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Westwards the gaze wanders.
Eastwards skims the ship.
Fresh the wind blows towards home.
My Irish child, where are you now?
Is it your wafting sighs
that swell my sails?
Blow, blow, you wind!
Ah, alas, my child!
Irish girl, you wild, adorable girl!
Who dares to mock me?
Brangäne, you?
Tell me, where are we?
Blue shadows are rising up in the west.
Smoothly and swiftly the ship sails on.
On a calm sea, before evening, we shall safely reach land.
Which land?
Cornwall's green coast.
Never! Not today, not tomorrow!
What are you saying? My mistress! Ah!
Degenerate race! Unworthy of your ancestors!
How, O mother, did you dispose of the power of ruling sea and tempest?
O feeble art of the sorceress, still cooking up curative potions!
Be stirred in me once again, bold power!
Rise up from my breast, where you have lain concealed!
Give ear to my will, half-hearted winds!
Off to battle and turbulent elements!
To the furious vortex of raging tempests!
Shake from her slumber this somnolent sea!
Awaken from her depths her malevolent greed!
Show her the prize that I have to offer!
Let her smash this insolent ship
and gorge on her shattered wreckage!
And whatever has life on her, that faint breath,
I leave as reward for you winds!
Alas! Ah! Ah! The evil that I foresaw!
Isolde! My lady! Dear heart!
What have you been keeping from me for so long?
Not a tear did you shed for father and mother.
Scarcely a parting word did you have for those left behind.
Leaving your homeland, cold and mute,
pale and silent on the voyage;
without food, without sleep,
numb and wretched, wild and distraught:
how could I bear to see you thus,
to mean nothing to you,
to stand before you as a stranger?
Oh, tell me now what troubles you!
Let me know what is tormenting you!
My lady Isolde,
dearest beloved!
If she is to hold herself of worth in your eyes
place your trust in Brangäne now!
Air! Air! My heart is stifled!
Open up! Open wide there!
Freshly the wind blows towards home.
My Irish child, where are you now?
Is it your wafting sighs
that swell my sails?
Blow, blow, you wind!
Ah, alas, my child!
Chosen for me,
lost to me,
splendid and strong,
bold and cowardly!
Head destined for death!
Heart destined for death!
What do you think of the upstart?
Whom do you mean?
The hero there,
diverting his gaze from mine,
in shame and awe his eyes cast down.
Tell me, how does he strike you?
Do you mean Tristan, dear lady?
The marvel of all kingdoms, supremely acclaimed above all others?
The hero without peer, the shield and guardian of reputation?
Who timidly flees from the blow whenever he can
because he has won a corpse as a bride for his master!
Do you think it sinister, my tale?
Ask him yourself, then, the free man, whether he dares to approach me?
The hero forgets the address demanded by honour and attention to his mistress
lest her gaze fall upon him, the hero without peer!
Oh, he knows well why!
To the proud one go and tell him what your mistress says.
Ready to attend me, he is to come to me at once.
Am I to ask him to bid you greeting?
Let my command teach the vainglorious one
to fear his mistress, Isolde!
Watch out, Tristan!
An envoy from Isolde.
What? Isolde?
From my lady?
What has the faithful maid, obedient to her,
courteously come to tell me?
Tristan, my lord,
to see you is the wish of Isolde, my lady.
If the long voyage irks her
it is near its end.
Before the sun sets we shall reach land.
May whatever my lady commands be faithfully carried out.
Lord Tristan is to go to her.
That is my lady's will.
There where the green pastures still appear blue to the eye
my king is waiting for my lady.
To escort her to him I shall soon approach the radiant one.
To none other would I grant this grace.
My lord Tristan, listen well:
the lady requires you to attend her
and to proceed to where she awaits you.
On this spot where I am standing
I serve her faithfully,
the most honourable lady.
Were I to leave the helm at this very hour
how could I safely steer the craft to King Marke's land?
Tristan, my lord! Why do you mock me?
If the foolish maid cannot make it clear
then hear my lady's words!
Thus, she said, I should speak to you:
let her command teach the vainglorious one
to fear his mistress, Isolde!
Can I give her the answer?
What would your answer be?
Let her say this to the lady Isolde!
