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.”