Tristan and Isolda. Рихард Вагнер

      SCENE III

      [ISOLDA and BRANGÆNA alone, the curtain being again completely closed. ISOLDA rises with a gesture of despair and wrath. BRANGÆNA falls at her feet.]

      BRANGÆNA. Ah! an answer

      so insulting!

      ISOLDA (checking herself on the brink of a fearful outburst).

      How now? of Tristan?

      I'd know if he denies me.

      BRANGÆNA. Ah! question not!

      ISOLDA. Quick, say without fear!

      BRANGÆNA. With courteous phrase

      he foiled my will.

      ISOLDA. But when you bade him hither?

      BRANGÆNA. When I had straightway

      bid him come,

      where'er he stood,

      he said to me,

      he truly served but thee,

      the pearl of womanhood;

      if he unheeded

      left the helm

      how could he pilot the ship

      in surety to King Mark?

      ISOLDA (bitterly).

      "How could he pilot the ship

      in surety to King Mark!"

      And wait on him with were-gild

      from Ireland's island won!

      BRANGÆNA.

      As I gave out the message

      and in thy very words,

      thus spoke his henchman Kurvenal—

      ISOLDA.

      Heard I not ev'ry sentence?

      it all has reached my ear.

      If thou hast learnt my disgrace

      now hear too whence it has grown.

      How scoffingly

      they sing about me!

      Quickly could I requite them!

      What of the boat

      so bare and frail,

      that floated by our shore?

      What of the broken

      stricken man,

      feebly extended there?

      Isolda's art

      he gladly owned;

      with herbs, simples

      and healing salves

      the wounds from which he suffered

      she nursed in skilful wise.

      Though "Tantris"

      The name that he took unto him,

      as "Tristan"

      anon Isolda knew him,

      when in the sick man's keen blade

      she perceived a notch had been made,

      wherein did fit

      a splinter broken

      in Morold's head,

      the mangled token

      sent home in hatred rare:

      this hand did find it there.

      I heard a voice

      from distance dim;

      with the sword in hand

      I came to him.

      Full well I willed to slay him,

      for Morold's death to pay him.

      But from his sick bed

      he looked up

      not at the sword,

      not at my arm—

      his eyes on mine were fastened,

      and his feebleness

      softened my heart:

      the sword—dropped from my fingers.

      Though Morold's steel had maimed him

      to health again I reclaimed him!

      when he hath homeward wended

      my emotion then might be ended.

      BRANGÆNA.

      O wondrous! Why could I not see this?

      The guest I sometime

      helped to nurse—?

      ISOLDA.

      His praise briskly they sing now:—

      "Bravo, our brave Tristan!"—

      he was that distressful man.

      A thousand protestations

      of truth and love he prated.

      Hear how a knight

      fealty knows!—

      When as Tantris

      unforbidden he'd left me,

      as Tristan

      boldly back he came,

      in stately ship

      from which in pride

      Ireland's heiress

      in marriage he asked

      for Mark, the Cornish monarch,

      his kinsman worn and old.

      In Morold's lifetime

      dared any have dreamed

      to offer us such an insult?

      For the tax-paying

      Cornish prince

      to presume to court Ireland's princess!

      Ah, woe is me!

      I it was

      who for myself

      did shape this shame!

      with death-dealing sword

      should I have stabbed him;

      weakly it escaped me:—

      now serfdom I have shaped me.

      Curse him, the villain!

      Curse on his head!

      Vengeance! Death!

      Death for me too!

      BRANGÆNA (throwing herself upon ISOLDA with impetuous tenderness).

      Isolda! lady!

      loved one! fairest!

      sweet perfection!

      mistress rarest!

      Hear me! come now,

      sit thee here.—

      (Gradually draws ISOLDA to the couch.)

      What a whim!

      what causeless railing!

      How came you so wrong-minded

      and by mere fancy blinded?

      Sir Tristan gives thee

      Cornwall's kingdom;

      then, were he erst thy debtor,

      how could he reward thee better?

      His noble uncle

      serves he so:

      think too what a gift

      on thee he'd bestow!

      With honor unequalled

      all he's heir to

      at thy feet he seeks to shower,

      to make thee