He who Cornwall's crown and England's succession bestows upon the Irish girl,
he cannot be in thrall to the maid, he who gives her to his uncle.
A lord of the world!
Tristan the hero!
That's my call, you'll say, though a thousand Isoldes should rage at me!
"Lord Morold went off to sea to extract tribute in Cornwall."
"An island floats in the desolate seas, there he now lies buried!"
"But his head is hanging in Ireland as tribute paid to England."
"Hail to our hero, Tristan, he knows how to exact tribute!"
"But his head is hanging in Ireland as tribute paid by England."
"Hail to our hero, Tristan, he knows how to exact tribute!"
Ah! Alas! To suffer this!
Now, what of Tristan?
I want to know exactly.
Ah, do not ask!
Tell me freely, without fear!
With courtly expressions he evaded my words.
But when you warned him clearly?
When I called him here to you,
he said that, where he was standing,
he served you faithfully,
the most honourable lady.
Were he to leave the helm at this very hour
how could he safely steer the craft to King Marke's land?
"How could he safely steer the craft to King Marke's land?"
To hand over to him the tribute that he exacted from Ireland!
At your own words, when I repeated them to him,
his servant Kurwenal...
I heard him.
Not a word escaped me.
If you sensed my disgrace
hear now
what brought it upon me.
As they mockingly sing behind my back
well might I make reply
about a boat which, small and frail, drifted along the Irish coast.
In it a sick and ailing man lay miserably dying.
Isolde's skills became known to him.
With healing ointments and soothing lotions
the wound which tormented him she faithfully nursed.
He who with sly cunning called himself "Tantris"
Isolde soon recognized as Tristan
since in his sword, as he lay there, she perceived a notch
into which there fitted a splinter she had found with nimble fingers
in the head of the Irish knight once sent back to mock her.
Then a cry awoke from the depths of my heart!
With the gleaming sword I stood before him,
ready to avenge on him, the presumptuous one, lord Morold's death.
From his bed
he looked up,
not at the sword,
not at my hand.
He gazed into my eyes.
His wretchedness tormented me!
The sword...
I dropped it!
The wound that Morold smote,
I healed it so that he recovered
and returned home,
not to burden me with such a look!
How strange! Where were my eyes?
The guest that once I helped to nurse?
You have just heard his praises:
"Hey! Our hero Tristan!"
He was that pathetic man.
With a thousand oaths he swore to me
eternal gratitude and loyalty!
Hear now how a hero keeps his oath!
He whom, as Tantris, I let go unidentified
as Tristan boldly soon returned.
On a proud ship from a lofty deck
he demanded the Irish successor as a bride for Cornwall's feeble king,
for Marke his uncle.
If Morold were alive who would ever have dared to bring such shame upon us?
For this vassal prince of the Cornish to suit for the crown of Ireland!
Ah, I am lost!
Yes, I it was who, in secret, brought the shame upon myself!
The avenging sword, instead of wielding it,
impotently
I let it fall!
Now I am in the vassal's bondage!
When peace, reconciliation and amity were sworn by all
we hailed the happy day.
How could I have foreseen that it would cause you such grief?
O blind eyes! Credulous heart!
Despairing silence, feeble courage!
How differently Tristan paraded what I had kept concealed!
She who in silence gave him his life,
from the enemy's fury quietly hid him,
who silently lent her sanctuary to save him,
both her and all that he abandoned!
Boasting of victory, glorious and bold,
loud and clear he pointed to me:
"There's a treasure, my lord and uncle."
"How about that for a wife?"
"This trim Irish girl I'll bring back to you."
"Knowing well the way"
"with a wave I was off to Ireland."
"Isolde, she's yours!"
"What a splendid bit of adventure!"
Curse you, vile creature!
A curse upon your head!
Vengeance! Death!
Death for us both!
O sweet one! Beloved!
Dearest! Beautiful one!
Golden mistress!
Dear Isolde!
Listen to me! Come!
Sit here!
What madness! What vain anger!
How can you be so confused as not to see or hear clearly?
What lord Tristan ever owed you,
how better could he repay it than with the most splendid of crowns?
Thus could he loyally serve his noble uncle.
