At the time when our story begins, a fierce storm had been raging in the North Sea. To escape its fury a stout Norwegian ship sailed hastily before the wind into the nearest port and cast anchor. Its captain, a stout weather-beaten man, was provoked at having to do this, as he was nearly home and anxious to get there and greet his only daughter, after a long voyage. Daland was the captain's name, and Senta that of his daughter. She had been left motherless when very young, and now lived quietly with her old nurse while her father was away upon his voyages. Senta was a quiet, dark-eyed girl given much to day dreams on account of her somewhat lonely life. She was devoted to her father, and believed in him implicitly.Daland was not a bad man, but he had one great passion, and that was for gold. His life-long desire was to be rich, and this desire led to his taking long voyages and braving many dangers. Nevertheless, his money did not accumulate so fast as he wished—does it ever do that?—and Daland was often discontented.His last voyage had been anything but a success. His ship had met one adverse wind after another, and in two heavy storms it had come so near sinking that they were forced to throw overboard some of the cargo. And now when they were within forty miles of home, another gale sent them scudding into the wrong harbour. It was hard luck, but sailor-like they prepared to make the best of it. Daland allowed all the weary crew to go below and get a good rest. He himself followed their example, leaving only one man at the wheel.The air was heavy, as it often is during a thunderstorm, and the dark clouds rolled fiercely across the sky. But within the bay the water was comparatively quiet, and the ship rode easily at her anchor. The gentle motion and still air were too much for the man on lookout, and he, also, went to sleep with his head leaning upon the wheel.While he slept, the storm burst again with increased fury just beyond, in the open sea; and out of the teeth of the gale sped another ship coming straight for the same harbour. The rising waves leaped high on all sides of her low black hull, threatening to engulf her. But if you could have seen the crew at work, you would have noticed that they paid no heed to the tempest except to shake their fists, perhaps, in defiance of it. On they came, the wind howling shrilly through the rigging and tugging vainly at the bulging sails. And, marvellous to relate, every one of these sails was set, as though it had been a clear day instead of a time to scud with bare poles; and the sails were red as blood!Not until they had entered harbour and were close alongside Daland's ship did the crew furl sail or cast anchor. So quickly and noiselessly was the canvas dropped that the ship rode at anchor before any of the other crew were even aware of their approach. Then a boat was lowered from the newcomer's side, and the captain entered it and was rowed ashore. He was a strange-looking man, with long black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a hunted expression about the eyes. His skin was fair, despite his many other evidences of long sailing, and he had a certain air of gentleness and sadness which lent him an attractive—almost handsome—appearance. His crew were even stranger in looks, for they all seemed to be old men, grey and withered, despite the vigorous strokes with which they sent the longboat flying through the waves.As the boat grated upon the sand the captain breathed a great sigh of relief, and leaped ashore without heeding the shallow water between him and dry land. He walked with the stiffness of a man who has long felt under his feet only the rolling decks of a ship. The first rock he met, jutting out of the beach, he fell upon his knees and embraced, out of very gladness to be on firm ground! Then he mounted the crag and looked landward."Seven long years!" he mused. "Thank God, that I am permitted to set foot upon dry land once more! When will my weary voyaging cease, and I become free of this fickle ocean?"If was, as you have doubtless guessed, the Flying Dutchman, home on another search for the woman who would release him from his spell.Just then his musings were cut short by a voice hailing him. "Skipper, ahoy!" it said.Daland had awakened out of his slumber and come on deck to find his helmsman asleep and the strange ship anchored close by. He was both startled and provoked, but seeing the captain on shore he now addressed him through a speaking trumpet."Whence come you?" he asked, seeing the stranger turn and look at him.For answer, the Dutchman made a wide sweep with his arms and then beckoned to Daland. Something in his manner so aroused the latter's curiosity that he ordered a boat lowered and rowed over to the beach."My name is Daland, a skipper of Norway," he said. "Whence and who are you?""I am a Dutchman and I have been around the world since I last set foot here," answered the stranger in a low voice."I should think you would be glad to come ashore again," said Daland. "I am, for I've had a precious rough voyage of it. Did you meet any storms?"The Dutchman smiled. "Nothing but storms," he said, "but my ship will weather the best of them.""What cargo do you carry?" asked Daland, mindful of his own unlucky experience."Oh, weighty enough; I've been trading in gold and precious stones," said the stranger indifferently.An eager look came into Daland's eyes. "I should think you would hate to throw over any of that!" he said."There are a good many things I value more highly," replied the other. "I have known the time when I would gladly give it all for a little corner of dry land where I might live in peace.""And I," laughed Daland, "leave my little corner and cruise around the world in search of that same gold."It was now the stranger's turn to become interested."Do you live near here?" he asked."Aye, just around the next headland. There's a cosy hearthstone and cheering cup awaiting me there, and I should