MELOT (to Mark). Now say to me, my sov'reign,
was my impeachment just?
I staked my head thereon:
How is the pledge redeemed?
Behold him in
the very act:
honor and fame,
faithfully I
have saved from shame for thee.
MARK (deeply moved, with trembling voice). Hast thou
preserved them?
Say'st thou so?-
See him there,
the truest of all true hearts!
Look on him
the faithfulest of friends, too
His offence
so black and base
fills my heart
with anguish and disgrace.
Tristan traitor,
what hope stayeth
that the honor
he betrayeth
should by Melot's rede
rest to me indeed?
TRISTAN (with convulsive violence). Daylight phantoms-
morning visions
empty and vain-
Avaunt! Begone!
MARK (in deep emotion). This-blow.
Tristan, to me?
Where now has truth fled,
if Tristan can betray?
Where now are faith
and friendship fair,
when from the fount of faith,
my Tristan, they are gone?
The buckler Tristan
once did don,
where is that shield
of virtue now?
when from my friends it flies,
and Tristan's honor dies?
(TRISTANslowly lowers his eyes to the ground. His features
express increasing grief while MARK continues.)
Why hast thou noble
service done,
and honor, fame
and potent might
amassed for Mark, thy king?
Must honor, fame,
power and might,
must all thy noble
service done
be paid with Mark's dishonor?
Seemed the reward
too slight and scant
that what thou hast won him-
realms and riches-
thou art the heir unto, all?
When childless he lost
once a wife,
he loved thee so
that ne'er again
did Mark desire to marry.
When all his subjects,
high and low,
demands and pray'rs,
on him did press
to choose himself a consort-
a queen to give the kingdom,
when thou thyself
thy uncle urged
that what the court
and country pleaded
well might be conceded,
opposing high and low,
opposing e'en thyself,
with kindly cunning
still he refused,
till, Tristan, thou didst threaten
forever to leave
both court and land
if thou receivedst
not command
a bride for the king to woo:
then so he let thee do.-
This wondrous lovely wife,
thy might for me did win,
who could behold her,
who address her,
who in pride
and bliss possess her,
but would bless his happy fortune?
She whom I have
paid respect to ever,
whom I owned,
yet possess'd her never
she, the princess
proud and peerless,
lighting up
my life so cheerless,
'spite foes,-without fear,
the fairest of brides
thou didst bring me here.
Why in hell must I bide,
without hope of a heaven?
Why endure disgrace
unhealed by tears or grief?
The unexplained,
unpenetrated
cause of all these woes,
who will to us disclose?
TRISTAN (raising his eyes pitifully towardsMARK ).
O monarch! I-
may not tell thee, truly;
what thou dost ask
(He turns toISOLDA, who looks tenderly up at him.)
Where Tristan now is going,
wilt thou, Isolda, follow?
The land that Tristan means
of sunlight has no gleams;
it is the dark
abode of night,
from whence I first
came forth to light,
and she who bore me
thence in anguish,
gave up her life,
nor long did languish.
She but looked on my face,
then sought this resting-place.
This land where Night doth reign,
where Tristan once hath lain-
now thither offers he
thy faithful guide to be.
So let Isolda
straight declare
if she will meet him there.
ISOLDA. When to a foreign land
before thou didst invite,
to thee, traitor,
resting true,
did Isolda follow.
Thy kingdom now art showing,
where surely we are going!
why should I shun that land
by which the world is spann'd?
For Tristan's house and home
Isold' will make her own.
The road whereby
we have to go
I pray thee quickly show!-
(TRISTANbends slowly over her and kisses her softly on the
forehead. MELOTstarts furiously forward.)
MELOT (drawing his sword). Thou villain! Ha!
Avenge thee, monarch!
Say, wilt suffer such scorn?
TRISTAN (drawing his sword and turning quickly
round)
Who's he will set his life against mine?
(casting a look at MELOT).
This was my friend;
he told me he loved me truly:
my fame and honor
he upheld more than all men.