To you he gave the world's most desirable prize:
his own inheritance, nobly and in good faith; he relinquished it at your feet
to hail you as queen!
And if he secured Marke as a husband for you
why did you scorn the choice?
Can you not see its value?
Of noble blood and gentle disposition
who can compare with the man in power and glory?
He whom a bold hero so faithfully serves,
who might not share his fortune
and live beside him as his wife?
Unloved,
always seeing near me
that splendid man!
How could I bear the torment?
What are you thinking of, wicked girl?
Unloved?
Where is the man who would not love you?
Who could see Isolde and not be blissfully consumed in Isolde?
But he who chose you,
however cold he might be
or if a spell had turned him from you,
I would know how to constrain him.
The power of love would constrain him.
Do you not know your mother's craft?
Do you imagine that she, who considers everything,
would have sent me away with you
without means of help into a foreign land?
My mother's advice is good counsel.
Gladly I recognize the worth of her craft.
Vengeance for the treachery!
Easement for the heart's distress!
Fetch me that chest over there!
What it contains will bring you relief.
In this your mother arranged the powerful magic draughts.
For pain and wounds here is ointment.
For evil poisons antidote.
The finest draught
I keep here.
You are wrong, I know better.
I placed a clear sign upon it.
This is the potion I need!
The death potion!
Ho! Hey! Ha! Hey! Lower mast, take in sail!
That means a swift voyage.
Wretched that I am! Near to land!
Up! Up, you ladies!
Lively and cheerful! Make ready! Come along, smartly now!
And to the lady Isolde I am to say from Tristan the hero, my lord:
from the mast the festive flag
is fluttering merrily towards land.
In Marke's royal castle
it announces her approach.
He therefore requests lady Isolde to hurry
and prepare for landing
so that he may escort her.
Convey to lord Tristan my greetings
and tell him what I say:
if I am to walk at his side
to stand before King Marke
it would not be done with due propriety and custom
unless I received restitution in advance
for guilt still unatoned.
Let him then seek my grace.
Mark it well and report it true!
I will not make ready to accompany him ashore,
I shall not walk at his side
to stand before King Marke;
he must first seek forgiveness, according to propriety and custom,
for unatoned guilt;
such my grace would grant him!
You may be sure I shall tell him that.
Now wait to hear how he receives it!
Now farewell, Brangäne!
Bid the world farewell for me!
Bid my mother and father farewell!
What is this? What are you thinking of?
Do you intend to flee? Whither am I to follow you?
Did you not hear me?
I shall stay here
and wait for Tristan.
Faithfully carry out my orders.
The draught of reconciliation, prepare it quickly.
You know, the one I showed you?
Which draught?
This draught!
Pour it out into the golden goblet.
It will hold it all.
- Can I believe it? - Be faithful to me!
That draught - for whom?
- He who betrayed me. - Tristan?
Let him drink reconciliation!
Horror! Have pity on me, poor wretch!
You should pity me, faithless maid!
Do you not know my mother's craft?
Do you imagine that she, who considers everything,
would have sent me away with you without means of help into a foreign land?
For pain and wounds she gave ointment.
For evil potions antidote.
For sharpest pain,
for extreme anguish
she gave the death potion.
Let death now thank her!
Oh, deepest woe!
Will you obey me now?
Oh, utmost grief!
- Will you be faithful to me? - The draught?
Lord Tristan!
Let lord Tristan approach!
Demand, my lady, what you wish.
Surely you knew what I demanded
when the fear of fulfilling it
kept you from my sight.
Respect held me in awe.
You showed me little enough respect.
With blatant mockery you refused to obey my command.
Obedience alone constrained me.
I have little to thank your master for;
does his service require ill manners towards his bride?
Manners teach, where I come from,
that on a courtship voyage the suitor should stay apart from the bride.
For what reason?
Look to manners!
Since you are so mannerly, my lord Tristan,
let me remind you of more manners:
to be reconciled with an enemy
he must regard you as a friend.
Which enemy?
Ask your own fear!
A debt of blood exists between us.
- It was atoned. - Not between us!
In an open field, before all the people, the peace was sworn.
It was not there that I hid Tantris
and had Tristan in my power.
There he stood, glorious,
bold and strong.
