"Le Roman de Tristan et Iseut"
THE ROMANCE OF TRISTAN AND ISEULT
Translated by Hilaire
Belloc
Illustrations
by Mac Harshberger
PART THE FIRST
THE CHILDHOOD OF TRISTAN
My lords, if you would hear a high tale of love and of
death, here is that of Tristan and Queen Iseult; how to
their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each
other, and how at last they died of that love together upon
one day; she by him and he by her.
Long ago, when Mark was King over Cornwall, Rivalen, King
of Lyonesse, heard that Mark’s enemies waged war on him; so
he crossed the sea to bring him aid; and so faithfully did
he serve him with counsel and sword that Mark gave him his
sister Blanchefleur, whom King Rivalen loved most
marvellously.
He wedded her in Tintagel Minster, but hardly was she wed
when the news came to him that his old enemy Duke Morgan had
fallen on Lyonesse and was wasting town and field. Then
Rivalen manned his ships in haste, and took Blanchefleur
with him to his far land; but she was with child. He landed
below his castle of Kanoël and gave the Queen in ward to his
Marshal Rohalt, and after that set off to wage his war.
Blanchefleur waited for him continually, but he did not
come home, till she learnt upon a day that Duke Morgan had
killed him in foul ambush. She did not weep: she made no cry
or lamentation, but her limbs failed her and grew weak, and
her soul was filled with a strong desire to be rid of the
flesh, and though Rohalt tried to soothe her she would not
hear. Three days she awaited re-union with her lord, and on
the fourth she brought forth a son; and taking him in her
arms she said:
“Little son, I have longed a while to see you, and now I
see you the fairest thing ever a woman bore. In sadness came
I hither, in sadness did I bring forth, and in sadness has
your first feast day gone. And as by sadness you came into
the world, your name shall be called Tristan; that is the
child of sadness.”
After she had said these words she kissed him, and
immediately when she had kissed him she died.
Rohalt, the keeper of faith, took the child, but already
Duke Morgan’s men besieged the Castle of Kanoël all round
about. There is a wise saying: “Fool-hardy was never hardy,”
and he was compelled to yield to Duke Morgan at his mercy:
but for fear that Morgan might slay Rivalen’s heir the
Marshal hid him among his own sons.
When seven years were passed and the time had come to
take the child from the women, Rohalt put Tristan under a
good master, the Squire Gorvenal, and Gorvenal taught him in
a few years the arts that go with barony. He taught him the
use of lance and sword and ’scutcheon and bow, and how to
cast stone quoits and to leap wide dykes also: and he taught
him to hate every lie and felony and to keep his given word;
and he taught him the various kinds of song and
harp-playing, and the hunter’s craft; and when the child
rode among the young squires you would have said that he and
his horse and his armour were all one thing. To see him so
noble and so proud, broad in the shoulders, loyal, strong
and right, all men glorified Rohalt in such a son. But
Rohalt remembering Rivalen and Blanchefleur (of whose youth
and grace all this was a resurrection) loved him indeed as a
son, but in his heart revered him as his lord.
Now all his joy was snatched from him on a day when
certain merchants of Norway, having lured Tristan to their
ship, bore him off as a rich prize, though Tristan fought
hard, as a young wolf struggles, caught in a gin. But it is
a truth well proved, and every sailor knows it, that the sea
will hardly bear a felon ship, and gives no aid to rapine.
The sea rose and cast a dark storm round the ship and drove
it eight days and eight nights at random, till the mariners
caught through the mist a coast of awful cliffs and sea-ward
rocks whereon the sea would have ground their hull to
pieces: then they did penance, knowing that the anger of the
sea came of the lad, whom they had stolen in an evil hour,
and they vowed his deliverance and got ready a boat to put
him, if it might be, ashore: then the wind, and sea fell and
the sky shone, and as the Norway ship grew small in the
offing, a quiet tide cast Tristan and the boat upon a beach
of sand.
Painfully he climbed the cliff and saw, beyond, a lonely
rolling heath and a forest stretching out and endless. And
he wept, remembering Gorvenal, his father, and the land of
Lyonesse. Then the distant cry of a hunt, with horse and
hound, came suddenly and lifted his heart, and a tall stag
broke cover at the forest edge. The pack and the hunt
streamed after it with a tumult of cries and winding horns,
but just as the hounds were racing clustered at the haunch,
the quarry turned to bay at a stones throw from Tristan; a
huntsman gave him the thrust, while all around the hunt had
gathered and was winding the kill. But Tristan, seeing by
the gesture of the huntsman that he made to cut the neck of
the stag, cried out:
“My lord, what would you do? Is it fitting to cut up so
noble a beast like any farm-yard hog? Is that the custom of
this country?”
And the huntsman answered:
“Fair friend, what startles you? Why yes, first I take
off the head of a stag, and then I cut it into four quarters
and we carry it on our saddle bows to King Mark, our lord:
So do we, and so since the days of the first huntsmen have
done the Cornish men. If, however, you know of some nobler
custom, teach it us: take this knife and we will learn it
willingly.”
Then Tristan kneeled and skinned the stag before he cut
it up, and quartered it all in order leaving the crow-bone
all whole, as is meet, and putting aside at the end the
head, the haunch, the tongue and the great heart’s vein; and
the huntsmen and the kennel hinds stood over him with
delight, and the Master Huntsman said:
“Friend, these are good ways. In what land learnt you
them? Tell us your country and your name.”
“Good lord, my name is Tristan, and I learnt these ways
in my country of Lyonesse.”
“Tristan,” said the Master Huntsman, “God reward the
father that brought you up so nobly; doubtless he is a
baron, rich and strong.”
Now Tristan knew both speech and silence, and he
answered:
“No, lord; my father is a burgess. I left his home
unbeknownst upon a ship that trafficked to a far place, for
I wished to learn how men lived in foreign lands. But if you
will accept me of the hunt I will follow you gladly and
teach you other crafts of venery.”
“Fair Tristan, I marvel there should be a land where a
burgess’s son can know what a knight’s son knows not
elsewhere, but come with us since you will it; and welcome:
we will bring you to King Mark, our lord.”
Tristan completed his task; to the dogs he gave the
heart, the head, offal and ears; and he taught the hunt how
the skinning and the ordering should be done. Then he thrust
the pieces upon pikes and gave them to this huntsman and to
that to carry, to one the snout to another the haunch to
another the flank to another the chine; and he taught them
how to ride by twos in rank, according to the dignity of the
pieces each might bear.
So they took the road and spoke together, till they came
on a great castle and round it fields and orchards, and
living waters and fish ponds and plough lands, and many
ships were in its haven, for that castle stood above the
sea. It was well fenced against all assault or engines of
war, and its keep, which the giants had built long ago, was
compact of great stones, like a chess board of vert and
azure.
And when Tristan asked its name:
“Good liege,” they said, “we call it Tintagel.”
And Tristan cried:
“Tintagel! Blessed be thou of God, and blessed be they
that dwell within thee.”
(Therein, my lords, therein had Rivalen taken
Blanchefleur to wife, though their son knew it not.)
When they came before the keep the horns brought the
barons to the gates and King Mark himself. And when the
Master Huntsman had told him all the story, and King Mark
had marvelled at the good order of the cavalcade, and the
cutting of the stag, and the high art of venery in all, yet
most he wondered at the stranger boy, and still gazed at
him, troubled and wondering whence came his tenderness, and
his heart would answer him nothing; but, my lords, it was
blood that spoke, and the love he had long since borne his
sister Blanchefleur.
That evening, when the boards were cleared, a singer out
of Wales, a master, came forward among the barons in Hall
and sang a harper’s song, and as this harper touched the
strings of his harp, Tristan who sat at the King’s feet,
spoke thus to him:
“Oh master, that is the first of songs! The Bretons of
old wove it once to chant the loves of Graëlent. And the
melody is rare and rare are the words: master, your voice is
subtle: harp us that well.”
But when the Welshman had sung, he answered:
“Boy, what do you know of the craft of music? If the
burgesses of Lyonesse teach their sons harp—play also, and
rotes and viols too, rise, and take this harp and show your
skill.”
Then Tristan took the harp and sang so well that the
barons softened as they heard, and King Mark marvelled at
the harper from Lyonesse whither so long ago Rivalen had
taken Blanchefleur away.
When the song ended, the King was silent a long space,
but he said at last:
“Son, blessed be the master that taught thee, and blessed
be thou of God: for God loves good singers. Their voices and
the voice of the harp enter the souls of men and wake dear
memories and cause them to forget many a mourning and many a
sin. For our joy did you come to this roof, stay near us a
long time, friend.”
And Tristan answered:
“Very willingly will I serve you, sire, as your harper,
your huntsman and your liege.”
So did he, and for three years a mutual love grew up in
their hearts. By day Tristan followed King Mark at pleas and
in saddle; by night he slept in the royal room with the
councillors and the peers, and if the King was sad he would
harp to him to soothe his care. The barons also cherished
him, and (as you shall learn) Dinas of Lidan, the seneschal,
beyond all others. And more tenderly than the barons and
than Dinas the King loved him. But Tristan could not forget,
or Rohalt his father, or his master Gorvenal, or the land of
Lyonesse.
My lords, a teller that would please, should not stretch
his tale too long, and truly this tale is so various and so
high that it needs no straining. Then let me shortly tell
how Rohalt himself, after long wandering by sea and land,
came into Cornwall, and found Tristan, and showing the King
the carbuncle that once was Blanchefleur’s, said:
“King Mark, here is your nephew Tristan, son of your
sister Blanchefleur and of King Rivalen. Duke Morgan holds
his land most wrongfully; it is time such land came back to
its lord.”
And Tristan (in a word) when his uncle had armed him
knight, crossed the sea, and was hailed of his father’s
vassals, and killed Rivalen’s slayer and was re-seized of
his land.
Then remembering how King Mark could no longer live in
joy without him, he summoned his council and his barons and
said this:
“Lords of the Lyonesse, I have retaken this place and I
have avenged King Rivalen by the help of God and of you. But
two men Rohalt and King Mark of Cornwall nourished me, an
orphan, and a wandering boy. So should I call them also
fathers. Now a free man has two things thoroughly his own,
his body and his land. To Rohalt then, here, I will release
my land. Do you hold it, father, and your son shall hold it
after you. But my body I give up to King Mark. I will leave
this country, dear though it be, and in Cornwall I will
serve King Mark as my lord. Such is my judgment, but you, my
lords of Lyonesse, are my lieges, and owe me counsel; if
then, some one of you will counsel me another thing let him
rise and speak.”
But all the barons praised him, though they wept; and
taking with him Gorvenal only, Tristan set sail for King
Mark’s land.
THE MORHOLT OUT OF IRELAND
When Tristan came back to that land, King Mark and all
his Barony were mourning; for the King of Ireland had manned
a fleet to ravage Cornwall, should King Mark refuse, as he
had refused these fifteen years, to pay a tribute his
fathers had paid. Now that year this King had sent to
Tintagel, to carry his summons, a giant knight; the Morholt,
whose sister he had wed, and whom no man had yet been able
to overcome: so King Mark had summoned all the barons of his
land to Council, by letters sealed.
On the day assigned, when the barons were gathered in
hall, and when the King had taken his throne, the Morholt
said these things:
“King Mark, hear for the last time the summons of the
King of Ireland, my lord. He arraigns you to pay at last
that which you have owed so long, and because you have
refused it too long already he bids you give over to me this
day three hundred youths and three hundred maidens drawn by
lot from among the Cornish folk. But if so be that any would
prove by trial of combat that the King of Ireland receives
this tribute without right, I will take up his wager. Which
among you, my Cornish lords, will fight to redeem this
land?”
The barons glanced at each other but all were silent.
Then Tristan knelt at the feet of King Mark and said:
“Lord King, by your leave I will do battle.”
And in vain would King Mark have turned him from his
purpose, thinking, how could even valour save so young a
knight? But he threw down his gage to the Morholt, and the
Morholt took up the gage.
On the appointed day he had himself clad for a great feat
of arms in a hauberk and in a steel helm, and he entered a
boat and drew to the islet of St. Samson’s, where the
knights were to fight each to each alone. Now the Morholt
had hoisted to his mast a sail of rich purple, and coming
fast to land, he moored his boat on the shore. But Tristan
pushed off his own boat adrift with his feet, and said:
“One of us only will go hence alive. One boat will
serve.”
And each rousing the other to the fray they passed into
the isle.
No man saw the sharp combat; but thrice the salt
sea-breeze had wafted or seemed to waft a cry of fury to the
land, when at last towards the hour of noon the purple sail
showed far off; the Irish boat appeared from the island
shore, and there rose a clamour of “the Morholt!” When
suddenly, as the boat grew larger on the sight and topped a
wave, they saw that Tristan stood on the prow holding a
sword in his hand. He leapt ashore, and as the mothers
kissed the steel upon his feet he cried to the Morholt’s
men:
“My lords of Ireland, the Morholt fought well. See here,
my sword is broken and a splinter of it stands fast in his
head. Take you that steel, my lords; it is the tribute of
Cornwall.”
Then he went up to Tintagel and as he went the people he
had freed waved green boughs, and rich cloths were hung at
the windows. But when Tristan reached the castle with joy,
songs and joy-bells sounding about him, he drooped in the
arms of King Mark, for the blood ran from his wounds.
The Morholt’s men, they landed in Ireland quite cast
down. For when ever he came back into Whitehaven the Morholt
had been wont to take joy in the sight of his clan upon the
shore, of the Queen his sister, and of his niece Iseult the
Fair. Tenderly had they cherished him of old, and had he
taken some wound, they healed him, for they were skilled in
balms and potions. But now their magic was vain, for he lay
dead and the splinter of the foreign brand yet stood in his
skull till Iseult plucked it out and shut it in a chest.
From that day Iseult the Fair knew and hated the name of
Tristan of Lyonesse.
But over in Tintagel Tristan languished, for there
trickled a poisonous blood from his wound. The doctors found
that the Morholt had thrust into him a poisoned barb, and as
their potions and their theriac could never heal him they
left him in God’s hands. So hateful a stench came from his
wound that all his dearest friends fled him, all save King
Mark, Gorvenal and Dinas of Lidan. They always could stay
near his couch because their love overcame their abhorrence.
At last Tristan had himself carried into a boat apart on the
shore; and lying facing the sea he awaited death, for he
thought: “I must die; but it is good to see the sun and my
heart is still high. I would like to try the sea that brings
all chances. … I would have the sea bear me far off alone,
to what land no matter, so that it heal me of my wound.”
He begged so long that King Mark accepted his desire. He
bore him into a boat with neither sail nor oar, and Tristan
wished that his harp only should be placed beside him: for
sails he could not lift, nor oar ply, nor sword wield; and
as a seaman on some long voyage casts to the sea a beloved
companion dead, so Gorvenal pushed out to sea that boat
where his dear son lay; and the sea drew him away.
