Читать книгу Tristan and Isolda - Рихард Вагнер - Страница 5

BRANGÆNA. Ah! an answer

so insulting!

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

How now? of Tristan?

I'd know if he denies me.

BRANGÆNA. Ah! question not!

ISOLDA. Quick, say without fear!

BRANGÆNA. With courteous phrase

he foiled my will.

ISOLDA. But when you bade him hither?

BRANGÆNA. When I had straightway

bid him come,

where'er he stood,

he said to me,

he truly served but thee,

the pearl of womanhood;

if he unheeded

left the helm

how could he pilot the ship

in surety to King Mark?

ISOLDA (bitterly).

"How could he pilot the ship

in surety to King Mark!"

And wait on him with were-gild

from Ireland's island won!

BRANGÆNA.

As I gave out the message

and in thy very words,

thus spoke his henchman Kurvenal—

ISOLDA.

Heard I not ev'ry sentence?

it all has reached my ear.

If thou hast learnt my disgrace

now hear too whence it has grown.

How scoffingly

they sing about me!

Quickly could I requite them!

What of the boat

so bare and frail,

that floated by our shore?

What of the broken

stricken man,

feebly extended there?

Isolda's art

he gladly owned;

with herbs, simples

and healing salves

the wounds from which he suffered

she nursed in skilful wise.

Though "Tantris"

The name that he took unto him,

as "Tristan"

anon Isolda knew him,

when in the sick man's keen blade

she perceived a notch had been made,

wherein did fit

a splinter broken

in Morold's head,

the mangled token

sent home in hatred rare:

this hand did find it there.

I heard a voice

from distance dim;

with the sword in hand

I came to him.

Full well I willed to slay him,

for Morold's death to pay him.

But from his sick bed

he looked up

not at the sword,

not at my arm—

his eyes on mine were fastened,

and his feebleness

softened my heart:

the sword—dropped from my fingers.

Though Morold's steel had maimed him

to health again I reclaimed him!

when he hath homeward wended

my emotion then might be ended.

BRANGÆNA.

O wondrous! Why could I not see this?

The guest I sometime

helped to nurse—?

ISOLDA.

His praise briskly they sing now:—

"Bravo, our brave Tristan!"—

he was that distressful man.

A thousand protestations

of truth and love he prated.

Hear how a knight

fealty knows!—

When as Tantris

unforbidden he'd left me,

as Tristan

boldly back he came,

in stately ship

from which in pride

Ireland's heiress

in marriage he asked

for Mark, the Cornish monarch,

his kinsman worn and old.

In Morold's lifetime

dared any have dreamed

to offer us such an insult?

For the tax-paying

Cornish prince

to presume to court Ireland's princess!

Ah, woe is me!

I it was

who for myself

did shape this shame!

with death-dealing sword

should I have stabbed him;

weakly it escaped me:—

now serfdom I have shaped me.

Curse him, the villain!

Curse on his head!

Vengeance! Death!

Death for me too!

BRANGÆNA (throwing herself upon ISOLDA with impetuous tenderness).

Isolda! lady!

loved one! fairest!

sweet perfection!

mistress rarest!

Hear me! come now,

sit thee here.—

What a whim!

what causeless railing!

How came you so wrong-minded

and by mere fancy blinded?

Sir Tristan gives thee

Cornwall's kingdom;

then, were he erst thy debtor,

how could he reward thee better?

His noble uncle

serves he so:

think too what a gift

on thee he'd bestow!

With honor unequalled

all he's heir to

at thy feet he seeks to shower,

to make thee a queenly dower.

If wife he'd make thee

unto King Mark

why wert thou in this wise complaining?

Is he not worth thy gaining?

Of royal race

and mild of mood,

who passes King Mark

in might and power?

If a noble knight

like Tristan serves him,

who would not but feel elated,

so fairly to be mated.

ISOLDA (gazing vacantly before her).

Glorious knight!

And I must near him

loveless ever languish!

How can I support such anguish?

BRANGÆNA.

What's this, my lady?

loveless thou?

Where lives there a man

would not love thee?

Who could see Isolda

And not sink

at once into bondage blest?

And if e'en it could be

any were cold,

did any magic

draw him from thee,

I'd bring the false one

back to bondage,

And bind him in links of love.—

Mindest thou not

thy mother's arts?

Think you that she

who'd mastered those

would have sent me o'er the sea,

without assistance for thee?

ISOLDA (darkly).

My mother's rede

I mind aright,

and highly her magic

arts I hold:—

Vengeance they wreak for wrongs,

rest give to wounded spirits.—

Yon casket hither bear.

BRANGÆNA.

It holds a balm for thee.—

Thy mother placed inside it

her subtle magic potions.

There's salve for sickness

or for wounds,

and antidotes

for deadly drugs.—

The helpfullest draught

I hold in here.

ISOLDA.

Not so, I know a better.

I make a mark

to know it again—

This draught 'tis I would drain.

BRANGÆNA (recoiling in horror).

The draught of death!

VOICES OF THE CREW (without).

"Ho! heave ho! hey!

Reduce the sail!

The mainsail in!

Ho! heave ho! hey!"

ISOLDA.

Our journey has been swift.

Woe is me! Near to the land!