But what he swore I did not swear.
I had learned to keep silent.
When in my quiet chamber he lay sick
and I stood quietly before him with the sword,
my lips were silent,
I held my hand.
But what once with my hands and lips I praised
I swore to keep silent.
Now I will discharge my oath.
What oath did you take, my lady?
Vengeance for Morold!
Does that concern you?
Do you dare mock?
He was betrothed to me,
the bold Irish hero.
I had blessed his weapons.
For me he went into battle.
When he fell
my honour fell, too.
With heavy heart I took the oath,
swearing that if a man did not atone for this ***
I, the maid, would venture to do so.
Sickly and feeble, in my power,
why did I not strike you down then?
You know well why that was so.
I nursed his wounds
so that, restored to strength, he would be slain in vengeance by that man
who had won Isolde from him.
But now you yourself can speak your lot!
Since all men have bound themselves to him,
who now has to slay Tristan?
If Morold meant so much to you
now take the sword again
and wield it sure and strong
so that it does not fall from your hands!
What scant regard I should have for your lord.
What would King Marke say
were I to slay his finest vassal
who won for him crown and lands,
that most faithful man?
Do you value so lightly what he owes you,
bringing the Irish maid to him as his bride?
Would he not reproach me if I slew the suitor
who so faithfully delivered into his hands the treaty's bond?
Put up your sword!
When I wielded it before,
when vengeance tore at my breast,
when your measuring gaze stole my likeness
to see if I would suit King Marke as a wife,
the sword, I let it sink.
Let us now drink reconciliation!
Ho! Hey! Ha! Hey! Upper mast, take in sail!
Where are we?
Hard by our goal!
Tristan, do I win reconciliation?
What have you to say to me?
The mistress of silence bids me say nothing.
If I grasp what she concealed
I shall conceal what she does not grasp.
I can grasp your silence! You are evading me.
Do you refuse to make atonement?
Can you hear their cries?
We have arrived.
Before long we shall be standing before King Marke.
When you escort me
would it not be good
if you were to speak to him thus:
"My lord and uncle, look upon her."
"A more gentle wife you would never have won."
"Her betrothed I once slew."
"His head I sent home to her."
"The wounds which his arms inflicted"
"she tenderly healed."
"My life lay in her power."
"The gentle maid gave it to me"
"and her land's shame and disgrace she gave me with it"
"to be your consort."
"Gracious thanks in the form of such sweet gifts"
"I won with a sweet draught of reconciliation."
"In it was contained her grace which absolved me from all guilt."
Haul away! Anchor away!
Anchor away! Into the tide! Sails and mast to the wind!
Well I know Ireland's queen
and the wondrous power of her craft.
I used the ointment that she offered.
I shall take the goblet that I may be fully cleansed.
Witness, too, the oath of reconciliation I take, in gratitude to you!
Tristan's honour - utter loyalty!
Tristan's misery - keenest defiance!
Heart's deceit!
Wishful dreaming!
The only consolation in eternal mourning!
Beneficent draught of forgetfulness,
I drain you unwaveringly!
Treachery here, too? Half is mine!
Traitor!
I drink to you!
Tristan!
Isolde!
Faithless darling!
Blessed lady!
Hail! Hail King Marke!
Alas! Inescapable eternal misery instead of an early death!
The deceiving effects of foolish loyalty now bear their miserable fruit!
What was my dream of Tristan's honour?
What was my dream of Isolde's disgrace?
- You lost to me? - You rejecting me?
- Deceitful magic's sly cunning! - Foolish anger's vain threats!
- Isolde! - Tristan!
- Sweetest girl! - Dearest man!
How our hearts are borne aloft! How all our senses pulsate with bliss!
Longing devotion's burgeoning blossoms!
Yearning love's blessed glow!
My breast bursting with exultant delight!
- Isolde! - Tristan!
Broken free of the world, won for me!
- Tristan! - Isolde!
Won for me, you my only awareness!
Utmost rapture of love!
Quickly, the mantle here, the royal raiment!
Hapless ones! Come! Listen, don't you hear where we are?
Hail! Hail! Hail to King Marke!
Hail! Hail! Long live the king!
Hail Tristan! Fortunate hero!