For seven days and seven nights the sea so drew him; at
times to charm his grief, he harped; and when at last the
sea brought him near a shore where fishermen had left their
port that night to fish far out, they heard as they rowed a
sweet and strong and living tune that ran above the sea, and
feathering their oars they listened immovable.
In the first whiteness of the dawn they saw the boat at
large: she went at random and nothing seemed to live in her
except the voice of the harp. But as they neared, the air
grew weaker and died; and when they hailed her Tristan’s
hands had fallen lifeless on the strings though they still
trembled. The fishermen took him in and bore him back to
port, to their lady who was merciful and perhaps would heal
him.
It was that same port of Whitehaven where the Morholt
lay, and their lady was Iseult the Fair.
She alone, being skilled in philtres, could save Tristan,
but she alone wished him dead. When Tristan knew himself
again (for her art restored him) he knew himself to be in
the land of peril. But he was yet strong to hold his own and
found good crafty words. He told a tale of how he was a seer
that had taken passage on a merchant ship and sailed to
Spain to learn the art of reading all the stars,—of how
pirates had boarded the ship and of how, though wounded, he
had fled into that boat. He was believed, nor did any of the
Morholt’s men know his face again, so hardly had the poison
used it. But when, after forty days, Iseult of the Golden
Hair had all but healed him, when already his limbs had
recovered and the grace of youth returned, he knew that he
must escape, and he fled and after many dangers he came
again before Mark the King.
THE QUEST OF THE LADY WITH THE HAIR OF GOLD
My lords, there were in the court of King Mark four
barons the basest of men, who hated Tristan with a hard
hate, for his greatness and for the tender love the King
bore him. And well I know their names: Andret, Guenelon,
Gondoïne and Denoalen. They knew that the King had intent to
grow old childless and to leave his land to Tristan; and
their envy swelled and by lies they angered the chief men of
Cornwall against Tristan. They said:
“There have been too many marvels in this man’s life. It
was marvel enough that he beat the Morholt, but by what
sorcery did he try the sea alone at the point of death, or
which of us, my lords, could voyage without mast or sail?
They say that warlocks can. It was sure a warlock feat, and
that is a warlock harp of his pours poison daily into the
King’s heart. See how he has bent that heart by power and
chain of sorcery! He will be king yet, my lords, and you
will hold your lands of a wizard.”
They brought over the greater part of the barons and
these pressed King Mark to take to wife some king’s daughter
who should give him an heir, or else they threatened to
return each man into his keep and wage him war. But the King
turned against them and swore in his heart that so long as
his dear nephew lived no king’s daughter should come to his
bed. Then in his turn did Tristan (in his shame to be
thought to serve for hire) threaten that if the King did not
yield to his barons, he would himself go over sea serve some
great king. At this, King Mark made a term with his barons
and gave them forty days to hear his decision.
On the appointed day he waited alone in his chamber and
sadly mused: “Where shall I find a king’s daughter so fair
and yet so distant that I may feign to wish her my wife?”
Just then by his window that looked upon the sea two
building swallows came in quarrelling together. Then,
startled, they flew out, but had let fall from their beaks a
woman’s hair, long and fine, and shining like a beam of
light.
King Mark took it, and called his barons and Tristan and
said:
“To please you, lords, I will take a wife; but you must
seek her whom I have chosen.”
“Fair lord, we wish it all,” they said, “and who may she
be?”
“Why,” said he, “she whose hair this is; nor will I take
another.”
“And whence, lord King, comes this Hair of Gold; who
brought it and from what land?”
“It comes, my lords, from the Lady with the Hair of Gold,
the swallows brought it me. They know from what country it
came.”
Then the barons saw themselves mocked and cheated, and
they turned with sneers to Tristan, for they thought him to
have counselled the trick. But Tristan, when he had looked
on the Hair of Gold, remembered Iseult the Fair and smiled
and said this:
“King Mark, can you not see that the doubts of these
lords shame me? You have designed in vain. I will go seek
the Lady with the Hair of Gold. The search is perilous:
never the less, my uncle, I would once more put my body and
my life into peril for you; and that your barons may know I
love you loyally, I take this oath, to die on the adventure
or to bring back to this castle of Tintagel the Queen with
that fair hair.”
He fitted out a great ship and loaded it with corn and
wine, with honey and all manner of good things; he manned it
with Gorvenal and a hundred young knights of high birth,
chosen among the bravest, and he clothed them in coats of
home-spun and in hair cloth so that they seemed merchants
only: but under the deck he hid rich cloth of gold and
scarlet as for a great king’s messengers.
When the ship had taken the sea the helmsman asked him:
“Lord, to what land shall I steer?”
“Sir,” said he, “steer for Ireland, straight for
Whitehaven harbour.”
At first Tristan made believe to the men of Whitehaven
that his friends were merchants of England come peacefully
to barter; but as these strange merchants passed the day in
the useless games of draughts and chess, and seemed to know
dice better than the bargain price of corn, Tristan feared
discovery and knew not how to pursue his quest.
Now it chanced once upon the break of day that he heard a
cry so terrible that one would have called it a demon’s cry;
nor had he ever heard a brute bellow in such wise, so awful
and strange it seemed. He called a woman who passed by the
harbour, and said:
“Tell me, lady, whence comes that voice I have heard, and
hide me nothing.”
“My lord,” said she, “I will tell you truly. It is the
roar of a dragon the most terrible and dauntless upon earth.
Daily it leaves its den and stands at one of the gates of
the city: Nor can any come out or go in till a maiden has
been given up to it; and when it has her in its claws it
devours her.”
“Lady,” said Tristan, “make no mock of me, but tell me
straight: Can a man born of woman kill this thing?”
“Fair sir, and gentle,” she said, “I cannot say; but this
is sure: Twenty knights and tried have run the venture,
because the King of Ireland has published it that he will
give his daughter, Iseult the Fair, to whomsoever shall kill
the beast; but it has devoured them all.”
Tristan left the woman and returning to his ship armed
himself in secret, and it was a fine sight to see so noble a
charger and so good a knight come out from such a
merchant-hull: but the haven was empty of folk, for the dawn
had barely broken and none saw him as he rode to the gate.
And hardly had he passed it, when he met suddenly five men
at full gallop flying towards the town. Tristan seized one
by his hair, as he passed, and dragged him over his mount’s
crupper and held him fast:
“God save you, my lord,” said he, “and whence does the
dragon come?” And when the other had shown him by what road,
he let him go.
As the monster neared, he showed the head of a bear and
red eyes like coals of fire and hairy tufted ears; lion’s
claws, a serpent’s tail, and a griffin’s body.
Tristan charged his horse at him so strongly that, though
the beast’s mane stood with fright yet he drove at the
dragon: his lance struck its scales and shivered. Then
Tristan drew his sword and struck at the dragon’s head, but
he did not so much as cut the hide. The beast felt the blow:
with its claws he dragged at the shield and broke it from
the arm; then, his breast unshielded, Tristan used the sword
again and struck so strongly that the air rang all round
about: but in vain, for he could not wound and meanwhile the
dragon vomited from his nostrils two streams of loath-some
flames, and Tristan’s helm blackened like a cinder and his
horse stumbled and fell down and died; but Tristan standing
on his feet thrust his sword right into the beast’s jaws,
and split its heart in two.
Then he cut out the tongue and put it into his hose, but
as the poison came against his flesh the hero fainted and
fell in the high grass that bordered the marsh around.
Now the man he had stopped in flight was the Seneschal of
Ireland and he desired Iseult the Fair: and though he was a
coward, he had dared so far as to return with his companions
secretly, and he found the dragon dead; so he cut off its
head and bore it to the King, and claimed the great reward.
The King could credit his prowess but hardly, yet wished
justice done and summoned his vassals to court, so that
there, before the Barony assembled, the seneschal should
furnish proof of his victory won.
When Iseult the Fair heard that she was to be given to
this coward first she laughed long, and then she wailed. But
on the morrow, doubting some trick, she took with her
Perinis her squire and Brangien her maid, and all three rode
unbeknownst towards the dragon’s lair: and Iseult saw such a
trail on the road as made her wonder—for the hoofs that made
it had never been shod in her land. Then she came on the
dragon, headless, and a dead horse beside him: nor was the
horse harnessed in the fashion of Ireland. Some foreign man
had slain the beast, but they knew not whether he still
lived or no.
They sought him long, Iseult and Perinis and Brangien
together, till at last Brangien saw the helm glittering in
the marshy grass: and Tristan still breathed. Perinis put
him on his horse and bore him secretly to the women’s rooms.
There Iseult told her mother the tale and left the hero with
her, and as the Queen unharnessed him, the dragon’s tongue
fell from his boot of steel. Then, the Queen of Ireland
revived him by the virtue of an herb and said:
“Stranger, I know you for the true slayer of the dragon:
but our seneschal, a felon, cut off its head and claims my
daughter Iseult for his wage; will you be ready two days
hence to give him the lie in battle?”
“Queen,” said he, “the time is short, but you, I think,
can cure me in two days. Upon the dragon I conquered Iseult,
and on the seneschal perhaps I shall reconquer her.”
Then the Queen brewed him strong brews, and on the morrow
Iseult the Fair got him ready a bath and anointed him with a
balm her mother had conjured, and as he looked at her he
thought, “So I have found the Queen of the Hair of Gold,”
and he smiled as he thought it. But Iseult, noting it,
thought, “Why does he smile, or what have I neglected of the
things due to a guest? He smiles to think I have for— gotten
to burnish his armour.”
She went and drew the sword from its rich sheath, but
when she saw the splinter gone and the gap in the edge she
thought of the Morholt’s head. She balanced a moment in
doubt, then she went to where she kept the steel she had
found in the skull and she put it to the sword, and it
fitted so that the join was hardly seen.
She ran to where Tristan lay wounded, and with the sword
above him she cried:
“You are that Tristan of the Lyonesse, who killed the
Morholt, my mother’s brother, and now you shall die in your
turn.”
Tristan strained to ward the blow, but he was too weak;
his wit, however, stood firm in spite of evil and he said:
“So be it, let me die: but to save yourself long
memories, listen awhile. King’s daughter, my life is not
only in your power but is yours of right. My life is yours
because you have twice returned it me. Once, long ago: for I
was the wounded harper whom you healed of the poison of the
Morholt’s shaft. Nor repent the healing: were not these
wounds had in fair fight? Did I kill the Morholt by treason?
Had he not defied me and was I not held to the defence of my
body? And now this second time also you have saved me. It
was for you I fought the beast.
“But let us leave these things. I would but show you how
my life is your own. Then if you kill me of right for the
glory of it, you may ponder for long years, praising
yourself that you killed a wounded guest who had wagered his
life in your gaining.”
Iseult replied: “I hear strange words. Why should he that
killed the Morholt seek me also, his niece? Doubtless
because the Morholt came for a tribute of maidens from
Cornwall, so you came to boast returning that you had
brought back the maiden who was nearest to him, to Cornwall,
a slave.”
“King’s daughter,” said Tristan, “No. … One day two
swallows flew, and flew to Tintagel and bore one hair out of
all your hairs of gold, and I thought they brought me good
will and peace, so I came to find you over-seas. See here,
amid the threads of gold upon my coat your hair is sown: the
threads are tarnished, but your bright hair still shines.”
Iseult put down the sword and taking up the Coat of Arms
she saw upon it the Hair of Gold and was silent a long
space, till she kissed him on the lips to prove peace, and
she put rich garments over him.
On the day of the barons’ assembly, Tristan sent Perinis
privily to his ship to summon his companions that they
should come to court adorned as befitted the envoys of a
great king.
One by one the hundred knights passed into the hall where
all the barons of Ireland stood, they entered in silence and
sat all in rank together: on their scarlet and purple the
gems gleamed.
When the King had taken his throne, the seneschal arose
to prove by witness and by arms that he had slain the dragon
and that so Iseult was won. Then Iseult bowed to her father
and said:
“King, I have here a man who challenges your seneschal
for lies and felony. Promise that you will pardon this man
all his past deeds, who stands to prove that he and none
other slew the dragon, and grant him forgiveness and your
peace.”
The King said, “I grant it.” But Iseult said, “Father,
first give me the kiss of peace and forgiveness, as a sign
that you will give him the same.”
Then she found Tristan and led him before the Barony. And
as he came the hundred knights rose all together, and
crossed their arms upon their breasts and bowed, so the
Irish knew that he was their lord.
But among the Irish many knew him again and cried,
“Tristan of Lyonesse that slew the Morholt!” They drew their
swords and clamoured for death. But Iseult cried: “King,
kiss this man upon the lips as your oath was,” and the King
kissed him, and the clamour fell.
Then Tristan showed the dragon’s tongue and offered the
seneschal battle, but the seneschal looked at his face and
dared not.
Then Tristan said:
“My lords, you have said it, and it is truth: I killed
the Morholt. But I crossed the sea to offer you a good
blood-fine, to ransom that deed and get me quit of it.
“I put my body in peril of death and rid you of the beast
and have so conquered Iseult the Fair, and having conquered
her I will bear her away on my ship.
“But that these lands of Cornwall and Ireland may know no
more hatred, but love only, learn that King Mark, my lord,
will marry her. Here stand a hundred knights of high name,
who all will swear with an oath upon the relics of the holy
saints, that King Mark sends you by their embassy offer of
peace and of brotherhood and goodwill; and that he would by
your courtesy hold Iseult as his honoured wife, and that he
would have all the men of Cornwall serve her as their
Queen.”
When the lords of Ireland heard this they acclaimed it,
and the King also was content.
Then, since that treaty and alliance was to be made, the
King her father took Iseult by the hand and asked of Tristan
that he should take an oath; to wit that he would lead her
loyally to his lord, and Tristan took that oath and swore it
before the knights and the Barony of Ireland assembled. Then
the King put Iseult’s right hand into Tristan’s right hand,
and Tristan held it for a space in token of seizin for the
King of Cornwall.
So, for the love of King Mark, did Tristan conquer the
Queen of the Hair of Gold.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Brewing the Love Potion"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier.
THE PHILTRE
When the day of Iseult’s livery to the Lords of Cornwall
drew near, her mother gathered herbs and flowers and roots
and steeped them in wine, and brewed a potion of might, and
having done so, said apart to Brangien:
“Child, it is yours to go with Iseult to King Mark’s
country, for you love her with a faithful love. Take then
this pitcher and remember well my words. Hide it so that no
eye shall see nor no lip go near it: but when the wedding
night has come and that moment in which the wedded are left
alone, pour this essenced wine into a cup and offer it to
King Mark and to Iseult his queen. Oh! Take all care, my
child, that they alone shall taste this brew. For this is
its power: they who drink of it together love each other
with their every single sense and with their every thought,
forever, in life and in death.”
