J. Comyns Carr - Tristram and Iseult - Act I lyrics

ACT I. THE POISONED SPEAR. SCENE:—A narrow bay surrounded by rocky shores. At the back to R. a shelving ledge of rock forms a natural quay, by the side of which is moored the ship in which TRISTRAM is to set sail for Ireland. The vessel is set diagonally, with its raised stern turned to the audience, the remainder being hidden by a rising wall of rock, behind which it finally glides out of view at the fall of the curtain. Down these rocks to R. descends a steep path leading from the castle, the ramparts of which are seen in perspective. The centre of the stage forms the fringe of the little bay, with projecting rocks screening the view of the water; while to L. is seen the opposite shore of the bay stretching away to the cliffs that overlook the open sea. As the curtain rises SAILORS are seen pa**ing from the ship to the shore. ANDRED, accompanied by a KNIGHT, descends by the rocky path to R., and as he reaches the level of the stage he is met by ARGANTHAEL, who enters L. Andred. [To KNIGHT.] Go, straightway tell these Lords from Lyonesse The King will greet them here. [The KNIGHT bows, crosses, and goes out L. Arganthael. What Lords are these? Andred. Sir Dinas and his kin who, at this hour When all is ready, now would pray the King That Tristram shall not sail! Arganthael. Aye, and the King What mood is he in? Andred. In such a perilous mood That we, who thought we knew him yesterday, Had best to-day forget the thing he seemed And read him o'er again. He now declares That we, not he, have urged Sir Tristram forth! And of a truth he hath contrived it so We have no word to count on. Arganthael. Nay, no word! A king indeed were none if he had need Of words to work his will; and 'tis their grace Who serve him best that they can best divine His mute commands. If we for our own ends Have counselled Tristram's going we have cause! Doth he not stand as Lord of Lyonesse And heir to Mark's whole kingdom, blocking that path Which else my sons might scale to win a crown? And as for thee dost thou not still recall How, in that hour when Moraunt flouted thee, His greater daring left upon thy brow The brand of coward? Andred. We have cause enough. Think not, sweet Arganthael, I have forgot. [He approaches her and takes her face between his hands. 'Twas then our love took birth, when our two hearts, Scorning those softer ways that lovers use, Drew lip to lip in secret whispered vows That sealed his doom. Arganthael. Yet, Andred, all our cause Is naught compared to his. Andred. So had I thought; Yet now we stand in peril, for these knights Cry with one voice: should Tristram sail today, The wound he got from Moraunt's poisoned spear Must end his life! Arganthael. Well, Sir, and if it be? Mark will not halt for that. Thou know'st him well. When Tristram's sword struck Moraunt to the earth And freed our trembling land, hast thou forgot That look upon Mark's face? His thin parched lips Could scarcely frame the sounding words of praise He dared not then withhold. And day by day As Tristram grew in fame and those twin beams Of love and worship, drawn to where he stood, Left the throne starved and sunless, did'st not note How wan he grew the while his crafty eyes Still wooed our deeper hate—willing the end Yet fearful of the means! I tell thee no, The King of yesterday still rules today; 'Tis only fear that shakes him. Andred. Look, he comes! Enter KING MARK, descending the path to R. attended by two KNIGHTS who stand apart. Mark. Stands the ship ready? Andred. See you not, my Lord? The sailors go abroad. [At the back the SAILORS are seen pa**ing to and fro from the vessel to the shore. Arganthael. They do but wait Sir Tristram's coming. Mark. Nay, they wait our word. He shall not sail today. [ARGANTHAEL makes a movement as though about to speak. Stay, Arganthael, We have been over hasty in this business. These knights suspect our purpose. Arganthael. Would they then See Tristram die? Have not all cures been sought, And sought in vain? Yield not to that, my Lord! Mark. Yea, needs we must! For should we send him forth And d**h o'ertake him there, this fatal day Must stand to our account. All time to come Will cry—'Twas Mark who sent him to his doom! So all were doubly lost, for Tristram's fame Would mould from d**h a larger memory Whose worshipped image still would steal away The light that should be ours! Enter from L. a SAILOR in rough and stained garments. Why who is here? Arganthael. He hath a sea-worn visage. Andred. What seek you, sir? Sailor. Can any man tell me where dwells the King of this land? Andred. There, yonder stands his castle. Sailor. I thank you. [He crosses as if to ascend the rocky path. ANDRED