Hail! King Marke!
With a splendid retinue there, on the boat, lord Marke is approaching.
Ah, how the journey delights him, winning a bride.
- Who is approaching? - The king!
Which king?
Hail! Hail King Marke!
What is it, Brangäne? What are they calling out?
Isolde! My lady! Compose yourself, if only for today!
Where am I? Am I alive? What was that draught?
The love potion!
Tristan!
Isolde!
Must I live on?
Help our mistress!
Oh, spiteful bliss!
Oh, happiness in thrall to deceit!
Cornwall! Hail!
Can you still hear them?
They are out of my hearing already.
They are still near.
I can hear them clearly.
Anxious fears confuse your ear.
You are misled by the grove's whisperings,
laughing rustling in the wind.
You are misled by your impetuous desires
into hearing what you imagine.
I can hear the horns calling.
The calling of horns does not sound so sweet.
It is the stream's gently murmuring waves flowing along so gaily.
How could I hear that if horns were still calling?
In the still of the night it is just the stream that laughs with me.
He who is waiting for me in the silence of the night,
as if horns still sounded nearby,
do you want to keep him from me?
He who is waiting for you, hear my warning:
spies lie in wait for him at night.
As you are so blind, you think the sight of the world be dimmed for you, too?
When, on board ship, from Tristan's trembling hand
the pallid bride, scarcely conscious, was received by King Marke,
when everybody bemusedly watched her wavering there,
the kindly king, with gentle concern,
loudly bewailed the trials of the voyage which you had undergone:
but there was one, as I clearly perceived,
who looked only into Tristan's eyes.
With a threatening gaze full of malevolent guile
he sought to find in his expression whatever would serve his purpose.
Spitefully listening I have often found him.
Of him who secretly sets snares for you both,
of Melot be warned!
Do you mean Lord Melot?
Oh, how mistaken you are!
Is he not Tristan's dearest friend?
If my beloved cannot be with me
then he is only in Melot's company.
What makes me suspect him makes him dear to you!
From Tristan to Marke is Melot's path; there he sows malignant seeds.
Those who decided today on this night hunt, so promptly and quickly planned,
have a nobler quarry than you imagine as the target of their huntsmen's cunning.
For his friend's sake, out of sympathy, Melot managed this ruse.
Do you now scold this faithful friend?
Better than you does he care for me.
To him he opens up what you bar to me.
Oh, spare me the distress of further delay!
The signal, Brangäne! Oh, give the signal!
Extinguish the light's last glimmer!
That it may fall completely, give night its signal!
Already its silence has flowed through the groves and the house,
already it fills the heart with ecstatic terror.
Oh, extinguish the light now!
Extinguish its dread rays!
Let my beloved come!
Oh, leave the warning flame, let it show you the danger!
Ah, alas! Alas! How wretched I am!
The hapless potion!
That, unfaithful just once, I betrayed my mistress's will!
Had I obeyed, deaf and blind,
your work would have been death.
But your disgrace, your ignominious distress,
they are my work and I, the guilty one, must know it!
Your work? Oh, foolish maid!
Do you not know the Love Spirit,
not know her magic's power?
The queen of boldest courage,
regent of the world's course?
Love and death are subject to her,
she weaves them out of bliss and sorrow,
transmuting envy into love.
Death's work, upon which I audaciously embarked,
the Love Spirit wrested it from my power.
She took the girl destined for death and took her work into her own hands.
However she performed it, however she completes it,
whatever she may choose for me, wherever she may lead me,
I became subject to her.
Now let me display my obedience!
If love's spiteful draught must extinguish the light of reason,
if you cannot see when I warn you,
then now, this once, hear my plea!
The gleaming signal of danger,
oh, do not extinguish the torch now!
She kindled the glow in my breast,
she makes my heart burn,
like day, she laughs in my soul.
The will of the Love Spirit is: let it be night
that brightly she may shine forth
where she shuns your light.
To the tower with you. Keep careful watch!
This light,
were it the light of my life,
laughing, I do not hesitate to extinguish it!
Isolde!
Tristan!
Beloved!
- Are you mine? - With me once more?
- Dare I hold you? - Can I believe it?
- At last! At last! - On my breast!