And Brangien promised the Queen that she would do her
bidding.
On the bark that bore her to Tintagel Iseult the Fair was
weeping as she remembered her own land, and mourning swelled
her heart, and she said, “Who am I that I should leave you
to follow unknown men, my mother and my land? Accursed be
the sea that bears me, for rather would I lie dead on the
earth where I was born than live out there, beyond. …
One day when the wind had fallen and the sails hung slack
Tristan dropped anchor by an Island and the hundred knights
of Cornwall and the sailors, weary of the sea, landed all.
Iseult alone remained aboard and a little serving maid, when
Tristan came near the Queen to calm her sorrow. The sun was
hot above them and they were athirst and, as they called,
the little maid looked about for drink for them and found
that pitcher which the mother of Iseult had given into
Brangien’s keeping. And when she came on it, the child
cried, “I have found you wine!” Now she had found not wine —
but Passion and Joy most sharp, and Anguish without end, and
Death.
The Queen drank deep of that draught and gave it to
Tristan and he drank also long and emptied it all.
Brangien came in upon them; she saw them gazing at each
other in silence as though ravished and apart; she saw
before them the pitcher standing there; she snatched it up
and cast it into the shuddering sea and cried aloud: “Cursed
be the day I was born and cursed the day that first I trod
this deck. Iseult, my friend, and Tristan, you, you have
drunk death together.”
And once more the bark ran free for Tintagel. But it
seemed to Tristan as though an ardent briar, sharp-thorned
but with flower most sweet smelling, drave roots into his
blood and laced the lovely body of Iseult all round about it
and bound it to his own and to his every thought and desire.
And he thought, “Felons, that charged me with coveting King
Mark’s land, I have come lower by far, for it is not his
land I covet. Fair uncle, who loved me orphaned ere ever you
knew in me the blood of your sister Blanchefleur, you that
wept as you bore me to that boat alone, why did you not
drive out the boy that was to betray you? Ah! What thought
was that! Iseult is yours and I am but your vassal; Iseult
is yours and I am your son; Iseult is yours and may not love
me.”
But Iseult loved him, though she would have hated. She
could not hate, for a tenderness more sharp than hatred tore
her.
And Brangien watched them in anguish, suffering more
cruelly because she alone knew the depth of evil done.
Two days she watched them, seeing them refuse all food or
comfort and seeking each other as blind men seek, wretched
apart and together more wretched still, for then they
trembled each for the first avowal.
On the third day, as Tristan neared the tent on deck
where Iseult sat, she saw him coming and she said to him,
very humbly, “Come in, my lord.”
“Queen,” said Tristan, “why do you call me lord? Am I not
your liege and vassal, to revere and serve and cherish you
as my lady and Queen?”
But Iseult answered, “No, you know that you are my lord
and my master, and I your slave. Ah, why did I not sharpen
those wounds of the wounded singer, or let die that
dragon-slayer in the grasses of the marsh? But then I did
not know what now I know!”
“And what is it that you know, Iseult?”
She laid her arm upon Tristan’s shoulder, the light of
her eyes was drowned and her lips trembled.
“The love of you,” she said. Whereat he put his lips to
hers.
But as they thus tasted their first joy, Brangien, that
watched them, stretched her arms and cried at their feet in
tears:
“Stay and return if still you can … But oh! that path has
no returning. For already Love and his strength drag you on
and now henceforth forever never shall you know joy without
pain again. The wine possesses you, the draught your mother
gave me, the draught the King alone should have drunk with
you: but that old Enemy has tricked us, all us three; friend
Tristan, Iseult my friend, for that bad ward I kept take
here my body and my life, for through me and in that cup you
have drunk not love alone, but love and death together.”
The lovers held each other; life and desire trembled
through their youth, and Tristan said, “Well then, come
Death.”
And as evening fell, upon the bark that heeled and ran to
King Mark’s land, they gave themselves up utterly to love.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"The Dwarf Pouring Flour" from: Tristan and Iseult by
Joseph Bedier.
THE TALL PINE-TREE
As King Mark came down to greet Iseult upon the shore,
Tristan took her hand and led her to the King and the King
took seizin of her, taking her hand. He led her in great
pomp to his castle of Tintagel, and as she came in hall amid
the vassals her beauty shone so that the walls were lit as
they are lit at dawn. Then King Mark blessed those swallows
which, by happy courtesy, had brought the Hair of Gold, and
Tristan also he blessed, and the hundred knights who, on
that adventurous bark, had gone to find him joy of heart and
of eyes; yet to him also that ship was to bring sting,
torment and mourning.
And on the eighteenth day, having called his Barony
together he took Iseult to wife. But on the wedding night,
to save her friend, Brangien took her place in the darkness,
for her remorse demanded even this from her; nor was the
trick discovered.
Then Iseult lived as a queen, but lived in sadness. She
had King Mark’s tenderness and the barons’ honour; the
people also loved her; she passed her days amid the frescoes
on the walls and floors all strewn with flowers; good jewels
had she and purple cloth and tapestry of Hungary and
Thessaly too, and songs of harpers, and curtains upon which
were worked leopards and eagles and popinjays and all the
beasts of sea and field. And her love too she had, love high
and splendid, for as is the custom among great lords,
Tristan could ever be near her. At his leisure and his
dalliance, night and day: for he slept in the King’s chamber
as great lords do, among the lieges and the councillors. Yet
still she feared; for though her love were secret and
Tristan unsuspected (for who suspects a son?) Brangien knew.
And Brangien seemed in the Queen’s mind like a witness
spying; for Brangien alone knew what manner of life she led,
and held her at mercy so. And the Queen thought Ah, if some
day she should weary of serving as a slave the bed where
once she passed for Queen … If Tristan should die from her
betrayal! So fear maddened the Queen, but not in truth the
fear of Brangien who was loyal; her own heart bred the fear.
Not Brangien who was faithful, not Brangien, but
themselves had these lovers to fear, for hearts so stricken
will lose their vigilance. Love pressed them hard, as thirst
presses the dying stag to the stream; love dropped upon them
from high heaven, as a hawk slipped after long hunger falls
right upon the bird. And love will not be hidden. Brangien
indeed by her prudence saved them well, nor ever were the
Queen and her lover unguarded. But in every hour and place
every man could see Love terrible, that rode them, and could
see in these lovers their every sense overflowing like new
wine working in the vat.
The four felons at court who had hated Tristan of old for
his prowess, watched the Queen; they had guessed that great
love, and they burnt with envy and hatred and now a kind of
evil joy. They planned to give news of their watching to the
King, to see his tenderness turned to fury, Tristan thrust
out or slain, and the Queen in torment; for though they
feared Tristan their hatred mastered their fear; and, on a
day, the four barons called King Mark to parley, and Andret
said:
“Fair King, your heart will be troubled and we four also
mourn; yet are we bound to tell you what we know. You have
placed your trust in Tristan and Tristan would shame you. In
vain we warned you. For the love of one man you have mocked
ties of blood and all your Barony. Learn then that Tristan
loves the Queen; it is truth proved and many a word is
passing on it now.”
The royal King shrank and answered:
“Coward! What thought was that? Indeed I have placed my
trust in Tristan. And rightly, for on the day when the
Morholt offered combat to you all, you hung your heads and
were dumb, and you trembled before him; but Tristan dared
him for the honour of this land, and took mortal wounds.
Therefore do you hate him, and therefore do I cherish him
beyond thee, Andret, and beyond any other; but what then
have you seen or heard or known?”
“Naught, lord, save what your eyes could see or your ears
hear. Look you and listen, Sire, if there is yet time.”
And they left him to taste the poison.
Then King Mark watched the Queen and Tristan; but
Brangien noting it warned them both and the King watched in
vain, so that, soon wearying of an ignoble task, but knowing
(alas!) that he could not kill his uneasy thought, he sent
for Tristan and said:
“Tristan, leave this castle; and having left it, remain
apart and do not think to return to it, and do not repass
its moat or boundaries. Felons have charged you with an
awful treason, but ask me nothing; I could not speak their
words without shame to us both, and for your part seek you
no word to appease. I have not believed them … had I done so
… But their evil words have troubled all my soul and only by
your absence can my disquiet be soothed. Go, doubtless I
will soon recall you. Go, my son, you are still dear to me.
When the felons heard the news they said among
themselves, “He is gone, the wizard; he is driven out.
Surely he will cross the sea on far adventures to carry his
traitor service to some distant King.”
But Tristan had not strength to depart altogether; and
when he had crossed the moats and boundaries of the Castle
he knew he could go no further. He stayed in Tintagel town
and lodged with Gorvenal in a burgess’ house, and languished
oh! more wounded than when in that past day the shaft of the
Morholt had tainted his body.
In the close towers Iseult the Fair drooped also, but
more wretched still. For it was hers all day long to feign
laughter and all night long to conquer fever and despair.
And all night as she lay by King Mark’s side, fever still
kept her waking, and she stared at darkness. She longed to
fly to Tristan and she dreamt dreams of running to the gates
and of finding there sharp scythes, traps of the felons,
that cut her tender knees; and she dreamt of weakness and
falling, and that her wounds had left her blood upon the
ground. Now these lovers would have died, but Brangien
succoured them. At peril of her life she found the house
where Tristan lay. There Gorvenal opened to her very gladly,
knowing what salvation she could bring.
So she found Tristan, and to save the lovers she taught
him a device, nor was ever known a more subtle ruse of love.
Behind the castle of Tintagel was an orchard fenced
around and wide and all closed in with stout and pointed
stakes and numberless trees were there and fruit on them,
birds and clusters of sweet grapes. And furthest from the
castle, by the stakes of the pallisade, was a tall
pine-tree, straight and with heavy branches spreading from
its trunk. At its root a living spring welled calm into a
marble round, then ran between two borders winding,
throughout the orchard and so, on, till it flowed at last
within the castle and through the women’s rooms.
And every evening, by Brangien’s counsel, Tristan cut him
twigs and bark, leapt the sharp stakes and, having come
beneath the pine, threw them into the clear spring; they
floated light as foam down the stream to the women’s rooms;
and Iseult watched for their coming, and on those evenings
she would wander out into the orchard and find her friend.
Lithe and in fear would she come, watching at every step for
what might lurk in the trees observing, foes or the felons
whom she knew, till she spied Tristan; and the night and the
branches of the pine protected them.
And so she said one night: “Oh, Tristan, I have heard
that the castle is faëry and that twice a year it vanishes
away. So is it vanished now and this is that enchanted
orchard of which the harpers sing.” And as she said it, the
sentinels bugled dawn.
Iseult had refound her joy. Mark’s thought of ill-ease
grew faint; but the felons felt or knew which way lay truth,
and they guessed that Tristan had met the Queen. Till at
last Duke Andret (whom God shame) said to his peers:
“My lords, let us take counsel of Frocin the Dwarf; for
he knows the seven arts, and magic and every kind of charm.
He will teach us if he will the wiles of Iseult the Fair.”
The little evil man drew signs for them and characters of
sorcery; he cast the fortunes of the hour and then at last
he said:
“Sirs, high good lords, this night shall you seize them
both.”
Then they led the little wizard to the King, and he said:
“Sire, bid your huntsmen leash the hounds and saddle the
horses, proclaim a seven days’ hunt in the forest and seven
nights abroad therein, and hang me high if you do not hear
this night what converse Tristan holds.”
So did the King unwillingly; and at fall of night he left
the hunt taking the dwarf in pillion, and entered the
orchard, and the dwarf took him to the tall pine-tree,
saying:
“Fair King, climb into these branches and take with you
your arrows and your bow, for you may need them; and bide
you still.”
That night the moon shone clear. Hid in the branches the
King saw his nephew leap the pallisades and throw his bark
and twigs into the stream. But Tristan had bent over the
round well to throw them and so doing had seen the image of
the King. He could not stop the branches as they floated
away, and there, yonder, in the women’s rooms, Iseult was
watching and would come.
She came, and Tristan watched her motionless. Above him
in the tree he heard the click of the arrow when it fits the
string.
She came, but with more prudence than her wont, thinking,
“What has passed, that Tristan does not come to meet me? He
has seen some foe.”
Suddenly, by the clear moonshine, she also saw the King’s
shadow in the fount. She showed the wit of women well, she
did not lift her eyes.
“Lord God,” she said, low down, grant I may be the first
to speak.”
“Tristan,” she said, “what have you dared to do, calling
me hither at such an hour? Often have you called me —to
beseech, you said. And Queen though I am, I know you won me
that title—and I have come. What would you?”
“Queen, I would have you pray the King for me.”
She was in tears and trembling, but Tristan praised God
the Lord who had shown his friend her peril.
“Queen,” he went on, “often and in vain have I summoned
you; never would you come. Take pity; the King hates me and
I know not why. Perhaps you know the cause and can charm his
anger. For whom can he trust if not you, chaste Queen and
courteous, Iseult?”
“Truly, Lord Tristan, you do not know he doubts us both.
And I, to add to my shame, must acquaint you of it. Ah! but
God knows if I lie, never went cut my love to any man but he
that first received me. And would you have me, at such a
time, implore your pardon of the King? Why, did he know of
my passage here to-night he would cast my ashes to the wind.
My body trembles and I am afraid. I go, for I have waited
too long.”
In the branches the King smiled and had pity.
And as Iseult fled: “Queen,” said Tristan, “in the Lord’s
name help me, for charity.”
“Friend,” she replied, “God aid you! The King wrongs you
but the Lord God will be by you in whatever land you go.”
So she went back to the women’s rooms and told it to
Brangien, who cried: “Iseult, God has worked a miracle for
you, for He is compassionate and will not hurt the innocent
in heart.”
And when he had left the orchard, the King said smiling:
“Fair nephew, that ride you planned is over now.”
But in an open glade apart, Frocin, the Dwarf, read in
the clear stars that the King now meant his death; he
blackened with shame and fear and fled into Wales.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Guenelon's Head" from: Tristan and Iseult by
Joseph Bedier.
THE DISCOVERY
King Mark made peace with Tristan. Tristan returned to
the castle as of old. Tristan slept in the King’s chamber
with his peers. He could come or go, the King thought no
more of it.
Mark had pardoned the felons, and as the seneschal, Dinas
of Lidan, found the dwarf wandering in a forest abandoned,
he brought him home, and the King had pity and pardoned even
him.
But his goodness did but feed the ire of the barons, who
swore this oath: If the King kept Tristan in the land they
would withdraw to their strongholds as for war, and they
called the King to parley.
