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The mainsail in!
Ho! heave ho! hey!"
ISOLDA.
Our journey has been swift.
Woe is me! Near to the land!
SCENE IV.
(KURVENAL _boisterously enters through the curtains_.)
KURVENAL.
Up, up, ye ladies!
Look alert!
Straight bestir you!
Loiter not,--here is the land!-- To dame Isolda says the servant of Tristan, our hero true:-- Behold our flag is flying!
it waveth landwards aloft: in Mark's ancestral castle may our approach be seen.
So, dame Isolda, he prays to hasten, for land straight to prepare her, that thither he may bear her.
ISOLDA (_who has at first cowered and shuddered on hearing the message, now speaks calmly and with dignity_). My greeting take unto your lord and tell him what I say now: Should he a.s.sist to land me and to King Mark would he hand me, unmeet and unseemly were his act, the while my pardon was not won for trespa.s.s black and base: So bid him seek my grace.
(KURVENAL _makes a gesture of defiance_.)
Now mark me well, This message take:-- Nought will I yet prepare me, that he to land may bear me; I will not by him be landed, nor unto King Mark be handed ere granting forgiveness and forgetfulness, which 'tis seemly he should seek:-- for all his trespa.s.s base I tender him my grace.
KURVENAL.
Be a.s.sured, I'll bear your words: we'll see what he will say!
(_He retires quickly_.)
SCENE V.
ISOLDA (_hurries to_ BRANGaeNA _and embraces her vehemently_).
Now farewell, Brangaena!
Greet ev'ry one, Greet my father and mother!
BRANGaeNA.
What now? what mean'st thou?
Wouldst thou flee?
And where must I then follow?
ISOLDA (_checking herself suddenly_).
Here I remain: heard you not?
Tristan will I await.-- I trust in thee to aid in this: prepare the true cup of peace: thou mindest how it is made.
BRANGaeNA.
What meanest thou?
ISOLDA (_taking a bottle from the coffer_).
This it is!
From the flask go pour this philtre out; yon golden goblet 'twill fill.
BRANGaeNA (_filled with terror receiving the flask_).
Trust I my wits?
ISOLDA.
Wilt thou be true?
BRANGaeNA.
The draught--for whom?
ISOLDA. Him who betrayed!
BRANGaeNA. Tristan?
ISOLDA. Truce he'll drink with me.
BRANGaeNA (_throwing herself at_ ISOLDA'S _feet_). O horror!
Pity thy handmaid!
ISOLDA. Pity thou me, false-hearted maid!
Mindest thou not my mother's arts?
Think you that she who'd mastered those would have sent thee o'er the sea without a.s.sistance for me?
A salve for sickness doth she offer and antidotes for deadly drugs: for deepest grief and woe supreme gave she the draught of death.
Let Death now give her thanks!
BRANGaeNA (_scarcely able to control herself_). O deepest grief!
ISOLDA. Now, wilt thou obey?
BRANGaeNA. O woe supreme!
ISOLDA. Wilt thou be true?
BRANGaeNA. The draught?
KURVENAL (_entering_). Sir Tristan!
(BRANGaeNA _rises, terrified and confused_. ISOLDA _strives with immense effort to control herself_.)
ISOLDA (_to Kurvenal_). Sir Tristan may approach!
SCENE VI.
[KURVENAL _retires again_. BRANGaeNA, _almost beside herself, turns up the stage_. ISOLDA, _mustering all her powers of resolution, walks slowly and with dignity towards the sofa, by the head of which she supports herself, turning her eyes firmly towards the entrance_]
(TRISTAN _enters, and pauses respectfully at the entrance_.)