- Is it really you I feel? - Is it you I see?
- These your eyes? - This your mouth?
- Here your hand? - Here your heart?
- Is it you? You clasped in my arms? - Is it I? Is it you?
- No illusion? - Not a dream?
O heart's rapture!
O sweet, most sublime, boldest, loveliest, most blessed joy!
- Without equal! - Overflowing!
- Replete with bliss! - Eternal!
- Never dreamt of! Never yet known! - Boundlessly exalted and sublime!
- Joyous exulting! - Blissful delight!
Heaven-high soaring beyond the world!
Mine!
- My Tristan! - Isolde mine!
Mine and yours!
Tristan mine, Isolde for ever yours!
Isolde mine!
Ever, ever one!
For how long away! Away for so long!
How far yet so near! So near yet how far!
O enemy of friends, evil distance!
Drawn-out time's lingering expanse!
O distance and nearness,
sternly parted!
Sweet nearness!
Desolate distance!
You in darkness,
I in light!
The light! The light!
Oh, this light! How long before it was extinguished!
The sun set, day ran its course
but it would not stifle its spite.
Lighting its dread signal
it places it at the loved one's door so that I might not go to her.
But the loved one's hand extinguished the light.
What the maid would not risk I did not fear.
Under the power and protection of the Love Spirit I bade defiance to day!
Day! For day,
for spiteful day, the most bitter foe, hatred and grievance!
Just as you extinguished the light
would that I could extinguish the light
of insolent day to avenge the pangs of love!
Is there any distress, is there any anguish
which it does not revive with its beams?
Even in night's darkening glory
my beloved harbours it in her house,
letting its threatening beams fall towards me!
If your beloved keeps it in her own house
so did my love once defiantly foster it in his heart, bright and devious:
Tristan, he that betrayed me!
Was it not day that made him false when he came to Ireland as a suitor
to court me for King Marke,
to dedicate loyalty to death?
Day! Day which shimmered round about you,
where you seemed like the sun in highest honour's radiant glow,
thither Isolde withdrew from me!
That which so delighted my eye
made my heart sink to the depths of the earth.
In the bright light of day
how could Isolde be mine?
Was she not yours, she that chose you?
What lies did evil day tell you
that you betrayed your dearest, she that was destined to be yours?
In the grip of madness I could not but yield my heart
to that which shimmered round about you in majestic splendour,
the glitter of honour and the power of renown.
Day's bright orb of worldly honour,
shining upon me with the brightest radiant glow,
it penetrated my head
with its beams of vain bliss
and reached the deepest recesses of my heart.
What lay there darkly concealed in chaste night,
what I dimly perceived, not knowing, not imagining:
a form which my eyes could not believe they saw
caught in the light of day lay there gleaming before me.
Before the throng I praised in clear tones what seemed so glorious and sublime.
Before all the people I extolled aloud the loveliest royal bride on earth.
I bade defiance to the envy which day awakened in me,
to the zeal which threatened my happiness,
to the jealousy which began to make honour and fame a burden to me,
and I firmly resolved
to uphold honour and glory, to go to Ireland.
O vain thrall of day!
Deceived by that which deceived you
how I, loving you, suffered on your account.
Caught in day's false glitter,
in the snare of its cunning,
I hated him bitterly in the depths of my heart,
where burning love encompassed him.
Ah, what piercing pain
in the recesses of my heart!
How hard he whom I secretly harboured there
must have thought me
when, in the light of day, my faithfully cherished one
vanished to loving eyes and stood before me only as a foe!
I wished to flee from the light of day
which made you appear to me a traitor;
into night, to take you with me,
where my heart promised me
that all deception would end,
where the vain premonition of treachery might be dispelled
there to pledge to you eternal love,
to consecrate you to death in company with myself.
When I recognized sweet death offered to me at your hand;
when a bold and clear presentiment showed me what expiation demanded.
There dawned gently in my heart
the lofty power of night.
My day was then accomplished.
Alas, you were confused by the deceiving potion
so that once again night eluded you.
As you faced only death
it restored you to day!
Hail to the potion!
Hail to the draught!
Hail to its magic's sublime power!
Through death's portals wide and open
it flowed towards me,
opening up the wondrous realm of night,
where I had only been in dreams.