“Lord,” said they, “Drive you Tristan forth. He loves the
Queen as all who choose can see, but as for us we will bear
it no longer.”
And the King sighed, looking down in silence.
“ King,” they went on, “we will not bear it, for we know
now that this is known to you and that yet you will not
move. Parley you, and take counsel. As for us if you will
not exile this man, your nephew, and drive him forth out of
your land forever, we will withdraw within our Bailiwicks
and take our neighbours also from your court: for we cannot
endure his presence longer in this place. Such is your
balance: choose.”
“My lords,” said he, “once I hearkened to the evil words
you spoke of Tristan, yet was I wrong in the end. But you
are my lieges and I would not lose the service of my men.
Counsel me therefore, I charge you, you that owe me counsel.
You know me for a man neither proud nor overstepping.”
“Lord,” said they, “call then Frocin hither. You mistrust
him for that orchard night. Still, was it not he that read
in the stars of the Queen’s coming there and to the very
pine-tree too? He is very wise, take counsel of him.”
And he came, did that hunchback of Hell: the felons
greeted him and he planned this evil.
“Sire,” said he, “let your nephew ride hard to-morrow at
dawn with a brief drawn up on parchment and well sealed with
a seal: bid him ride to King Arthur at Carduel. Sire, he
sleeps with the peers in your chamber; go you out when the
first sleep falls on men, and if he love Iseult so madly,
why, then I swear by God and by the laws of Rome, he will
try to speak with her before he rides. But if he do so
unknown to you or to me, then slay me. As for the trap, let
me lay it, but do you say nothing of his ride to him until
the time for sleep.”
And when King Mark had agreed, this dwarf did a vile
thing. He bought of a baker four farthings’ worth of flour,
and hid it in the turn of his coat. That night, when the
King had supped and the men-at-arms lay down to sleep in
hall, Tristan came to the King as custom was, and the King
said:
“Fair nephew, do my will: ride to-morrow night to King
Arthur at Carduel, and give him this brief, with my
greeting, that he may open it: and stay you with him but one
day.”
And when Tristan said: “I will take it on the morrow;”
The King added: “Aye, and before day dawn.”
But, as the peers slept all round the King their lord,
that night, a mad thought took Tristan that, before he rode,
he knew not for how long, before dawn he would say a last
word to the Queen. And there was a spear length in the
darkness between them. Now the dwarf slept with the rest in
the King’s chamber, and when he thought that all slept he
rose and scattered the flour silently in the spear length
that lay between Tristan and the Queen; but Tristan watched
and saw him, and said to himself:
“It is to mark my footsteps, but there shall be no marks
to show.”
At midnight, when all was dark in the room, no candle nor
any lamp glimmering, the King went out silently by the door
and with him the dwarf. Then Tristan rose in the darkness
and judged the spear length and leapt the space between, for
his farewell. But that day in the hunt a boar had wounded
him in the leg, and in this effort the wound bled. He did
not feel it or see it in the darkness, but the blood dripped
upon the couches and the flour strewn between; and outside
in the moonlight the dwarf read the heavens and knew what
had been done and he cried:
“Enter, my King, and if you do not hold them, hang me
high.”
Then the King and the dwarf and the four felons ran in
with lights and noise, and though Tristan had regained his
place there was the blood for witness, and though Iseult
feigned sleep, and Perinis too, who lay at Tristan’s feet,
yet there was the blood for witness. And the King looked in
silence at the blood where it lay upon the bed and the
boards and trampled into the flour.
And the four barons held Tristan down upon his bed and
mocked the Queen also, promising her full justice; and they
bared and showed the wound whence the blood flowed.
Then the King said:
“Tristan, now nothing longer holds. To-morrow you shall
die.”
And Tristan answered:
“Have mercy, Lord, in the name of God that suffered the
Cross!”
But the felons called on the King to take vengeance,
saying:
“Do justice, King: take vengeance.”
And Tristan went on, “Have mercy, not on me—for why
should I stand at dying?—Truly, but for you, I would have
sold my honour high to cowards who, under your peace, have
put hands on my body—but in homage to you I have yielded and
you may do with me what you will. But, lord, remember the
Queen!”
And as he knelt at the King’s feet he still complained:
“Remember the Queen; for if any man of your household
make so bold as to maintain the lie that I loved her
unlawfully I will stand up armed to him in a ring. Sire, in
the name of God the Lord, have mercy on her.”
Then the barons bound him with ropes, and the Queen also.
But had Tristan known that trial by combat was to be denied
him, certainly he would not have suffered it.
For he trusted in God and knew no man dared draw sword
against him in the lists. And truly he did well to trust in
God, for though the felons mocked him when he said he had
loved loyally, yet I call you to witness, my lords who read
this, and who know of the philtre drunk upon the high seas,
and who, understand whether his love were disloyalty indeed.
For men see this and that outward thing, but God alone the
heart, and in the heart alone is crime and the sole final
judge is God. Therefore did He lay down the law that a man
accused might uphold his cause by battle, and God himself
fights for the innocent in such a combat.
Therefore did Tristan claim justice and the right of
battle and therefore was he careful to fail in nothing of
the homage he owed King Mark, his lord.
But had he known what was coming, he would have killed
the felons.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Tristan Harping." from: Tristan and Iseult.
THE CHANTRY LEAP
Dark was the night, and the news ran that Tristan and the
Queen were held and that the King would kill them; and
wealthy burgess, or common man, they wept and ran to the
palace.
And the murmurs and the cries ran through the city, but
such was the King’s anger in his castle above that not the
strongest nor the proudest baron dared move him.
Night ended and the day drew near. Mark, before dawn,
rode out to the place where he held pleas and judgment. He
ordered a ditch to be dug in the earth and knotty
vine-shoots and thorns to be laid therein.
At the hour of Prime he had a ban cried through his land
to gather the men of Cornwall; they came with a great noise
and the King spoke them thus:
“My lords, I have made here a faggot of thorns for
Tristan and the Queen; for they have fallen.”
But they cried all, with tears:
“A sentence, lord, a sentence; an indictment and pleas;
for killing without trial is shame and crime.”
But Mark answered in his anger:
“Neither respite, nor delay, nor pleas, nor sentence. By
God that made the world, if any dare petition me, he shall
burn first!”
He ordered the fire to be lit, and Tristan to be called.
The flames rose, and all were silent before the flames,
and the King waited.
The servants ran to the room where watch was kept on the
two lovers; and they dragged Tristan out by his hands though
he wept for his honour; but as they dragged him off in such
a shame, the Queen still called to him:
“Friend, if I die that you may live, that will be great
joy.”
Now, hear how full of pity is God and how He heard the
lament and the prayers of the common folk, that day.
For as Tristan and his guards went down from the town to
where the faggot burned, near the road upon a rock was a
chantry, it stood at a cliff’s edge steep and sheer, and it
turned to the sea-breeze; in the apse of it were windows
glazed. Then Tristan said to those with him:
“My lords, let me enter this chantry, to pray for a
moment the mercy of God whom I have offended; my death is
near. There is but one door to the place, my lords, and each
of you has his sword drawn. So, you may well see that, when
my prayer to God is done, I must come past you again: when I
have prayed God, my lords, for the last time.
And one of the guards said: “Why, let him go in.”
So they let him enter to pray. But he, once in, dashed
through and leapt the altar rail and the altar too and
forced a window of the apse, and leapt again over the
cliff’s edge. So might he die, but not of that shameful
death before the people.
Now learn, my lords, how generous was God to him that
day. The wind took Tristan’s cloak and he fell upon a smooth
rock at the cliff’s foot, which to this day the men of
Cornwall call “Tristan’s leap.”
His guards still waited for him at the chantry door, but
vainly, for God was now his guard. And he ran, and the fine
sand crunched under his feet, and far off he saw the faggot
burning, and the smoke and the crackling flames; and fled.
Sword girt and bridle loose, Gorvenal had fled the city,
lest the King burn him in his master’s place: and he found
Tristan on the shore.
“Master,” said Tristan, “God has saved me, but oh!
master, to what end? For without Iseult I may not and I will
not live, and I rather had died of my fall. They will burn
her for me, then I too will die for her.”
“Lord,” said Gorvenal, “take no counsel of anger. See
here this thicket with a ditch dug round about it. Let us
hide therein where the track passes near, and comers by it
will tell us news; and, boy, if they burn Iseult, I swear by
God, the Son of Mary, never to sleep under a roof again
until she be avenged.”
There was a poor man of the common folk that had seen
Tristan’s fall, and had seen him stumble and rise after, and
he crept to Tintagel and to Iseult where she was bound, and
said:
“Queen, weep no more. Your friend has fled safely.”
“Then I thank God,” said she, “and whether they bind or
loose me, and whether they kill or spare me, I care but
little now.”
And though blood came at the cord-knots, so tightly had
the traitors bound her, yet still she said, smiling:
“Did I weep for that when God has loosed my friend I
should be little worth.”
When the news came to the King that Tristan had leapt
that leap and was lost he paled with anger, and bade his men
bring forth Iseult.
They dragged her from the room, and she came before the
crowd, held by her delicate hands, from which blood dropped,
and the crowd called:
“Have pity on her—the loyal Queen and honoured! Surely
they that gave her up brought mourning on us all—our curses
on them!”
But the King’s men dragged her to the thorn faggot as it
blazed. She stood up before the flame, and the crowd cried
its anger, and cursed the traitors and the King. None could
see her without pity, unless he had a felon’s heart: she was
so tightly bound. The tears ran down her face and fell upon
her grey gown where ran a little thread of gold, and a
thread of gold was twined into her hair.
Just then there had come up a hundred lepers of the
King’s, deformed and broken, white horribly, and limping on
their crutches. And they drew near the flame, and being
evil, loved the sight. And their chief Ivan, the ugliest of
them all, cried to the King in a quavering voice:
“O King, you would burn this woman in that flame, and it
is sound justice, but too swift, for very soon the fire will
fall, and her ashes will very soon be scattered by the high
wind and her agony be done. Throw her rather to your lepers
where she may drag out a life for ever asking death.”
And the King answered:
“Yes; let her live that life, for it is better justice
and more terrible. I can love those that gave me such a
thought.”
And the lepers answered:
“Throw her among us, and make her one of us. Never shall
lady have known a worse end. And look,” they said, “at our
rags and our abominations. She has had pleasure in rich
stuffs and furs, jewels and walls of marble, honour, good
wines and joy, but when she sees your lepers always, King,
and only them for ever, their couches and their huts, then
indeed she will know the wrong she has done, and bitterly
desire even that great flame of thorns.”
And as the King heard them, he stood a long time without
moving; then he ran to the Queen and seized her by the hand,
and she cried:
“Burn me! rather burn me!”
But the King gave her up, and Ivan took her, and the
hundred lepers pressed around, and to hear her cries all the
crowd rose in pity. But Ivan had an evil gladness, and as he
went he dragged her out of the borough bounds, with his
hideous company.
Now they took that road where Tristan lay in hiding, and
Gorvenal said to him:
“Son, here is your friend. Will you do naught?”
Then Tristan mounted the horse and spurred it out of the
bush, and cried:
“Ivan, you have been at the Queen’s side a moment, and
too long. Now leave her if you would live.”
But Ivan threw his cloak away and shouted:
“Your clubs, comrades, and your staves! Crutches in the
air—for a fight is on!”
Then it was fine to see the lepers throwing their capes
aside, and stirring their sick legs, and brandishing their
crutches, some threatening: groaning all; but to strike them
Tristan was too noble. There are singers who sing that
Tristan killed Ivan, but it is a lie. Too much a knight was
he to kill such things. Gorvenal indeed, snatching up an oak
sapling, crashed it on Ivan’s head till his blood ran down
to his misshapen feet. Then Tristan took the Queen.
Henceforth near him she felt no further evil. He cut the
cords that bound her arms so straightly, and he left the
plain so that they plunged into the wood of Morois; and
there in the thick wood Tristan was as sure as in a castle
keep.
And as the sun fell they halted all three at the foot of
a little hill: fear had wearied the Queen, and she leant her
head upon his body and slept.
But in the morning, Gorvenal stole from a wood man his
bow and two good arrows plumed and barbed, and gave them to
Tristan, the great archer, and he shot him a fawn and killed
it. Then Gorvenal gathered dry twigs, struck flint, and lit
a great fire to cook the venison. And Tristan cut him
branches and made a hut and garnished it with leaves. And
Iseult slept upon the thick leaves there.
So, in the depths of the wild wood began for the lovers
that savage life which yet they loved very soon.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Ogrin the Hermit" from: Tristan and Iseult. By
Joseph Bedier.
PART THE SECOND
THE WOOD OF MOROIS
They wandered in the depths of the wild wood, restless
and in haste like beasts that are hunted, nor did they often
dare to return by night to the shelter of yesterday. They
ate but the flesh of wild animals. Their faces sank and grew
white, their clothes ragged; for the briars tore them. They
loved each other and they did not know that they suffered.
One day, as they were wandering in these high woods that
had never yet been felled or ordered, they came upon the
hermitage of Ogrin.
The old man limped in the sunlight under a light growth
of maples near his chapel: he leant upon his crutch, and
cried:
“Lord Tristan, hear the great oath which the Cornish men
have sworn. The King has published a ban in every parish:
Whosoever may seize you shall receive a hundred marks of
gold for his guerdon, and all the barons have sworn to give
you up alive or dead. Do penance, Tristan! God pardons the
sinner who turns to repentance.”
“And of what should I repent, Ogrin, my lord? Or of what
crime? You that sit in judgment upon us here, do you know
what cup it was we drank upon the high sea? That good, great
draught inebriates us both. I would rather beg my life long
and live of roots and herbs with Iseult than, lacking her,
be king of a wide kingdom.”
“God aid you, Lord Tristan; for you have lost both this
world and the next. A man that is traitor to his lord is
worthy to be torn by horses and burnt upon the faggot, and
wherever his ashes fall no grass shall grow and all tillage
is waste, and the trees and the green things die. Lord
Tristan, give back the Queen to the man who espoused her
lawfully according to the laws of Rome.”
“He gave her to his lepers. From these lepers I myself
conquered her with my own hand; and henceforth she is
altogether mine. She cannot pass from me nor I from her.”
Ogrin sat down; but at his feet Iseult, her head upon the
knees of that man of God, wept silently. The hermit told her
and re-told her the words of his holy book, but still while
she wept she shook her head, and refused the faith he
offered.
“Ah me,” said Ogrin then, “what comfort can one give the
dead? Do penance, Tristan, for a man who lives in sin
without repenting is a man quite dead.”
“Oh no,” said Tristan, “I live and I do no penance. We
will go back into the high wood which comforts and wards us
all round about. Come with me, Iseult, my friend.”