With arrogance
he filled my heart,
and led on those
who prompted me
fame and pow'r to augment me
by wedding thee to our monarch.-
Thy glance, Isolda,
glamoured him thus;
and, jealous, my friend
played me false
to King Mark, whom I betrayed.-
(He sets onMELOT.)
Guard thee, Melot!
[AsMELOTpresents his swordTRISTANdrops his
own guard and sinks wounded into the arms ofKURVENAL. ISOLDA
throws herself upon his breast. MARKholdsMELOT
back. The curtain falls quickly.]
ACT III.
A Castle-Garden.
[At one side high castellated buildings, on the other a low
breastwork interrupted by a watch tower; at back the castle-gate. The
situation is supposed to be on rocky cliffs; through openings the
view extends over a wide sea horizon. The whole gives an impression
of being deserted by the owner, badly kept, and here and there
dilapidated and overgrown.]
SCENE I.
[In the foreground, in the garden, liesTRISTANsleeping
on a couch under the shade of a great lime-tree, stretched out as if
lifeless. At his head sitsKURVENAL, bending over him in grief
and anxiously listening to his breathing. From without comes the
mournful sound of a shepherd's pipe.
Presently the shepherd comes and looks in with interest, showing
&n
bsp; the upper half of his body over the wall.]
SHEPHERD. Kurvenal, ho!-
Say, Kurvenal,-
tell me, friend!
Does he still sleep?
KURVENAL (turning a little towards him and shaking his head
sadly). If he awoke
it would be
but for evermore to leave us,
unless we find
the lady-leech;
alone can she give help.-
See'st thou nought?
No ship yet on the sea?
SHEPHERD. Quite another ditty
then would I play
as merry as ever I may.
But tell me truly,
trusty friend,
why languishes our lord?
KURVENAL. Do not ask me;-
for I can give no answer.
Watch the sea,
if sails come in sight
a sprightly melody play.
SHEPHERD (turns round and scans the horizon, shading his eyes with
his hand).
Blank appears the sea!
(He puts the reed pipe to his mouth and withdraws, playing.)
TRISTAN (motionless-faintly).
The tune so well known-
why wake to that?
(opens his eyes and slightly turns his head).
Where am I?
KURVENAL (starting in joyous surprise).
Ha!-who is speaking?
It is his voice!-
Tristan! lov'd one!
My lord! my Tristan!
TRISTAN (with effort). Who-calls me?
KURVENAL. Life-at last-
O thanks be to heaven!-
sweetest life
unto my Tristan newly given!
TRISTAN (faintly). Kurvenal!-thou?
Where-was I?-
Where-am I?
KURVENAL. Where art thou?
In safety, tranquil and sure!
Kareol 'tis;
dost thou not know
thy fathers' halls?
TRISTAN. This my fathers'?
KURVENAL. Look but around.
TRISTAN. What awoke me?
KURVENAL. The herdsman's ditty
hast thou heard, doubtless;
he heedeth thy herds
above on the hills there.
TRISTAN. Have I herds, then?
KURVENAL. Sir, I say it!
Thine are court,
castle-all.
To thee yet true,
thy trusty folk,
as best they might,
have held thy home in guard:
the gift which once
thy goodness gave
to thy serfs and vassals here,
when going far away,
in foreign lands to dwell.
TRISTAN. What foreign land?
KURVENAL. Why! in Cornwall;
where cool and able,
all that was brilliant,
brave and noble,
Tristan, my lord, lightly took.
TRISTAN. Am I in Cornwall?
KURVENAL. No, no; in Kareol.
TRISTAN. How came I here?
KURVENAL. Hey now! how you came?
No horse hither you rode:
a vessel bore you across.
But on my shoulders
down to the ship
you had to ride: they are broad,
they carried you to the shore.
Now you are at home once more;
your own the land,
your native land;
all loved things now are near you,
unchanged the sun doth cheer you.
The wounds from which you languish
here all shall end their anguish.
(He presses himself toTRISTAN'S breast.)
TRISTAN. Think'st thou thus!
I know 'tis not so,
but this I cannot tell thee.
Where I awoke
ne'er I was,
but where I wandered
I can indeed not tell thee.
The sun I could not see,
nor country fair, nor people;
but what I saw
I can indeed not tell thee.
