal.
The lad he calls his brother! He forgets
To call me servant, and I am his servant;
But poets never keep the truth of names.
If you knew all!

[He moves away: she listens more intently.
Iseult of Arundel.
Tristan is speaking loud.
I have missed something, but . . .
Hush, Petit Cru! . . .
He speaks so loud and clear, I shall know all.
[She lays her head against the door for a long while.
The voices now are still, and Petit Cru
Is quiet at my feet. I cannot stir,
I cannot move . . .
I am as a dead bird that rocks and swings,
Nailed to its gibbet.
It were good to pass
Within the chamber . . .
[She shakes her head.
Petit Cru, the door
Will open, and thy master call for thee.
I will not suffer it: though he may call,
Thou shalt not be caressed of him again.
I am quite alone. All love him—
Kahedin—
I am a little thing to stand alone!

Scene V

A chamber at Tintagel. It is grown dark
Gradually Iseult is seen seated on one of two thrones upon a dais. She is looking out to sea. Sudden gleams from the low sunset strike in.
King Mark enters and sits beside her
Mark.
You keep your state,
Queen, to a wailing wind.

Iseult.
I had not missed you.
I keep my place perpetual by your throne
Enthroned. It is your pleasure.

Mark.
You look out?

Iseult.
Is that forbidden? If there be a sail
This winter time the sea-gull stretches it.

Mark.
Iseult!

Iseult.
I know
There is a feast to-night.

Mark.
The gallery
Will crowd with minstrels.

Iseult.
I would hear no music—
No harping more! . . .
The small brown-feathered birds,
Flecked, of flecked song—the siskin and the merle,
The intimate warm creatures of the wood
That peck at blossoms! . . . Hide your face from me!

Mark.
Why do you love the forest? Is it sweet—
Give me your hands and press mine as you speak—
Is it that there your heart was innocent?
You grip my hands. Ah, then I can forgive.

Iseult.
I never can forgive.

Mark
(with sudden passion).
Then hear my news—
Tristan is married. Do you smile, Iseult?
So those a battle smites will blanch and smile.
Tristan is married and at Arundel
Lives with his wife, Iseult of the White Hands—
Why do you lay yours forth upon your robe?—
In love and honour, for men say this woman
Is chaste and of great faithfulness.

Iseult.
Say more,
Tell all . . . not with your comment, with detail . . .
What feast was made for Tristan, what the wine,
And who was drunken; with what wreath of myrtle
Or flower or fruit his bride enlaced her hair;
What largesse was outpoured and how he kissed her
Before the people? You shall have my pardon
If you will give me regal entertainment,
And sting my interest in the tale you tell.
I have lived far from ballads, quite shut off
From any minstrel. I should love a story
Of Tristan and Iseult.
My hands are fresh,
And shine across the blood in them as shells.
More of the story!
[Falling back.
But it has no power;
Not in the rumour,
Not in the vision, for you cannot frame it
To haunt me even: it but flits along,
A thin and wasted fancy on your voice.
Ha, ha! You would provoke a little mirth,
A little laughter from me. Mark, remember,
While I am laughing, how as Tristan is
So is Iseult of Ireland, so King Mark—
Married as Tristan. We are married, Mark.
[He supports her head. After closing her eyes for a while, she uncloses them.
A dream! A dream!
Why should you tell me of your dreams? So Tristan
Has won a wife? Have you no other dream?

Mark.
Yea, verily I have another dream.
Tristan is married: you are desolate.
But I have loved you night and day and night
Again. Now you are fallen, still I love you,
I see you fair. Beloved,
If I might suck you up, even as the sea
Sucks up some crazy little bark that tears
Against its waves, to haven it below
In its unfathomed waters!

[Iseult slowly rises and disengages herself from Mark.
Iseult.
Peace! No more!
Let all the dreams be mine! Away!—No more!
[He leaves her with a heavy sigh.
That I might drink of death! Death has the secrets
That grow from the roots of sleep:
Would I might drink
Before the wedded woman, drink, and dash
The goblet at her feet. Iseult!—He dare not
Mellow the tempest of that name, with magic
Of his low voice, to her. Iseult! Iseult!
[Perceiving Brangaena at the doorway.
Ho, I am calling to myself, Brangaena;
My name is like some awful monument,
Some temple on the sands I cannot pass,
And yet it is no use to me. I can
But pray that it will crush me with its stones.
Iseult!
[She laughs again.
I often heard my mother tell
Of the immense, wide Afric gods, and wondered
If they had wrought the worlds . . .
But I forget!
Tristan is married.