Iseult rose up; they held each other’s hands. They passed
into the high grass and the underwood: the trees hid them
with their branches. They disappeared beyond the leaves.
The summer passed and the winter came: the two lovers
lived, all hidden in the hollow of a rock, and on the frozen
earth the cold crisped their couch with dead leaves. In the
strength of their love neither one nor the other felt these
mortal things. But when the open skies had come back with
the springtime, they built a hut of green branches under the
great trees. Tristan had known, ever since his childhood,
that art by which a man may sing the song of birds in the
woods, and at his fancy, he would call as call the thrush,
the blackbird and the nightingale, and all winged things;
and sometimes in reply very many birds would come on to the
branches of his hut and sing their song full-throated in the
new light.
The lovers had ceased to wander through the forest, for
none of the barons ran the risk of their pursuit knowing
well that Tristan would have hanged them to the branches of
a tree. One day, however, one of the four traitors,
Guenelon, whom God blast! drawn by the heat of the hunt,
dared enter the Morois. And that morning, on the forest edge
in a ravine, Gorvenal, having unsaddled his horse, had let
him graze on the new grass, while far off in their hut
Tristan held the Queen, and they slept. Then suddenly
Gorvenal heard the cry of the pack; the hounds pursued a
deer, which fell into that ravine. And far on the heath the
hunter showed — and Gorvenal knew him for the man whom his
master hated above all. Alone, with bloody spurs, and
striking his horse’s mane, he galloped on; but Gorvenal
watched him from ambush: he came fast, he would return more
slowly. He passed and Gorvenal leapt from his ambush and
seized the rein and, suddenly, remembering all the wrong
that man had done, hewed him to death and carried off his
head in his hands. And when the hunters found the body, as
they followed, they thought Tristan came after and they fled
in fear of death, and thereafter no man hunted in that wood.
And far off, in the hut upon their couch of leaves, slept
Tristan and the Queen.
There came Gorvenal, noiseless, the dead man’s head in
his hands that he might lift his master’s heart at his
awakening. He hung it by its hair outside the hut, and the
leaves garlanded it about. Tristan woke and saw it, half
hidden in the leaves, and staring at him as he gazed, and he
became afraid. But Gorvenal said: “Fear not, he is dead. I
killed him with this sword.”
Then Tristan was glad, and henceforward from that day no
one dared enter the wild wood, for terror guarded it and the
lovers were lords of it all: and then it was that Tristan
fashioned his bow “Failnaught” which struck home always, man
or beast, whatever it aimed at.
My lords, upon a summer day, when mowing is, a little
after Whitsuntide, as the birds sang dawn Tristan left his
hut and girt his sword on him, and took his bow “Failnaught”
and went off to hunt in the wood; but before evening, great
evil was to fall on him, for no lovers ever loved so much or
paid their love so dear.
When Tristan came back, broken by the heat, the Queen
said
“Friend, where have you been?”
“Hunting a hart,” he said, “that wearied me. I would lie
down and sleep.”
So she lay down, and he, and between them Tristan put his
naked sword, and on the Queen’s finger was that ring of gold
with emeralds set therein, which Mark had given her on her
bridal day; but her hand was so wasted that the ring hardly
held. And no wind blew, and no leaves stirred, but through a
crevice in the branches a sunbeam fell upon the face of
Iseult and it shone white like ice. Now a woodman found in
the wood a place where the leaves were crushed, where the
lovers had halted and slept, and he followed their track and
found the hut, and saw them sleeping and fled off, fearing
the terrible awakening of that lord. He fled to Tintagel,
and going up the stairs of the palace, found the King as he
held his pleas in hall amid the vassals assembled.
“Friend,” said the King, “what came you hither to seek in
haste and breathless, like a huntsman that has followed the
dogs afoot? Have you some wrong to right, or has any man
driven you?”
But the woodman took him aside and said low down:
“I have seen the Queen and Tristan, and I feared and
fled.”
“Where saw you them?”
“In a hut in Morois, they slept side by side. Come
swiftly and take your vengeance.”
“Go,” said the King, “and await me at the forest edge
where the red cross stands, and tell no man what you have
seen. You shall have gold and silver at your will.”
The King had saddled his horse and girt his sword and
left the city alone, and as he rode alone he minded him of
the night when he had seen Tristan under the great
pine-tree, and Iseult with her clear face, and he thought:
“If I find them I will avenge this awful wrong.”
At the foot of the red cross he came to the woodman and
said:
“Go first, and lead me straight and quickly.”
The dark shade of the great trees wrapt them round, and
as the King followed the spy he felt his sword, and trusted
it for the great blows it had struck of old; and surely had
Tristan wakened, one of the two had stayed there dead. Then
the woodman said:
“King, we are near.”
He held the stirrup, and tied the rein to a green
apple-tree, and saw in a sunlit glade the hut with its
flowers and leaves. Then the King cast his cloak with its
fine buckle of gold and drew his sword from its sheath and
said again in his heart that they or he should die. And he
signed to the woodman to be gone.
He came alone into the hut, sword bare, and watched them
as they lay: but he saw that they were apart, and he
wondered because between them was the naked blade.
Then he said to himself: “My God, I may not kill them.
For all the time they have lived together in this wood,
these two lovers, yet is the sword here between them, and
throughout Christendom men know that sign. Therefore I will
not slay, for that would be treason and wrong, but I will do
so that when they wake they may know that I found them here,
asleep, and spared them and that God had pity on them both.”
And still the sunbeam fell upon the white face of Iseult,
and the King took his ermined gloves and put them up against
the crevice whence it shone.
Then in her sleep a vision came to Iseult. She seemed to
be in a great wood and two lions near her fought for her,
and she gave a cry and woke, and the gloves fell upon her
breast; and at the cry Tristan woke, and made to seize his
sword, and saw by the golden hilt that it was the King’s.
And the Queen saw on her finger the King’s ring, and she
cried:
“O, my lord, the King has found us here!”
And Tristan said:
“He has taken my sword; he was alone, but he will return,
and will burn us before the people. Let us fly.”
So by great marches with Gorvenal alone they fled towards
Wales.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Tristan Returns to King Mark"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier.
OGRIN THE HERMIT
After three days it happened that Tristan, in following a
wounded deer far out into the wood, was caught by
night-fall, and took to thinking thus under the dark wood
alone:
“It was not fear that moved the King … he had my sword
and I slept … and had he wished to slay, why did he leave me
his own blade? … O, my father, my father, I know you now.
There was pardon in your heart, and tenderness and pity …
yet how was that, for who could forgive in this matter
without shame? … It was not pardon it was understanding; the
faggot and the chantry leap and the leper ambush have shown
him God upon our side. Also I think he remembered the boy
who long ago harped at his feet, and my land of Lyonesse
which I left for him; the Morholt’s spear and blood shed in
his honour. He remembered how I made no avowal, but claimed
a trial at arms, and the high nature of his heart has made
him understand what men around him cannot; never can he know
of the spell, yet he doubts and hopes and knows I have told
no lie, and would have me prove my cause. O, but to win at
arms by God’s aid for him, and to enter his peace and to put
on mail for him again … but then he must take her back, and
I must yield her … it would have been much better had he
killed me in my sleep. For till now I was hunted and I could
hate and forget; he had thrown Iseult to the lepers, she was
no more his, but mine; and now by his compassion he has
wakened my heart and regained the Queen. For Queen she was
at his side, but in this wood she lives a slave, and I waste
her youth; and for rooms all hung with silk she has this
savage place, and a hut for her splendid walls, and I am the
cause that she treads this ugly road. So now I cry to God
the Lord, who is King of the world, and beg Him to give me
strength to yield back Iseult to King Mark; for she is
indeed his wife, wed according to the laws of Rome before
all the Barony of his land.”
And as he thought thus, he leant upon his bow, and all
through the night considered his sorrow.
Within the hollow of thorns that was their resting-place
Iseult the Fair awaited Tristan’s return. The golden ring
that King Mark had slipped there glistened on her finger in
the moonlight, and she thought:
“He that put on this ring is not the man who threw me to
his lepers in his wrath; he is rather that compassionate
lord who, from the day I touched his shore, received me and
protected. And he loved Tristan once, but I came, and see
what I have done! He should have lived in the King’s palace;
he should have ridden through King’s and baron’s fees,
finding adventure; but through me he has forgotten his
knighthood, and is hunted and exiled from the court, leading
a random life. …”
Just then she heard the feet of Tristan coming over the
dead leaves and twigs. She came to meet him, as was her
wont, to relieve him of his arms, and she took from him his
bow, “Failnaught,” and his arrows, and she unbuckled his
sword-straps. And, “Friend,” said he, “it is the King’s
sword. It should have slain, but it spared us.”
Iseult took the sword, and kissed the hilt of gold, and
Tristan saw her weeping.
“Friend,” said he, “if I could make my peace with the
King; if he would allow me to sustain in arms that neither
by act nor word have I loved you with a wrongful love, any
knight from the Marshes of Ely right away to Dureaume that
would gainsay me, would find me armed in the ring. Then if
the King would keep you and drive me out I would cross to
the Lowlands or to Brittany with Gorvenal alone. But
wherever I went and always, Queen, I should be yours; nor
would I have spoken thus, Iseult, but for the wretchedness
you bear so long for my sake in this desert land.”
“Tristan,” she said, “there is the hermit Ogrin. Let us
return to him, and cry mercy to the King of Heaven.”
They wakened Gorvenal; Iseult mounted the steed, and
Tristan led it by the bridle, and all night long they went
for the last time through the woods of their love, and they
did not speak a word. By morning they came to the Hermitage,
where Ogrin read at the threshold, and seeing them, called
them tenderly:
“Friends,” he cried, “see how Love drives you still to
further wretchedness. Will you not do penance at last for
your madness?”
“Lord Ogrin,” said Tristan, “hear us. Help us to offer
peace to the King, and I will yield him the Queen, and will
myself go far away into Brittany or the Lowlands, and if
some day the King suffer me, I will return and serve as I
should.”
And at the hermit’s feet Iseult said in her turn:
“Nor will I live longer so, for though I will not say one
word of penance for my love, which is there and remains
forever, yet from now on I will be separate from him.”
Then the hermit wept and praised God and cried: “High
King, I praise Thy Name, for that Thou hast let me live so
long as to give aid to these!”
And he gave them wise counsel, and took ink, and wrote a
little writ offering the King what Tristan said.
That night Tristan took the road. Once more he saw the
marble well and the tall pine-tree, and he came beneath the
window where the King slept, and called him gently, and Mark
awoke and whispered:
“Who are you that call me in the night at such an hour?”
“Lord, I am Tristan: I bring you a writ, and lay it
here.”
Then the King cried: “Nephew! nephew! for God’s sake wait
awhile,” but Tristan had fled and joined his squire, and
mounted rapidly. Gorvenal said to him:
“O, Tristan, you are mad to have come. Fly hard with me
by the nearest road.”
So they came back to the Hermitage, and there they found
Ogrin at prayer, but Iseult weeping silently.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Ogrin the Hermit"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier.
THE FORD
Mark had awakened his chaplain and had given him the writ
to read; the chaplain broke the seal, saluted in Tristan’s
name, and then, when he had cunningly made out the written
words, told him what Tristan offered; and Mark heard without
saying a word, but his heart was glad, for he still loved
the Queen.
He summoned by name the choicest of his baronage, and
when they were all assembled they were silent and the King
spoke:
“My lords, here is a writ, just sent me. I am your King,
and you my lieges. Hear what is offered me, and then counsel
me, for you owe me counsel.”
The chaplain rose, unfolded the writ, and said,
upstanding
“My lords, it is Tristan that first sends love and homage
to the King and all his Barony, and he adds, ‘O King, when I
slew the dragon and conquered the King of Ireland’s daughter
it was to me they gave her. I was to ward her at will and I
yielded her to you. Yet hardly had you wed her when felons
made you accept their lies, and in your anger, fair uncle,
my lord, you would have had us burnt without trial. But God
took compassion on us; we prayed him and he saved the Queen,
as justice was: and me also—though I leapt from a high rock,
I was saved by the power of God. And since then what have I
done blameworthy? The Queen was thrown to the lepers; I came
to her succour and bore her away. Could I have done less for
a woman, who all but died innocent through me? I fled
through the woods. Nor could I have come down into the vale
and yielded her, for there was a ban to take us dead or
alive. But now, as then, I am ready, my lord, to sustain in
arms against all comers that never had the Queen for me, nor
I for her a love dishonourable to you. Publish the lists,
and if I cannot prove my right in arms, burn me before your
men. But if I conquer and you take back Iseult, no baron of
yours will serve you as will I; and if you will not have me,
I will offer myself to the King of Galloway, or to him of
the Lowlands, and you will hear of me never again. Take
counsel, King, for if you will make no terms I will take
back Iseult to Ireland, and she shall be Queen in her own
land.’”
When the barons of Cornwall heard how Tristan offered
battle, they said to the King:
“Sire, take back the Queen. They were madmen that belied
her to you. But as for Tristan, let him go and war it in
Galloway, or in the Lowlands. Bid him bring back Iseult on
such a day and that soon.
Then the King called thrice clearly:
“Will any man rise in accusation against Tristan?”
And as none replied, he said to his chaplain:
“Write me a writ in haste. You have heard what you shall
write. Iseult has suffered enough in her youth. And let the
writ be hung upon the arm of the red cross before evening.
Write speedily.”
Towards midnight Tristan crossed the Heath of Sand, and
found the writ, and bore it sealed to Ogrin; and the hermit
read the letter; “How Mark consented by the counsel of his
barons to take back Iseult, but not to keep Tristan for his
liege. Rather let him cross the sea, when, on the third day
hence, at the Ford of Chances, he had given back the Queen
into King Mark’s hands.” Then Tristan said to the Queen:
“O, my God! I must lose you, friend! But it must be,
since I can thus spare you what you suffer for my sake. But
when we part for ever I will give you a pledge of mine to
keep, and from whatever unknown land I reach I will send
some messenger, and he will bring back word of you, and at
your call I will come from far away.”
Iseult said, sighing:
“Tristan, leave me your dog, Toothold, and every time I
see him I will remember you, and will be less sad. And,
friend, I have here a ring of green jasper. Take it for the
love of me, and put it on your finger; then if anyone come
saying he is from you, I will not trust him at all till he
show me this ring, but once I have seen it, there is no
power or royal ban that can prevent me from doing what you
bid—wisdom or folly.”
“Friend,” he said, “here give I you Toothold.”
“Friend,” she replied, “take you this ring in reward.”
And they kissed each other on the lips.