It was-
the land from which I once came
and whither I return:
the endless realm
of earthly night.
One thing only
there possessed me:
blank, unending,
all-oblivion.-
How faded all forebodings!
O wistful goadings!-
Thus I call
the thoughts that all
t'ward light of day have press'd me.
What only yet doth rest me,
the love-pains that possess'd me,
from blissful death's affright
now drive me toward the light,
which, deceitful, bright and golden,
round thee, Isolda, shines.
Accursed day
with cruel glow!
Must thou ever
wake my woe?
Must thy light
be burning ever,
e'en by night
our hearts to sever?
Ah, my fairest,
sweetest, rarest!
When wilt thou-
when, ah, when-
let the torchlight dwindle,
that so my bliss may kindle?
The light, how long it glows!
When will the house repose?
(His voice has grown fainter and he sinks back gently,
exhausted.)
KURVENAL (who has been deeply distressed, now quickly rousts
himself from his dejection).
I once defied,
through faith in thee,
the one for whom
now with thee I'm yearning.
Trust in my words,
thou soon shalt see her
face to face.
My tongue that comfort giveth,-
if on the earth still she liveth.
TRISTAN (very feebly). Yet burns the beacon's spark:
yet is the house not dark,
Isolda lives and wakes:
her voice through darkness breaks.
KURVENAL. Lives she still,
then let new hope delight thee.
If foolish and dull you hold me,
this day you must not scold me.
As dead lay'st thou
since the day
when that accursed Melot
so foully wounded thee.
Thy wound was heavy:
how to heal it?
Thy simple servant
there bethought
that she who once
closed Morold's wound
with ease the hurt could heal thee
that Melot's sword did deal thee.
I found the best
of leeches there,
to Cornwall have I
sent for her:
a trusty serf
sails o'er the sea,
bringing Isold' to thee.
TRISTAN (transported). Isolda comes!
Isolda nears! (He struggles for words.)
O friendship! high
and holy friendship!
(DrawsKURVENALto him and embraces him.)
O Kurvenal,
thou trusty heart,
my truest friend I rank thee!
Howe'er can Tristan thank thee?
My shelter and shield
in fight and strife;
in weal or woe
thou'rt mine for life.
Those whom I hate
thou hatest too;
those whom I love
thou lovest too.
When good King Mark
I followed of old,
thou wert to him truer than gold.
When I was false
to my noble friend,
to betray too thou didst descend.
Thou art selfless,
solely mine;
thou feel'st for me
when I suffer.
But-what I suffer,
thou canst not feel for me!
this terrible yearning in my heart,
this feverish burning's
cruel smart,-
did I but show it,
couldst thou but know it,
no time here wouldst thou tarry,
to watch from tow'r thou wouldst hurry;
with all devotion
viewing the ocean,
with eyes impatiently spying,
there, where her ship's sails are flying.
Before the wind she
drives to find me;
on the wings of love she neareth,-
Isolda hither steereth!-
she nears, she nears,
so boldly and fast!
It waves, it waves,
the flag from the mast!
Hurra! Hurra!
she reaches the bar!
Dost thou not see?
Kurvenal, dost thou not see?
(As KURNEVAL hesitates to leaveTRISTAN, who is
gazing at him in mute expectation, the mournful tune of the shepherd
is heard, as before.)
KURVENAL (dejectedly). Still is no ship in sight.
TRISTAN (has listened with waning excitement and now
recommences with growing melancholy).
Is this the meaning then,
thou old pathetic ditty,
of all thy sighing sound?-
On evening's breeze
it sadly rang
when, as a child,
my father's death-news chill'd me;
through morning's mist
it stole more sadly,
when the son
his mother's fate was taught,
when they who gave me breath
both felt the hand of death
to them came also
through their pain
the ancient ditty's
yearning strain,
which asked me once
and asks me now
which was the fate before me
to which my mother bore me?-
What was the fate?-
The strain so plaintive
now repeats it:-
for yearning-and dying!
(He falls back senseless.)
KURVENAL (who has been vainly striving to calmTRISTAN, cries
out in terror).
My master! Tristan!-