ISOLDA (_hurries to_ BRANGÆNA _and embraces her vehemently_).
Now farewell, Brangæna!
Greet ev'ry one,
Greet my father and mother!
BRANGÆNA.
What now? what mean'st thou?
Wouldst thou flee?
And where must I then follow?
ISOLDA (_checking herself suddenly_).
Here I remain:
heard you not?
Tristan will I await.--
I trust in thee
to aid in this:
prepare the true
cup of peace:
thou mindest how it is made.
BRANGÆNA.
What meanest thou?
ISOLDA (_taking a bottle from the coffer_).
This it is!
From the flask go pour
this philtre out;
yon golden goblet 'twill fill.
BRANGÆNA (_filled with terror receiving the flask_).
Trust I my wits?
ISOLDA.
Wilt thou be true?
BRANGÆNA.
The draught--for whom?
ISOLDA. Him who betrayed!
BRANGÆNA. Tristan?
ISOLDA. Truce he'll drink with me.
BRANGÆNA (_throwing herself at_ ISOLDA'S _feet_). O horror!
Pity thy handmaid!
ISOLDA. Pity thou me,
false-hearted maid!
Mindest thou not
my mother's arts?
Think you that she
who'd mastered those
would have sent thee o'er the sea
without assistance for me?
A salve for sickness
doth she offer
and antidotes
for deadly drugs:
for deepest grief
and woe supreme
gave she the draught of death.
Let Death now give her thanks!
BRANGÆNA (_scarcely able to control herself_). O deepest
grief!
ISOLDA. Now, wilt thou obey?
BRANGÆNA. O woe supreme!
ISOLDA. Wilt thou be true?
BRANGÆNA. The draught?
KURVENAL (_entering_). Sir Tristan!
(BRANGÆNA _rises, terrified and confused_. ISOLDA _strives with
immense effort to control herself_.)
ISOLDA (_to Kurvenal_). Sir Tristan may approach!