Now Ogrin, having left the lovers in the Hermitage,
hobbled upon his crutch to the place called The Mount, and
he bought ermine there and fur and cloth of silk and purple
and scarlet, and a palfrey harnessed in gold that went
softly, and the folk laughed to see him spending upon these
the small moneys he had amassed so long; but the old man put
the rich stuffs upon the palfrey and came back to Iseult.
And “Queen,” said he, “take these gifts of mine that you
may seem the finer on the day when you come to the Ford.”
Meanwhile the King had had cried through Cornwall the
news that on the third day he would make his peace with the
Queen at the Ford, and knights and ladies came in a crowd to
the gathering, for all loved the Queen and would see her,
save the three felons that yet survived.
On the day chosen for the meeting, the field shone far
with the rich tents of the barons, and suddenly Tristan and
Iseult came out at the forest’s edge, and caught sight of
King Mark far off among his Barony:
“Friend,” said Tristan, “there is the King, your lord—his
knights and his men; they are coming towards us, and very
soon we may not speak to each other again. By the God of
Power I conjure you, if ever I send you a word, do you my
bidding.”
“Friend,” said Iseult, “on the day that I see the ring,
nor tower, nor wall, nor stronghold will let me from doing
the will of my friend.”
“Why then,” he said, “Iseult, may God reward you.”
Their horses went abreast and he drew her towards him
with his arm.
“Friend,” said Iseult, “hear my last prayer: you will
leave this land, but wait some days; hide till you know how
the King may treat me, whether in wrath or kindness, for I
am afraid. Friend, Orri the woodman will entertain you
hidden. Go you by night to the abandoned cellar that you
know and I will send Perinis there to say if anyone misuse
me.”
“Friend, none would dare. I will stay hidden with Orri,
and if any misuse you let him fear me as the Enemy himself.”
Now the two troops were near and they saluted, and the
King rode a bow-shot before his men and with him Dinas of
Lidan; and when the barons had come up, Tristan, holding
Iseult’s palfrey by the bridle, bowed to the King and said:
“O King, I yield you here Iseult the Fair, and I summon
you, before the men of your land, that I may defend myself
in your court, for I have had no judgment. Let me have trial
at arms, and if I am conquered, burn me, but if I conquer,
keep me by you, or, if you will not, I will be off to some
far country.”
But no one took up Tristan’s wager, and the King, taking
Iseult’s palfrey by the bridle, gave it to Dinas, and went
apart to take counsel.
Dinas, in his joy, gave all honour and courtesy to the
Queen, but when the felons saw her so fair and honoured as
of old, they were stirred and rode to the King, and said:
“King, hear our counsel. That the Queen was slandered we
admit, but if she and Tristan re-enter your court together,
rumour will revive again. Rather let Tristan go apart
awhile. Doubtless some day you may recall him.”
And so Mark did, and ordered Tristan by his barons to go
off without delay.
Then Tristan came near the Queen for his farewell, and as
they looked at one another the Queen in shame of that
assembly blushed, but the King pitied her, and spoke his
nephew thus for the first time:
“You cannot leave in these rags; take then from my
treasury gold and silver and white fur and grey, as much as
you will.”
“King,” said Tristan, “neither a penny nor a link of
mail. I will go as I can, and serve with high heart the
mighty King in the Lowlands.”
And he turned rein and went down towards the sea, but
Iseult followed him with her eyes, and so long as he could
yet be seen a long way off she did not turn.
Now at the news of the peace, men, women, and children,
great and small, ran out of the town in a crowd to meet
Iseult, and while they mourned Tristan’s exile they rejoiced
at the Queen’s return.
And to the noise of bells, and over pavings strewn with
branches, the King and his counts and princes made her
escort, and the gates of the palace were thrown open that
rich and poor might enter and eat and drink at will.
And Mark freed a hundred of his slaves, and armed a score
of squires that day with hauberk and with sword.
But Tristan that night hid with Orri, as the Queen had
counselled him.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Tristan Slays the Beast"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier
THE ORDEAL BY IRON
Denoalen, Andret, and Gondoin held themselves safe;
Tristan was far over sea, far away in service of a distant
king, and they beyond his power. Therefore, during a hunt
one day, as the King rode apart in a glade where the pack
would pass, and hearkening to the hounds, they all three
rode towards him, and said:
“O King, we have somewhat to say. Once you condemned the
Queen without judgment, and that was wrong; now you acquit
her without judgment, and that is wrong. She is not quit by
trial, and the barons of your land blame you both. Counsel
her, then, to claim the ordeal in God’s judgment, for since
she is innocent, she may swear on the relics of the saints
and hot iron will not hurt her. For so custom runs, and in
this easy way are doubts dissolved.”
But Mark answered:
“God strike you, my Cornish lords, how you hunt my shame!
For you have I exiled my nephew, and now what would you now?
Would you have me drive the Queen to Ireland too? What novel
plaints have you to plead? Did not Tristan offer you battle
in this matter? He offered battle to clear the Queen
forever: he offered and you heard him all. Where then were
your lances and your shields?”
“Sire,” they said, “we have counselled you loyal counsel
as lieges and to your honour; henceforward we hold our
peace. Put aside your anger and give us your safe-guard.”
But Mark stood up in the stirrup and cried:
“Out of my land, and out of my peace, all of you! Tristan
I exiled for you, and now go you in turn, out of my land!”
But they answered:
“Sire, it is well. Our keeps are strong and fenced, and
stand on rocks not easy for men to climb.”
And they rode off without a salutation.
But the King (not tarrying for huntsman or for hound but
straight away) spurred his horse to Tintagel; and as he
sprang up the stairs the Queen heard the jangle of his spurs
upon the stones.
She rose to meet him and took his sword as she was wont,
and bowed before him, as it was also her wont to do; but
Mark raised her, holding her hands; and when Iseult looked
up she saw his noble face in just that wrath she had seen
before the faggot fire.
She thought that Tristan was found, and her heart grew
cold, and without a word she fell at the King’s feet.
He took her in his arms and kissed her gently till she
could speak again, and then he said:
“Friend, friend, what evil tries you?”
“Sire, I am afraid, for I have seen your anger.
“Yes, I was angered at the hunt.”
“My lord, should one take so deeply the mischances of a
game?”
Mark smiled and said:
“No, friend; no chance of hunting vexed me, but those
three felons whom you know; and I have driven them forth
from my land.”
“Sire, what did they say, or dare to say of me?”
“What matter? I have driven them forth.”
“Sire, all living have this right: to say the word they
have conceived. And I would ask a question, but from whom
shall I learn save from you? I am alone in a foreign land,
and have no one else to defend me.”
“They would have it that you should quit yourself by
solemn oath and by the ordeal of iron, saying ‘that God was
a true judge, and that as the Queen was innocent, she
herself should seek such judgment as would clear her for
ever.’ This was their clamour and their demand incessantly.
But let us leave it. I tell you, I have driven them forth.”
Iseult trembled, but looking straight at the King, she
said:
“Sire, call them back; I will clear myself by oath. But I
bargain this: that on the appointed day you call King Arthur
and Lord Gawain, Girflet, Kay the Seneschal, and a hundred
of his knights to ride to the Sandy Heath where your land
marches with his, and a river flows between; for I will not
swear before your barons alone, lest they should demand some
new thing, and lest there should be no end to my trials. But
if my warrantors, King Arthur and his knights, be there, the
barons will not dare dispute the judgment.”
But as the heralds rode to Carduel, Iseult sent to
Tristan secretly her squire Perinis: and he ran through the
underwood, avoiding paths, till he found the hut of Orri,
the woodman, where Tristan for many days had awaited news.
Perinis told him all: the ordeal, the place, and the time,
and added:
“My lord, the Queen would have you on that day and place
come dressed as a pilgrim, so that none may know
you—unarmed, so that none may challenge —to the Sandy Heath.
She must cross the river to the place appointed. Beyond it,
where Arthur and his hundred knights will stand, be you
also; for my lady fears the judgment, but she trusts in
God.”
Then Tristan answered:
“Go back, friend Perinis, return you to the Queen, and
say that I will do her bidding.”
And you must know that as Perinis went back to Tintagel
he caught sight of that same woodman who had betrayed the
lovers before, and the woodman, as he found him, had just
dug a pitfall for wolves and for wild boars, and covered it
with leafy branches to hide it, and as Perinis came near the
woodman fled, but Perinis drove him, and caught him, and
broke his staff and his head together, and pushed his body
into the pitfall with his feet.
On the appointed day King Mark and Iseult, and the barons
of Cornwall, stood by the river; and the knights of Arthur
and all their host were arrayed beyond.
And just before them, sitting on the shore, was a poor
pilgrim, wrapped in cloak and hood, who held his wooden
platter and begged alms.
Now as the Cornish boats came to the shoal of the further
bank, Iseult said to the knights:
“My lords, how shall I land without befouling my clothes
in the river-mud? Fetch me a ferryman.”
And one of the knights hailed the pilgrim, and said:
“Friend, truss your coat, and try the water; carry you
the Queen to shore, unless you fear the burden.”
But as he took the Queen in his arms she whispered to
him:
“Friend.”
And then she whispered to him, lower still
“Stumble you upon the sand.”
And as he touched shore, he stumbled, holding the Queen
in his arms; and the squires and boatmen with their oars and
boat-hooks drove the poor pilgrim away.
But the Queen said:
“Let him be; some great travail and journey has weakened
him.”
And she threw to the pilgrim a little clasp of gold.
Before the tent of King Arthur was spread a rich Nicean
cloth upon the grass, and the holy relics were set on it,
taken out of their covers and their shrines.
And round the holy relics on the sward stood a guard more
than a king’s guard, for Lord Gawain, Girflet, and Kay the
Seneschal kept ward over them.
The Queen having prayed God, took off the jewels from her
neck and hands, and gave them to the beggars around; she
took off her purple mantle, and her overdress, and her shoes
with their precious stones, and gave them also to the poor
that loved her.
She kept upon her only the sleeveless tunic, and then
with arms and feet quite bare she came between the two
kings, and all around the barons watched her in silence, and
some wept, for near the holy relics was a brazier burning.
And trembling a little she stretched her right hand
towards the bones and said: “Kings of Logres and of
Cornwall; my lords Gawain, and Kay, and Girflet, and all of
you that are my warrantors, by these holy things and all the
holy things of earth, I swear that no man has held me in his
arms saving King Mark, my lord, and that poor pilgrim. King
Mark, will that oath stand?”
“Yes, Queen,” he said, “and God see to it.
“Amen,” said Iseult, and then she went near the brazier,
pale and stumbling, and all were silent. The iron was red,
but she thrust her bare arms among the coals and seized it,
and bearing it took nine steps.
Then, as she cast it from her, she
stretched her arms out in a cross, with the palms of her
hands wide open, and all men saw them fresh and clean and
cold. Seeing that great sight the kings and the barons and
the people stood for a moment silent, then they stirred
together and they praised God loudly all around.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Iseult's Ring"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier.
PART THE THIRD
THE LITTLE FAIRY BELL
When Tristan had come back to Orri’s hut, and had
loosened his heavy pilgrim’s cape, he saw clearly in his
heart that it was time to keep his oath to King Mark and to
fly the land.
Three days yet he tarried, because he could not drag
himself away from that earth, but on the fourth day he
thanked the woodman, and said to Gorvenal:
“Master, the hour is come.”
And he went into Wales, into the land of the great Duke
Gilain, who was young, powerful, and frank in spirit, and
welcomed him nobly as a God-sent guest.
And he did everything to give him honour and joy; but he
found that neither adventure, nor feast could soothe what
Tristan suffered.
One day, as he sat by the young Duke’s side, his spirit
weighed upon him, so that not knowing it he groaned, and the
Duke, to soothe him, ordered into his private room a fairy
thing, which pleased his eyes when he was sad and relieved
his own heart; it was a dog, and the varlets brought it in
to him, and they put it upon a table there. Now this dog was
a fairy dog, and came from the Duke of Avalon; for a fairy
had given it him as a love-gift, and no one can well
describe its kind or beauty. And it bore at its neck, hung
to a little chain of gold, a little bell; and that tinkled
so gaily, and so clear and so soft, that as Tristan heard
it, he was soothed, and his anguish melted away, and he
forgot all that he had suffered for the Queen; for such was
the virtue of the bell and such its property: that whosoever
heard it, he lost all pain. And as Tristan stroked the
little fairy thing, the dog that took away his sorrow, he
saw how delicate it was and fine, and how it had soft hair
like samite, and he thought how good a gift it would make
for the Queen. But he dared not ask for it right out since
he knew that the Duke loved this dog beyond everything in
the world, and would yield it to no prayers, nor to wealth,
nor to wile; so one day Tristan having made a plan in his
mind said this:
“Lord, what would you give to the man who could rid your
land of the hairy giant Urgan, that levies such a toll?”
“Truly, the victor might choose what he would, but none
will dare.”
Then said Tristan:
“Those are strange words, for good comes to no land save
by risk and daring, and not for all the gold of Milan would
I renounce my desire to find him in his wood and bring him
down.”
Then Tristan went out to find Urgan in his lair, and they
fought hard and long, till courage conquered strength, and
Tristan, having cut off the giant’s hand, bore it back to
the Duke.
And “Sire,” said he, “since I may choose a reward
according to your word, give me the little fairy dog. It was
for that I conquered Urgan, and your promise stands.”
“Friend,” said the Duke, “take it, then, but in taking it
you take away also all my joy.”
Then Tristan took the little fairy dog and gave it in
ward to a Welsh harper, who was cunning and who bore it to
Cornwall till he came to Tintagel, and having come there put
it secretly into Brangien’s hands, and the Queen was so
pleased that she gave ten marks of gold to the harper, but
she put it about that the Queen of Ireland, her mother, had
sent the beast. And she had a goldsmith work a little kennel
for him, all jewelled, and incrusted with gold and enamel
inlaid; and wherever she went she carried the dog with her
in memory of her friend, and as she watched it sadness and
anguish and regrets melted out of her heart.
At first she did not guess the marvel, but thought her
consolation was because the gift was Tristan’s, till one day
she found that it was fairy, and that it was the little bell
that charmed her soul; then she thought: “What have I to do
with comfort since he is sorrowing? He could have kept it
too and have forgotten his sorrow; but with high courtesy he
sent it to me to give me his joy and to take up his pain
again. Friend, while you suffer, so long will I suffer
also.”
And she took the magic bell and shook it just a little,
and then by the open window she threw it into the sea.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"The Queen drank deep of
that draught and gave it to Tristan."
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier
ISEULT OF THE WHITE HANDS
Apart the lovers could neither live nor die, for it was
life and death together; and Tristan fled his sorrow through
seas and islands and many lands.