Brangaena.
Yea.

Iseult.
Then Mark has blabbed?

Brangaena
(shaking her head).
I heard it on the shore.

Iseult.
News, news! A vessel
Over the waves under the walls? Brangaena,
Is Tristan married?

Brangaena.
There are merchant-men
Hid in the shingle-cave. They offer silks . . .
If presently
They may bring in their wares!
[Iseult motions they may enter.
It is a vessel—
Think but of that. If I have any craft
In secret it shall speed you to Sir Tristan.
O child, the sailing! You shall see his face.

[Exit.
Iseult.
It is a dream. I take it up again
With slumbering senses. Tristan—does he come?
Is he a merchant-man? Disguise, disguise!
Tristan once more. O Love, but straight and clear
Let him come to me—Tristan!
Re-enter Brangaena with Kahedin and others disguised as merchant-men
These are strangers.
Unroll your silks. It is an empty hour.
Unroll, display your trafficking.

[Sheets of silk, tinted in beautiful colours, are opened by two merchant-men and laid before her. Kahedin lifts up a goblet and shows Tristan's ring on his hand.
Kahedin.
Of Tours!

Iseult
(seizing his wrist).
You have a message.

Kahedin
(terror-struck).
Noble Queen, believe
We come here very humble, in distress,
With silks, with treasure, and with many riches.

Iseult.
You come here with my ring. Then he is dead,
Tristan is dead?
It is a goodly cup
You lifted in that glittering hand—of Tours,
You said, a cup of Tours. Is this the message?
And did he drink of it, your lord, Sir Tristan?
Has he bequeathed it to me? For I know,
I have known all the day that he is dead.

Kahedin.
Dying, great Queen, and dying for your love.

Iseult.
O merchant-man, you have a vulgar tongue!
Be dumb at least, give no interpretation.
If you are charged to yield the jewel up,
Lay it aside . . . and put with it the goblet,
These Spanish things, the silk. I will weigh down
Your vessel with their price: it is my message.
Brangaena, give him gold . . .
And for this wine
To crown the cup with.

Kahedin.
Lady you mistake.
I am no merchant; I am Kahedin,
And brother to Sir Tristan.

Iseult.
You would say
That you are brother to Sir Tristan's wife,
Iseult of the White Hands?

Kahedin.
I had forgotten
Sir Tristan has a wife, or I a sister
That may be called Iseult. You have the name,
You breathe it. O fair blondeness of the land,
My lord Sir Tristan is laid nigh to death:
But have compassion of his singing eyes,
That sing for you across the western sea.

Iseult.
What help is in the sea—so alien
It is, so bitter and so girding cold?
Has he forgotten—

Kahedin.
All that is not you.
Rejecting tendance, as the tide flows in,
Borne on a litter to the beach, he waits
For hours and counts the waves as they were hours,
And sees them ebb away, nor will he miss
In any wind the rushing of these waves
That rush from Cornwall.

Iseult.
Wherefore should he die?

Kahedin.
Lady, this is my grief. He perilled life
Guarding a tower wherein I met my love:
Her husband slew him with a poisoned arrow . . .
Except you heal him he will surely die.

Iseult.
Is this the message?

Kahedin.
Of the golden hours
He bade me to remind you, of your love,
Of his first sickness, of your mother's love,
And of a magic draught upon the sea:
Also he bade me to salute this maiden,
If she is named Brangaena.

Iseult.
All the magic,
All, all the spoiling of the magic rests
With this Brangaena.
Take the maid with you;
She knows my mother's simples, is a nurse,
And will recover you your lord.
O Boy,
Why do you stand there trembling at my feet?

Kahedin.
He said
Nothing that I have said—that was in sleep
Or wandering fever, with his eyes bent on me
Fading and darkening slowly as they faded:
That was in weakness—
[He goes to the table, takes the ring, kisses it, and repeats.
‘Greet her: all the greetings
I have I send to her. I keep back nothing
Of comfort to myself.’

Iseult
(settling the ring on her finger).
Brangaena, take
The brightest of the silks,
That one, the vermeil-gold.
This is your sail,
Sir Kahedin. We will unclose these eyes
Of your sheathed falcon—gallantly will steer
Into your port. Your ship shall burn like fire,
Like sunrise on the waves.

Kahedin.
My lord will live.

Iseult.
For I shall bear to him such joy, such tidings;
For we will take this cup,
And all the vintage back. The wine is strong
For dying lips—no matter!
[She laughs as she unrolls and lifts in her arms a sheet of the red-gold silk).
Hoist the sail!

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.