stops him. Andred. Stay, fellow, what would you with the King? Sailor. That which 'tis fitting he should know, or ill may befall. Andred. Then speak, for there he stands. [Pointing to MARK.] Sailor. Nay, sir, flout me not. Any clown may know a king when he sees him. In Norway he who rules us stands nobly and is clad in steel. Andred. Thou art an insolent dog! Mark. Nay, let him be! Truly, fellow, this knight doth but jest with thee! What seek you with the King? I'll bear thy message. Sailor. Then prithee, tell me, is there a very valiant knight of this land named Sir Tristram of Lyonesse? Mark. Aye, so there is! Sailor. Doth the King love him well as men say? Mark. There's none dare say he doth not. Sailor. Then wherefore does this same knight set sail to-day for Ireland? Mark. And wherefore not? Sailor. There is one Gormon rules in Ireland, who thinks of nought but how to avenge the d**h of Sir Moraunt, his son—and hark'ee, e'en as I left the Irish port, this Gormon had, in that very hour, let fly a bloody oath decreeing instant d**h 'gainst any Cornish lord whose feet should touch the Irish shore. Think you not the King should know of this? Mark. Truly, and thou thyself shalt tell him. [Turning to one of his KNIGHTS.] See that this worthy fellow is well bestowed in the Castle. Arganthael. [Aside.] And well guarded. Mark. Thou hast told this to none but me? Sailor. Nay, and of a truth I thought to tell it to none but the King. Mark. 'Tis well, this lord shall bear thee to him. Sailor. I thank thee. [To ANDRED as he goes out.] See you, Sir, you could not beguile me. Now I shall see the King indeed. [Exit R. with the two KNIGHTS. [MARK stands for a moment alone and silent, ARGANTHAEL and ANDRED watching him. Then, after a pause, he turns to ANDRED. Mark. Bear Tristram hither. [Exit ANDRED. Arganthael. Is it not strange, my lord, That even this wild fellow from the North Still prates of Tristram's fame? Mark. Aye, so he did! 'Tis blown across the world with every wind, And every wind but bears it back again With added glory till our deafened ears Can hear no other sound. But that shall end! He hath stood betwixt us and our people's love Like a dark cloud that robs us of the sun. Yet soon that cloud shall pa**: 'tis pa**ing now, [The light grows as he speaks. See, where those truant beams that seemed to shine For him alone creep back to kiss our feet, And mount and mount above his fallen corse Till all their radiance, that we deemed was lost, Returns to gild our crown! Nay, Arganthael, Howe'er these knights may plead our answer stands: Sir Tristram sails to-day. Arganthael. Hold fast to that. And here they come, Sir Dinas and his crew. Enter L. a group of KNIGHTS headed by SIR DINAS DE LIDAN. Mark. Welcome, Sir Knights, and doubly welcome now Since well we know ye love Sir Tristram well. Dinas. My Lord, I would speak for all. Mark. Stay, Sir, not yet. First we would speak for thee. In that dark hour When Cornwall lay in peril, Tristram then Stood singly forth and bore the brunt of all: Sir Moraunt's challenge found, and left, ye dumb. There was not one to answer save this knight Who dared where none would dare, freeing our land, Which else had pa**ed 'neath Gormon's bloody sway. Yet he whose stout arm wrought this miracle There got from Moraunt's poisoned spear a wound Which since has sapped his blood! Is there one here Of all who vaunt their love can heal that wound? Have we not searched the land and found no cure? What hope is left? Nought, Sirs, save one alone; For in that land where Tristram sails to-day There dwells the fair Iseult, whose healing hands Are famed through all the world: haply 'tis she Shall make him whole again. But, see! they come, Those weeping maids who tend him. [A company of MAIDENS clad in white descend the winding path to R. They move slowly as they sing, and in their midst lies the wounded TRISTRAM, borne upon a litter with GOUVERNAYLE walking by his side. Chorus. Bear him sea-ward to that shore Whence came Moraunt's poisoned spear, Tristram, he whose wound is sore; Nought of hope or help is here! Make him whole as heretofore, Maiden of the Healing Hands; Send him homeward, safe once more, Tristram loved of all our lands. [At the finish TRISTRAM raises himself on the litter supported by GOUVERNAYLE. Tristram. My Lord, I did not look for this farewell. Mark. Nor we, whose love had thought to bind thee here, Still ever at our side, our chosen heir! Yet so God wills it; for that grievous wound Still eats thy life away, and nought is left But this one hope forecast by Gondoine: "In that wild land, whence came that poisoned spear, There lies all hope of healing, there, not here." So speaks that sage's voice. Tristram. Ah! Good my