He fled his sorrow still by seas and islands, till at
last he came back to his land of Lyonesse, and there Rohalt,
the keeper of faith, welcomed him with happy tears and
called him son. But he could not live in the peace of his
own land, and he turned again and rode through kingdoms and
through baronies, seeking adventure. From the Lyonesse to
the Lowlands, from the Lowlands on to the Germanies; through
the Germanies and into Spain. And many lords he served, and
many deeds did, but for two years no news came to him out of
Cornwall, nor friend, nor messenger. Then he thought that
Iseult had forgotten.
Now it happened one day that, riding with Gorvenal alone,
he came into the land of Brittany. They rode through a
wasted plain of ruined walls and empty hamlets and burnt
fields everywhere, and the earth deserted of men; and
Tristan thought:
“I am weary, and my deeds profit me nothing; my lady is
far off and I shall never see her again. Or why for two
years has she made no sign, or why has she sent no messenger
to find me as I wandered? But in Tintagel Mark honours her
and she gives him joy, and that little fairy bell has done a
thorough work; for little she remembers or cares for the
joys and the mourning of old, little for me, as I wander in
this desert place. I, too, will forget.”
On the third day, at the hour of noon, Tristan and
Gorvenal came near a hill where an old chantry stood and
close by a hermitage also; and Tristan asked what wasted
land that was, and the hermit answered:
“Lord, it is Breton land which Duke Hod holds, and once
it was rich in pasture and ploughland, but Count Riol of
Nantes has wasted it. For you must know that this Count Riol
was the Duke’s vassal. And the Duke has a daughter, fair
among all King’s daughters, and Count Riol would have taken
her to wife; but her father refused her to a vassal, and
Count Riol would have carried her away by force. Many men
have died in that quarrel.”
And Tristan asked:
“Can the Duke wage his war?”
And the hermit answered:
“Hardly, my lord; yet his last keep of Carhaix holds out
still, for the walls are strong, and strong is the heart of
the Duke’s son Kaherdin, a very good knight and bold; but
the enemy surrounds them on every side and starves them.
Very hardly do they hold their castle.”
Then Tristan asked:
“How far is this keep of Carhaix?”
“Sir,” said the hermit, “it is but two miles further on
this way.”
Then Tristan and Gorvenal lay down, for it was evening.
In the morning, when they had slept, and when the hermit
had chanted, and had shared his black bread with them,
Tristan thanked him and rode hard to Carhaix. And as he
halted beneath the fast high walls, he saw a little company
of men behind the battlements, and he asked if the Duke were
there with his son Kaherdin. Now Hod was among them; and
when he cried “yes,” Tristan called up to him and said:
“I am that Tristan, King of Lyonesse, and Mark of
Cornwall is my uncle. I have heard that your vassals do you
a wrong, and I have come to offer you my arms.
“Alas, lord Tristan, go you your way alone and God reward
you, for here within we have no more food; no wheat, or
meat, or any stores but only lentils and a little oats
remaining.”
But Tristan said
“For two years I dwelt in a forest, eating nothing save
roots and herbs; yet I found it a good life, so open you the
door.”
They welcomed him with honour, and Kaherdin showed him
the wall and the dungeon keep with all their devices, and
from the battlements he showed the plain where far away
gleamed the tents of Duke Riol. And when they were down in
the castle again he said to Tristan:
“Friend, let us go to the hall where my mother and sister
sit.”
So, holding each other’s hands, they came into the
women’s room, where the mother and the daughter sat together
weaving gold upon English cloth and singing a weaving song.
They sang of Doette the fair who sits alone beneath the
white-thorn, and round about her blows the wind. She waits
for Doon, her friend, but he tarries long and does not come.
This was the song they sang. And Tristan bowed to them, and
they to him. Then Kaherdin, showing the work his mother did,
said:
“See, friend Tristan, what a work-woman is here, and how
marvellously she adorns stoles and chasubles for the poor
minsters, and how my sister’s hands run thread of gold upon
this cloth. Of right, good sister, are you called, ‘Iseult
of the White Hands.’”
But Tristan, hearing her name, smiled and looked at her
more gently.
And on the morrow, Tristan, Kaherdin, and twelve young
knights left the castle and rode to a pinewood near the
enemy’s tents. And sprang from ambush and captured a waggon
of Count Riol’s food; and from that day, by escapade and
ruse they would carry tents and convoys and kill off men,
nor ever come back without some booty; so that Tristan and
Kaherdin began to be brothers in arms, and kept faith and
tenderness, as history tells. And as they came back from
these rides, talking chivalry together, often did Kaherdin
praise to his comrade his sister, Iseult of the White Hands,
for her simplicity and beauty.
One day, as the dawn broke, a sentinel ran from the tower
through the halls crying:
“Lords, you have slept too long; rise, for an assault is
on.”
And knights and burgesses armed, and ran to the walls,
and saw helmets shining on the plain, and pennons streaming
crimson, like flames, and all the host of Riol in its array.
Then the Duke and Kaherdin deployed their horsemen before
the gates, and from a bow-length off they stooped, and
spurred and charged, and they put their lances down together
and the arrows fell on them like April rain.
Now Tristan had armed himself among the last of those the
sentinel had roused, and he laced his shoes of steel, and
put on his mail, and his spurs of gold, his hauberk, and his
helm over the gorget, and he mounted and spurred, with
shield on breast, crying:
“Carhaix!”
And as he came, he saw Duke Riol charging, rein free, at
Kaherdin, but Tristan came in between. So they met, Tristan
and Duke Riol. And at the shock, Tristan’s lance shivered,
but Riol’s lance struck Tristan’s horse just where the
breast-piece runs, and laid it on the field.
But Tristan, standing, drew his sword, his burnished
sword, and said:
“Coward! Here is death ready for the man that strikes the
horse before the rider.”
But Riol answered:
“I think you have lied, my lord!”
And he charged him.
And as he passed, Tristan let fall his sword so heavily
upon his helm that he carried away the crest and the nasal,
but the sword slipped on the mailed shoulder, and glanced on
the horse, and killed it, so that of force Duke Riol must
slip the stirrup and leap and feel the ground. Then Riol too
was on his feet, and they both fought hard in their broken
mail, their ’scutcheons torn and their helmets loosened and
lashing with their dented swords, till Tristan struck Riol
just where the helmet buckles, and it yielded and the blow
was struck so hard that the baron fell on hands and knees;
but when he had risen again, Tristan struck him down once
more with a blow that split the helm, and it split the
headpiece too, and touched the skull; then Riol cried mercy
and begged his life, and Tristan took his sword.
So he promised to enter Duke Hoël’s keep and to swear
homage again, and to restore what he had wasted; and by his
order the battle ceased, and his host went off discomfited.
Now when the victors were returned Kaherdin said to his
father:
“Sire, keep you Tristan. There is no better knight, and
your land has need of such courage.”
So when the Duke had taken counsel with his barons, he
said to Tristan
“Friend, I owe you my land, but I shall be quit with you
if you will take my daughter, Iseult of the White Hands, who
comes of kings and of queens, and of dukes before them in
blood.”
And Tristan answered:
“I will take her, Sire.”
So the day was fixed, and the Duke came with his friends
and Tristan with his, and before all, at the gate of the
minster, Tristan wed Iseult of the White Hands, according to
the Church’s law.
But that same night, as Tristan’s valets undressed him,
it happened that in drawing his arm from the sleeve they
drew off and let fall from his finger the ring of green
jasper, the ring of Iseult the Fair. It sounded on the
stones, and Tristan looked and saw it. Then his heart awoke
and he knew that he had done wrong. For he remembered the
day when Iseult the Fair had given him the ring. It was in
that forest where, for his sake, she had led the hard life
with him, and that night he saw again the hut in the wood of
Morois, and he was bitter with himself that ever he had
accused her of treason; for now it was he that had betrayed,
and he was bitter with himself also in pity for this new
wife and her simplicity and beauty. See how these two
Iseults had met him in an evil hour, and to both had he
broken faith!
Now Iseult of the White Hands said to him, hearing him
sigh:
“Dear lord, have I hurt you in anything? Will you not
speak me a single word?”
But Tristan answered: “Friend, do not be angry with me;
for once in another land I fought a foul dragon and was near
to death, and I thought of the Mother of God, and I made a
vow to Her that, should I ever wed, I would spend the first
holy nights of my wedding in prayer and in silence.”
“Why,” said Iseult, “that was a good vow.”
And Tristan watched through the night.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"The Beggar Carries Iseult"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier.
THE MADNESS OF TRISTAN
Within her room at Tintagel, Iseult the Fair sighed for
the sake of Tristan, and named him, her desire, of whom for
two years she had had no word, whether he lived or no.
Within her room at Tintagel Iseult the Fair sat singing a
song she had made. She sang of Guron taken and killed for
his love, and how by guile the Count gave Guron’s heart to
her to eat, and of her woe. The Queen sang softly, catching
the harp’s tone; her hands were cunning and her song good;
she sang low down and softly.
Then came in Kariado, a rich count from a far-off island,
that had fared to Tintagel to offer the Queen his service,
and had spoken of love to her, though she disdained his
folly. He found Iseult as she sang, and laughed to her:
“Lady, how sad a song! as sad as the Osprey’s; do they
not say he sings for death? and your song means that to me;
I die for you.”
And Iseult said: “So let it be and may it mean so; for
never come you here but to stir in me anger or mourning.
Ever were you the screech owl or the Osprey that boded ill
when you spoke of Tristan; what news bear you now?”
And Kariado answered:
“You are angered, I know not why, but who heeds your
words? Let the Osprey bode me death; here is the evil news
the screech owl brings. Lady Iseult, Tristan, your friend is
lost to you. He has wed in a far land. So seek you other
where, for he mocks your love. He has wed in great pomp
Iseult of the White Hands, the King of Brittany’s
daughter.’’
And Kariado went off in anger, but Iseult bowed her head
and broke into tears.
Now far from Iseult, Tristan languished, till on a day he
must needs see her again. Far from her, death came surely;
and he had rather die at once than day by day. And he
desired some death, but that the Queen might know it was in
finding her; then would death come easily.
So he left Carhaix secretly, telling no man, neither his
kindred nor even Kaherdin, his brother in arms. He went in
rags afoot (for no one marks the beggar on the high road)
till he came to the shore of the sea.
He found in a haven a great ship ready, the sail was up
and the anchor-chain short at the bow.
“God save you, my lords,” he said, “and send you a good
journey. To what land sail you now?”
“To Tintagel,” they said.
Then he cried out:
“Oh, my lords! take me with you thither!”
And he went aboard, and a fair wind filled the sail, and
she ran five days and nights for Cornwall, till, on the
sixth day, they dropped anchor in Tintagel Haven. The castle
stood above, fenced all around. There was but the one armed
gate, and two knights watched it night and day. So Tristan
went ashore and sat upon the beach, and a man told him that
Mark was there and had just held his court.
“But where,” said he, “is Iseult, the Queen, and her fair
maid, Brangien?”
“In Tintagel too,” said the other, “and I saw them
lately; the Queen sad, as she always is.”
At the hearing of the name, Tristan suffered, and he
thought that neither by guile nor courage could he see that
friend, for Mark would kill him.
And he thought, “Let him kill me and let me die for her,
since every day I die. But you, Iseult, even if you knew me
here, would you not drive me out?” And he thought, “I will
try guile. I will seem mad, but with a madness that shall be
great wisdom. And many shall think me a fool that have less
wit than I.”
Just then a fisherman passed in a rough cloak and cape,
and Tristan seeing him, took him aside, and said:
“Friend, will you not change clothes?”
And as the fisherman found it a very good bargain, he
said in answer:
“Yes, friend, gladly.”
And he changed and ran off at once for fear of losing his
gain. Then Tristan shaved his wonderful hair; he shaved it
close to his head and left a cross all bald, and he rubbed
his face with magic herbs distilled in his own country, and
it changed in colour and skin so that none could know him,
and he made him a club from a young tree torn from a
hedge-row and hung it to his neck, and went bare-foot
towards the castle.
The porter made sure that he had to do with a fool and
said:
“Good morrow, fool, where have you been this long while?”
And he answered:
“At the Abbot of St. Michael’s wedding, and he wed an
abbess, large and veiled. And from the Alps to Mount St.
Michael how they came, the priests and abbots, monks and
regulars, all dancing on the green with croziers and with
staves under the high trees’ shade. But I left them all to
come hither, for I serve at the King’s board to-day.”
Then the porter said:
“Come in, lord fool; the Hairy Urgan’s son, I know, and
like your father.”
And when he was within the courts the serving men ran
after him and cried:
“The fool! the fool!”
But he made play with them though they cast stones and
struck him as they laughed, and in the midst of laughter and
their cries, as the rout followed him, he came to that hall
where, at the Queen’s side, King Mark sat under his canopy.
And as he neared the door with his club at his neck, the
King said:
“Here is a merry fellow, let him in.”
And they brought him in, his club at his neck. And the
King said:
“Friend, well come; what seek you here?”
“Iseult,” said he, “whom I love so well; I bring my
sister with me, Brunehild, the beautiful. Come, take her,
you are weary of the Queen. Take you my sister and give me
here Iseult, and I will hold her and serve you for her
love.”
The King said laughing:
“Fool, if I gave you the Queen, where would you take her,
pray?”
“Oh! very high,” he said, “between the clouds and heaven,
into a fair chamber glazed. The beams of the sun shine
through it, yet the winds do not trouble it at all. There
would I bear the Queen into that crystal chamber of mine all
compact of roses and the morning.”
The King and his barons laughed and said:
“Here is a good fool at no loss for words.”
But the fool as he sat at their feet gazed at Iseult most
fixedly.
“Friend,” said King Mark, “what warrant have you that the
Queen would heed so foul a fool as you?”
“O! Sire,” he answered gravely, “many deeds have I done
for her, and my madness is from her alone.”
“What is your name?” they said, and laughed.
“Tristan,” said he, “that loved the Queen so well, and
still till death will love her.”
But at the name the Queen angered and weakened together,
and said: “Get hence for an evil fool!”
But the fool, marking her anger, went on:
“Queen Iseult, do you mind the day, when, poisoned by the
Morholt’s spear, I took my harp to sea and fell upon your
shore? Your mother healed me with strange drugs. Have you no
memory, Queen?”
But Iseult answered:
“Out, fool, out! Your folly and you have passed the
bounds!”
But the fool, still playing, pushed the barons out,
crying:
“Out! madmen, out! Leave me to counsel with Iseult, since
I come here for the love of her!”
And as the King laughed, Iseult blushed and said:
“King, drive me forth this fool!”
But the fool still laughed and cried:
“Queen, do you mind you of the dragon I slew in your
land? I hid its tongue in my hose, and, burnt of its venom,
I fell by the roadside. Ah! what a knight was I then, and it
was you that succoured me.”