From the image in my heart's sheltering cell
it repelled day's deceiving beams
so that in darkness my eyes might serve to see it clearly.
Yet banished day avenged itself;
with your sins it took counsel.
What darkening night showed you
you had to surrender to the regal power of the day star
to live alone, gleaming there in solitary splendour.
How could I bear it?
How can I endure it now?
Oh, now we were dedicated to night:
spiteful day with ready envy
could part us with its tricks
but no longer mislead us with guile!
Its vain glory, its flaunting display
are mocked by those to whom night has granted sight.
The fleeting flashes of its flickering light no longer dazzle us.
Before him who has seen with love death's night,
before him to whom she confided her dark secret
are scattered the lies, the renown and honour of day,
power and advantage shining and glorious
as the paltry dust caught in the sunbeam!
Amid the vain fancy of day
he still harbours one desire:
the yearning for sacred night
where, all-eternal, true alone, love's bliss smiles on him!
Descend, O night of love,
grant oblivion that I may live.
Take me up into your ***,
release me from the world!
Extinguished now the last glimmers.
What we thought, what we imagined,
all thought,
all remembering,
the glorious presentiment of sacred twilight
extinguishes imagined terrors, world-redeeming.
The sun concealed itself in our ***,
the stars of bliss gleam, laughing.
Softly entwined in your magic,
sweetly dissolved before your eyes,
heart on your heart, mouth on mouth,
the single bond of a single breath,
my glance is deflected, dazzled with bliss,
the world pales with its blinding radiance
lit by day's guileful deception,
standing firm against deceitful delusion,
then am I myself the world;
floating in sublime bliss,
life of love most sacred,
the sweetly conscious, undeluded wish
never again to waken.
You upon whom love's dream smiles,
take heed of the voice of one
who keeps solitary watch at night,
foreseeing evil for the sleepers,
anxiously urging you to waken.
Beware!
Night soon melts away.
Listen, beloved!
Let me die!
Jealous watch!
Never waken!
Must day then waken Tristan?
Let day give way before death!
Should day and death
both reach our love?
Our love? Tristan's love?
Yours and mine, Isolde's love?
What strokes of death could ever make it yield?
If mighty death stood before me,
threatening the very life in my body,
which I would so gladly leave for love,
how could it reach love itself?
Were I to give my life to that
for which I would so gladly die
how could love die with me,
how could the ever-living end with me?
And if his love were never to die
how could Tristan die of his love?
But our love,
is it not Tristan and Isolde?
This sweet little word: and.
Would death not destroy the bounds of love
which it entwines if Tristan were to die?
What could die but that which troubles us,
preventing Tristan
from ever loving Isolde,
for ever living only for her?
Yet this little word: and.
Were it destroyed, how else but together with Isolde's own life
would death be given to Tristan?
Thus might we die, that together,
ever one, without end,
never waking, never fearing,
namelessly enveloped in love,
given up to each other,
to live only for love!
Thus might we die, that together,
ever one, without end,
never waking,
never fearing,
namelessly enveloped in love,
given up to each other,
to live only for love!
Beware!
Night soon gives way to day.
Shall I listen?
Let me die!
Must I waken?
Never waken!
Shall day still waken Tristan?
Let day give way to death!
Have we day's menaces thus defied?
Ever to flee its guile.
Did its dawning never affright us?
May our night endure for ever!
O eternal night, sweet night!
Gloriously sublime night of love!
- Those whom you have embraced... - Those upon whom you have smiled...
...how could they ever waken without fear?
Now banish dread, sweet death,
yearned for, longed for death-in-love!
In your arms, consecrated to you,
sacred elemental quickening force, free from the peril of waking!
How to grasp it, how to leave it,
this bliss, far from the sun's,
far from day's parting sorrows!
Free from delusion - gentle yearning.
Free from fearing - sweet longing.
Free from sighing - sublime expiring.
Free from pining - in sweet darkness.
No evasion, no parting,
just we alone, ever home,
in unmeasured realms
of ecstatic dreams.
- You Isolde. - Tristan you.
- Tristan I. - I Isolde.
- No longer Isolde! - No longer Tristan!