Lord I have no hope of healing! Well I know This wound I bear is mortal. Dinas. Pray you then, Let him not venture forth! Here in our land Are those who love him and will tend him well Whatever fate befall him. Tristram. Peace, Sirs, Peace! Ye know not what ye ask. Though all the land Sought with one voice to stay me, 'twere in vain. I still would sail to-day. This wound I bear Was dealt by Moraunt, and for all its pains I think there's but one end. Yet, e'er that comes, There is a deeper wound I fain would heal, A wound this hand hath wrought. Gouvernayle. My master, no! That hand is stainless and the sword it bears Struck Moraunt to the earth. Tristram. Aye, so it did! And by that blow hath stirred this endless strife Betwixt his land and ours. Dinas. Wherefore the more We pray you: go not forth to that far land Where only hate may dwell. Mark. Nay, fear not that! If aught of ill befall him in that land, Our swords shall speak in answer. Gormon knows Our ships like hounds in leash but wait one word To leap from wave to wave, from shore to shore, Till we stand face to face. Tristram. Sire, not that way Shall peace be won! Could'st thou stand here with me Beneath d**h's shadowing wing, thine eyes like mine Would learn to pierce the folded veil of time And read its secret. Truly spake that voice— That only there whence came that poisoned spear Dwells our last hope of healing: not for me Whose wound may count for nought, but for our land Which now lies stricken and must bleed to d**h Unless that wound be staunched which my hand wrought When Moraunt fell. For blood cries out for blood, And this long feud 'twixt Ireland and thee, Devouring both our lands, shall never cease, Save by the sweeter grace of her whose hands Bear healing with them. Mark. Would you have us sue Of this proud King, and crave on bended knee That he should show us mercy? Tristram. Nay, not so! A King may kneel, but only to a Queen. I'd have thee sue of her who shall be Queen! Iseult of Ireland, King Gormon's child, Whom all men count the fairest maid on earth, For in her face as in a faultless flower, Is gathered up all beauty. Kneel to her! Is she not worthy to be crowned thy Queen? Mark. Thou art mine heir, I have no need to wed. Tristram. I am thine heir. Then none hath so good right to crave this boon of thee. Let me go forth As thine amba**ador to win this maid, So shall I die as I had hoped to live In serving thee, and so in this last act Bring peace once more 'twixt Gormon's throne and thine. Mark. We know not how to answer. All our dream Centres in thee. Yet from thy loyal thought Springs a new hope that bids us grant thy prayer; For Gormon's lust of vengeance needs must halt In face of this sweet message. Look you, Sirs, Ye who but late did bid Sir Tristram stay, What say ye now? Arganthael. My Lord, let him go forth. It is thy people's will that thou should'st wed; Yet 'tis not this that moves me, for I see In this proud emba**y a surer hope For Tristram's life. Mark. Dinas, what sayest thou? Dinas. My Lord, we stand by thee. Mark. [To TRISTRAM.] Then take thy way: Yet know ye all, our love would hold him here— 'Tis but the dearer wish, that in that land His wound may find a cure, that bids us yield; 'Tis that one thought alone that sends thee forth To win this royal maid. Yet hearken all: No welcome waits for any Queen on earth Save and if fate should will that thou thyself, Made whole once more, should bear her back to us. Gouvernayle. My Lord, they hoist the sail! Tristram. Stay, Gouvernayle, Halt here awhile. [He motions the bearers to leave him and GOUVERNAYLE goes up stage, then he turns to MARK. Wilt thou draw near to me? I cannot rise to thee. [MARK approaches him. Here, ere I go, I would one last a**urance of thy love. Mark. [With averted eyes.] Thou hast it all. What need to question it? Tristram. Sick thoughts will oft-times haunt a sick man's brain. I dreamed last night that loyal love was dead, And I the cause. Mark. Most surely thou didst dream. Tristram. That love endures? Mark. And shall, till d**h shall end it. Yet tarry not, the sail sits shoulder high, And every wasted moment steals from hope Its promised dower. Tristram. That dower lies in thy love Which still stands all in all; and here I swear To win that Royal maid to be thy bride, Or in thy wooing end a wasted life. So bear me on. [As TRISTRAM is borne to the ship the group of MAIDENS take up again the last verse of the Chorus, and while they sing, TRISTRAM is seen standing on the poop of the vessel, supported by GOUVERNAYLE. Arganthael. [Aside to MARK.] Look on his face once more— For the last time. Tristram. [From the ship.] My lord, farewell! Farewell! Mark. For the last time, farewell! CURTAIN.