Iseult replied:
“Silence! You wrong all knighthood by your words, for you
are a fool from birth. Cursed be the seamen that brought you
hither; rather should they have cast you into the sea!”
“Queen Iseult,” he still said on, “do you mind you of
your haste when you would have slain me with my own sword?
And of the Hair of Gold? And of how I stood up to the
seneschal?”
“Silence!” she said, “you drunkard. You were drunk last
night, and so you dreamt these dreams.”
“Drunk, and still so am I,” said he, “but of such a
draught that never can the influence fade. Queen Iseult, do
you mind you of that hot and open day on the high seas? We
thirsted and we drank together from the same cup, and since
that day have I been drunk with an awful wine.”
When the Queen heard these words which she alone could
understand, she rose and would have gone.
But the King held her by her ermine cloak, and she sat
down again.
And as the King had his fill of the fool he called for
his falcons and went to hunt; and Iseult said to him:
“Sire, I am weak and sad; let me be go rest in my room; I
am tired of these follies.”
And she went to her room in thought and sat upon her bed
and mourned, calling herself a slave and saying:
“Why was I born? Brangien, dear sister, life is so hard
to me that death were better! There is a fool without,
shaven criss-cross, and come in an evil hour, and he is
warlock, for he knows in every part myself and my whole
life; he knows what you and I and Tristan only know.”
Then Brangien said: “It may be Tristan.”
But—“No,” said the Queen, “for he was the first of
knights, but this fool is foul and made awry. Curse me his
hour and the ship that brought him hither.”
“My lady!” said Brangien, “soothe you. You curse over
much these days. May be he comes from Tristan?”
“I cannot tell. I know him not. But go find him, friend,
and see if you know him.”
So Brangien went to the hall where the fool still sat
alone. Tristan knew her and let fall his club and said:
“Brangien, dear Brangien, before God! have pity on me!”
“Foul fool,” she answered, “what devil taught you my
name?”
“Lady,” he said, “I have known it long. By my head, that
once was fair, if I am mad the blame is yours, for it was
yours to watch over the wine we drank on the high seas. The
cup was of silver and I held it to Iseult and she drank. Do
you remember, lady?”
“No,” she said, and as she trembled and left he called
out: “Pity me!”
He followed and saw Iseult. He stretched out his arms,
but in her shame, sweating agony she drew back, and Tristan
angered and said:
“I have lived too long, for I have seen the day that
Iseult will nothing of me. Iseult, how hard love dies!
Iseult, a welling water that floods and runs large is a
mighty thing; on the day that it fails it is nothing; so
love that turns.”
But she said
“Brother, I look at you and doubt and tremble, and I know
you not for Tristan.”
“Queen Iseult, I am Tristan indeed that do love you; mind
you for the last time of the dwarf, and of the flower, and
of the blood I shed in my leap. Oh! and of that ring I took
in kisses and in tears on the day we parted. I have kept
that jasper ring and asked it counsel.”
Then Iseult knew Tristan for what he was, and she said:
“Heart, you should have broken of sorrow not to have
known the man who has suffered so much for you. Pardon, my
master and my friend.”
And her eyes darkened and she fell; but when the light
returned she was held by him who kissed her eyes and her
face.
So passed they three full days. But, on the third, two
maids that watched them told the traitor Andret, and he put
spies well-armed before the women’s rooms. And when Tristan
would enter they cried:
“Back, fool!”
But he brandished his club laughing, and said:
“What! May I not kiss the Queen who loves me and awaits
me now?”
And they feared him for a mad fool, and he passed in
through the door.
Then, being with the Queen for the last time, he held her
in his arms and said:
“Friend, I must fly, for they are wondering. I must fly,
and perhaps shall never see you more. My death is near, and
far from you my death will come of desire.”
“Oh friend,” she said, “fold your arms round me close and
strain me so that our hearts may break and our souls go free
at last. Take me to that happy place of which you told me
long ago. The fields whence none return, but where great
singers sing their songs for ever. Take me now.”
“I will take you to the Happy Palace of the living,
Queen! The time is near. We have drunk all joy and sorrow.
The time is near. When it is finished, if I call you, will
you come, my friend?”
“Friend,” said she, “call me and you know that I shall
come.”
“Friend,” said he, “God send you His reward.”
As he went out the spies would have held him; but he
laughed aloud, and flourished his club, and cried:
“Peace, gentlemen, I go and will not stay. My lady sends
me to prepare that shining house I vowed her, of crystal,
and of rose shot through with morning.”
And as they cursed and drave him, the fool went leaping
on his way.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"Then tell me what is the manner of the sail?"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier.
THE DEATH OF TRISTAN
When he was come back to Brittany, to Carhaix, it
happened that Tristan, riding to the aid of Kaherdin his
brother in arms, fell into ambush and was wounded by a
poisoned spear; and many doctors came, but none could cure
him of the ill. And Tristan weakened and paled, and his
bones showed.
Then he knew that his life was going, and that he must
die, and he had a desire to see once more Iseult the Fair,
but he could not seek her, for the sea would have killed him
in his weakness, and how could Iseult come to him? And sad,
and suffering the poison, he awaited death.
He called Kaherdin secretly to tell him his pain, for
they loved each other with a loyal love; and as he would
have no one in the room save Kaherdin, nor even in the
neighbouring rooms, Iseult of the White Hands began to
wonder. She was afraid and wished to hear, and she came back
and listened at the wall by Tristan’s bed; and as she
listened one of her maids kept watch for her.
Now, within, Tristan had gathered up his strength, and
had half risen, leaning against the wall, and Kaherdin wept
beside him. They wept their good comradeship, broken so
soon, and their friendship: then Tristan told Kaherdin of
his love for that other Iseult, and of the sorrow of his
life.
“Fair friend and gentle,” said Tristan, “I am in a
foreign land where I have neither friend nor cousin, save
you; and you alone in this place have given me comfort. My
life is going, and I wish to see once more Iseult the Fair.
Ah, did I but know of a messenger who would go to her! For
now I know that she will come to me. Kaherdin, my brother in
arms, I beg it of your friendship; try this thing for me,
and if you carry my word, I will become your liege, and I
will cherish you beyond all other men.”
And as Kaherdin saw Tristan broken down, his heart
reproached him and he said:
“Fair comrade, do not weep; I will do what you desire,
even if it were risk of death I would do it for you. Nor no
distress nor anguish will let me from doing it according to
my power. Give me the word you send, and I will make ready.”
And Tristan answered:
“Thank you, friend; this is my prayer: take this ring, it
is a sign between her and me; and when you come to her land
pass yourself at court for a merchant, and show her silk and
stuffs, but make so that she sees the ring, for then she
will find some ruse by which to speak to you in secret. Then
tell her that my heart salutes her; tell her that she alone
can bring me comfort; tell her that if she does not come I
shall die. Tell her to remember our past time, and our great
sorrows, and all the joy there was in our loyal and tender
love. And tell her to remember that draught we drank
together on the high seas. For we drank our death together.
Tell her to remember the oath I swore to serve a single
love, for I have kept that oath.”
But behind the wall, Iseult of the White Hands heard all
these things; and Tristan continued:
“Hasten, my friend, and come back quickly, or you will
not see me again. Take forty days for your term, but come
back with Iseult the Fair. And tell your sister nothing, or
tell her that you seek some doctor. Take my fine ship, and
two sails with you, one white, one black. And as you return,
if you bring Iseult, hoist the white sail; but if you bring
her not, the black. Now I have nothing more to say, but God
guide you and bring you back safe.”
With the first fair wind Kaherdin took the open, weighed
anchor and hoisted sail, and ran with a light air and broke
the seas. They bore rich merchandise with them, dyed silks
of rare colours, enamel of Touraine and wines of Poitou, for
by this ruse Kaherdin thought to reach Iseult. Eight days
and nights they ran full sail to Cornwall.
Now a woman’s wrath is a fearful thing, and all men fear
it, for according to her love, so will her vengeance be; and
their love and their hate come quickly, but their hate lives
longer than their love; and they will make play with love,
but not with hate. So Iseult of the White Hands, who had
heard every word, and who had so loved Tristan, waited her
vengeance upon what she loved most in the world. But she hid
it all; and when the doors were open again she came to
Tristan’s bed and served him with food as a lover should,
and spoke him gently and kissed him on the lips, and asked
him if Kaherdin would soon return with one to cure him … but
all day long she thought upon her vengeance.
And Kaherdin sailed and sailed till he dropped anchor in
the haven of Tintagel. He landed and took with him a cloth
of rare dye and a cup well chiselled and worked, and made a
present of them to King Mark, and courteously begged of him
his peace and safeguard that he might traffick in his land;
and the King gave him his peace before all the men of his
palace.
Then Kaherdin offered the Queen a buckle of fine gold;
and “Queen,” said he, “the gold is good.”
Then taking from his finger Tristan’s ring, he put it
side by side with the jewel and said:
“See, O Queen, the gold of the buckle is the finer gold;
yet that ring also has its worth.”
When Iseult saw what ring that was, her heart trembled
and her colour changed, and fearing what might next be said
she drew Kaherdin apart near a window, as if to see and
bargain the better; and Kaherdin said to her, low down:
“Lady, Tristan is wounded of a poisoned spear and is
about to die. He sends you word that you alone can bring him
comfort, and recalls to you the great sorrows that you bore
together. Keep you the ring—it is yours.”
But Iseult answered, weakening:
“Friend, I will follow you; get ready your ship to-morrow
at dawn.”
And on the morrow at dawn they raised anchor, stepped
mast, and hoisted sail, and happily the barque left land.
But at Carhaix Tristan lay and longed for Iseult’s
coming. Nothing now filled him any more, and if he lived it
was only as awaiting her; and day by day he sent watchers to
the shore to see if some ship came, and to learn the colour
of her sail. There was no other thing left in his heart.
He had himself carried to the cliff of the Penmarks,
where it overlooks the sea, and all the daylight long he
gazed far off over the water.
Hear now a tale most sad and pitiful to all who love.
Already was Iseult near; already the cliff of the Penmarks
showed far away, and the ship ran heartily, when a storm
wind rose on a sudden and grew, and struck the sail, and
turned the ship all round about, and the sailors bore away
and sore against their will they ran before the wind. The
wind raged and big seas ran, and the air grew thick with
darkness, and the ocean itself turned dark, and the rain
drove in gusts. The yard snapped, and the sheet; they struck
their sail, and ran with wind and water. In an evil hour
they had forgotten to haul their pinnace aboard; it leapt in
their wake, and a great sea broke it away.
Then Iseult cried out: “God does not will that I should
live to see him, my love, once—even one time more. God wills
my drowning in this sea. O, Tristan, had I spoken to you but
once again, it is little I should have cared for a death
come afterwards. But now, my love, I cannot come to you; for
God so wills it, and that is the core of my grief.”
And thus the Queen complained so long as the storm
endured; but after five days it died down. Kaherdin hoisted
the sail, the white sail, right up to the very masthead with
great joy; the white sail, that Tristan might know its
colour from afar: and already Kaherdin saw Britanny far off
like a cloud. Hardly were these things seen and done when a
calm came, and the sea lay even and untroubled. The sail
bellied no longer, and the sailors held the ship now up, now
down, the tide, beating backwards and forwards in vain. They
saw the shore afar off, but the storm had carried their boat
away and they could not land. On the third night Iseult
dreamt this dream: that she held in her lap a boar’s head
which befouled her skirts with blood; then she knew that she
would never see her lover again alive.
Tristan was now too weak to keep his watch from the cliff
of the Penmarks, and for many long days, within walls, far
from the shore, he had mourned for Iseult because she did
not come. Dolorous and alone, he mourned and sighed in
restlessness: he was near death from desire.
At last the wind freshened and the white sail showed.
Then it was that Iseult of the White Hands took her
vengeance.
She came to where Tristan lay, and she said:
“Friend, Kaherdin is here. I have seen his ship upon the
sea. She comes up hardly—yet I know her; may he bring that
which shall heal thee, friend.”
And Tristan trembled and said:
“Beautiful friend, you are sure that the ship is his
indeed? Then tell me what is the manner of the sail?”
“I saw it plain and well. They have shaken it out and
hoisted it very high, for they have little wind. For its
colour, why, it is black.”
And Tristan turned him to the wall, and said:
“I cannot keep this life of mine any longer.” He said
three times: “Iseult, my friend.” And in saying it the
fourth time, he died.
Then throughout the house, the knights and the comrades
of Tristan wept out loud, and they took him from his bed and
laid him on a rich cloth, and they covered his body with a
shroud. But at sea the wind had risen; it struck the sail
fair and full and drove the ship to shore, and Iseult the
Fair set foot upon the land. She heard loud mourning in the
streets, and the tolling of bells in the minsters and the
chapel towers; she asked the people the meaning of the knell
and of their tears. An old man said to her:
“Lady, we suffer a great grief. Tristan, that was so
loyal and so right, is dead. He was open to the poor; he
ministered to the suffering. It is the chief evil that has
ever fallen on this land.”
But Iseult, hearing them, could not answer them a word.
She went up to the palace, following the way, and her cloak
was random and wild. The Bretons marvelled as she went; nor
had they ever seen woman of such a beauty, and they said:
“Who is she, or whence does she come?”
Near Tristan, Iseult of the White Hands crouched,
maddened at the evil she had done, and calling and lamenting
over the dead man. The other Iseult came in and said to her:
“Lady, rise and let me come by him; I have more right to
mourn him than have you—believe me. I loved him more.”
And when she had turned to the east and prayed God, she
moved the body a little and lay down by the dead man, beside
her friend. She kissed his mouth and his face, and clasped
him closely; and so gave up her soul, and died beside him of
grief for her lover.
When King Mark heard of the death of these lovers, he
crossed the sea and came into Brittany; and he had two
coffins hewn, for Tristan and Iseult, one of chalcedony for
Iseult, and one of beryl for Tristan. And he took their
beloved bodies away with him upon his ship to Tintagel, and
by a chantry to the left and right of the apse he had their
tombs built round. But in one night there sprang from the
tomb of Tristan a green and leafy briar, strong in its
branches and in the scent of its flowers. It climbed the
chantry and fell to root again by Iseult’s tomb. Thrice did
the peasants cut it down, but thrice it grew again as
flowered and as strong. They told the marvel to King Mark,
and he forbade them to cut the briar any more.
The good singers of old time, Beroul and Thomas of Built,
Gilbert and Gottfried told this tale for lovers and none
other, and, by my pen, they beg you for your prayers. They
greet those who are cast down, and those in heart, those
troubled and those filled with desire. May all herein find
strength against inconstancy and despite and loss and pain
and all the bitterness of loving.
Mac Harshberger
(1900-1975)
"The Death of Tristan"
from: Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bedier
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