Un-named, free from parting,
new perception, new enkindling.
Ever endless self-knowing:
warmly glowing heart,
love's utmost joy!
Save yourself, Tristan!
Barren day for the last time!
Now tell me, my lord,
was I right to accuse him?
To give you my pledge with my head as the bond?
I have shown him to you in the very act.
Your name and honour I have loyally preserved from disgrace.
Have you indeed?
Is that what you think?
Look at him there,
the most faithful of the loyal.
Cast your eyes upon him,
the dearest of friends.
His loyalty's freest deed pierced my heart
with its hostile treachery!
If Tristan betrayed me
am I to hope
that what his treachery has cost me
should by Melot's counsel honestly be restored to me?
Spirits of day! Fantastic dream!
Deceitful and desolate! Fade away! Give way!
This to me?
This, Tristan, to me?
Whither has loyalty fled now that Tristan has betrayed me?
Where are honour and honesty
now that the champion of all honour,
Tristan, has lost it?
As Tristan appointed himself its emblem
where has virtue flown to,
fleeing from my friend,
from Tristan, who has betrayed me?
Why did you serve me for so long?
Why the reputation of honour, the power and greatness
which you won for King Marke?
Did the honour and renown, greatness and power,
the services beyond number have to be repaid by Marke's dishonour?
Did you value so lightly his gratitude,
which gave you as your very own inheritance
that which you had won for him, his renown and his kingdom?
When, childless, his wife died
he loved you so much that never again did Marke intend to wed.
When all the people from court and country thronged to him,
imploring him to give the country a queen and to take for himself a wife,
when you yourself swore to your uncle
that you would carry out the wishes of the court and the will of the country
then, against the wishes of court and country,
in opposition even to you,
with circumspection and kindness he declined
until you, Tristan, threatened to exile yourself
for ever from court and country
if you yourself were not dispatched
to win a bride for the king.
And so he let it be.
This glorious woman
that your courage won for me,
who could behold her, who could know her,
who could proudly call her his own
and not think himself blessed?
She, whom I could never dare approach,
she for whom I forswore my desires in bashful reverence,
so splendid, so lovely, so sublime,
who could not but refresh my soul,
despite enemies and dangers,
this royal bride you presented to me.
Now, since by such a possession
you rendered my heart more open to pain than before,
were I stricken where I was rendered soft, sensitive and exposed,
I would be without hope of ever being healed.
Why so sorely, wretched man, did you wound me there now?
There, with the weapon of tormenting poison,
searing and maiming my senses and my mind
so that my fidelity to my friend is stilted,
my open heart filled with suspicion,
so that now, secretly and in the dead of night,
I creep up upon you, my friend, eavesdropping,
and see my honour ended.
No heaven will redeem it for me;
why this hell for me?
No misery will atone for it;
why this disgrace?
The uncharted depths of its mysterious causes,
who will make them known to the world?
O king,
I cannot tell you that.
What you would ask
you can never know.
Wherever Tristan now goes
will you, Isolde, follow him?
To that land of which Tristan spoke
where the sun's light does not shine:
it is the dark land of night
out of which my mother sent me
when he, whom she bore on her deathbed,
left her in death to reach the light.
From that which, when she bore me, was her fortress of love,
the wondrous realm of night, I then awake.
That is what Tristan offers you,
thither he will precede you.
Whether she will follow him in grace and faith
let Isolde now tell him!
When for a foreign land her beloved once won her,
that ungracious man Isolde had to follow faithfully and graciously.
Now you are returning to your own estates
to show me your inheritance.
How could I flee that land
that spans the whole world?
Wherever Tristan's home may be
there let Isolde go.
There let her follow him in grace and faith,
so now show Isolde the way!
Traitor! Ha!
To vengeance, king! Will you suffer this shame?
Who dares his life against mine?
This was my friend,
exalted and dear was his devotion to me.
For my honour and reputation none was more concerned than he.
To impetuousness he drove my heart.
He led the crowd that urged me
to add to my honour and renown
and to give you to the king as bride!
The sight of you, Isolde, blinded him, too.
Out of jealousy I was betrayed by my friend
to the king, whom I had betrayed!
Defend yourself, Melot!
utmost rapture!