have been there now, if it had not been for this wretched storm.""Perhaps it has blown you a little good luck," replied the Dutchman; "that is, if you really care for money.""What do you mean?""Just this. I was in earnest, awhile ago, when I said I would give all my gold for a plot of dry land. My heart is hungry for a bit of home life; and if you will let me be your guest while we are ashore, I shall make you a rich man.""Do you mean that?" asked Daland staring at him."I will pay you in advance," said the stranger. And he blew a shrill whistle to his crew and shouted out some orders in a strange tongue. In answer some of the curious-looking sailors ran down into the hold and came up again bearing a heavy chest which they brought to the strand and opened.There before Daland's greedy eyes lay revealed a glittering mass of precious stones and fine gold, richer than anything of which he had ever dreamed. His fingers twitched and he fairly gasped with amazement."Gorgeous!" he exclaimed. "You must be the happiest man in the world to have all that!""Happy?" said the other, in a sad voice. "Of what use is this treasure if I have no treasure of the heart—no home, no wife, no family ties? For years I have wandered alone, till my soul is weary; and what I have longed for, it has been beyond the power of this paltry stuff to supply!"And the Dutchman snapped his fingers in contempt at the chest.Daland who was really good of heart was touched by the stranger's words."Come home with me," he said. "With or without reward you shall have the best my modest table affords, and my daughter Senta shall cook and serve it with her own hands.""Then you have a daughter?" asked the stranger turning quickly. "How old is she?""She is grown now, though I can scarcely think of her save as a little girl. Winsome is she, as all my neighbours say, and a better girl never lived. My will has been her law ever since her mother died.""Hark you, man!" said the stranger, gripping his hand and speaking swiftly and earnestly. "You must judge me by what you see of me. But if you will promise me your daughter's hand, provided I win her, all that this chest contains shall be yours!"Daland looked at the stranger keenly. His clear-cut face and noble bearing told strongly in his favour."She is my only child," the Norwegian answered presently, "but I promise to further your suit. As you are generous, you show me a good and noble heart. Yes, I should be glad to see you my son-in-law. And were your wealth not half as great, I'd not choose another."A glad smile broke over the wandering seaman's face as he heard these words. And as if in sympathy the sun broke forth from the bank of clouds in the western sky, the wind died down and the water grew calm."See! it is to be clear weather, after all!" he exclaimed."Yes, we can make the home harbour by nightfall. Come, let us weigh anchor and hoist sail!" said Daland."Lead on, and I will follow you presently. I have some sails to mend," replied the Dutchman. He well knew that his ship's strange appearance and red sails would arouse comment if he entered the harbour before night."So be it!" agreed Daland; and he went on board ship and ordered all sails set. Before a brisk little breeze his vessel scudded out of harbour, while the sailors, delighted with the prospect of soon being at home after their long, rough voyage, sang a rollicking song ending with the shout, "Hoho! Halloho!"While her father's ship was nearing harbour that afternoon, Senta was in the midst of a merry group at her home. Several of her girl friends had come to pay her a visit, and, according to the quaint Norwegian custom, they had brought their spinning-wheels with them so that they might not be idle during the daylight hours. Now the wheels whirred and the maidens chattered at a lively rate. But strange to say, Senta was the idlest of the lot. Her hands would fall into her lap, and her gaze would wander into space. She was indeed a lovely picture as she sat thus, her great dark eyes glowing and the rich colour coming and going in her cheeks, called up by the romantic visions she saw."What, dreaming again, Senta?" exclaimed her old nurse and housekeeper, Maria, entering at one of these idle moments. "You are setting your visitors a fine example! And what if your father should come home and see you dawdling thus?"Senta flushed, smiled, and took up her flax. The other girls laughed mischievously."You oughtn't to have told her that old ballad, Maria!" they said. "Now she can't get her mind off the Flying Dutchman. She sits here and gazes at his picture by the hour."There was indeed an old print supposed to be a likeness of the wandering seaman, on the wall. It had been picked up with many other curious things by Daland upon his travels; and Maria who knew a ballad telling of the Dutchman's weary search for a wife had recited it to them. The story was just of the sort to attract Senta."'Tis strange," she murmured, as though speaking to herself, "strange that the poor Flying Dutchman is doomed to sail on forever, because he can find no one who will love him till death! Are we maidens, then, all so fickle and heartless?""No, we are not heartless, at anyrate!" laughed one of the girls. "But who wants to wed the captain of a Phantom Ship that comes to port only once in seven years?""And who will outlive you, and marry someone else, a hundred years from now?" chimed in another."No, no!" said Senta; "that would be because you did not love him!""But whocouldlove him—a ghost like that? Ugh!" said a third."Icould!" exclaimed Senta, her fine eyes flashing. "If I knew that I could save him, I would devote myself to him gladly!""Oh, Senta! What are you saying!" cried the girls in a chorus."You forget Erik!" said one.Erik was a young hunter who lived in the mountains, and who was devoted in his attentions to Senta. She had always liked him, having grown up with him, but she had not given him all her love."No, I do not forget Erik," she said stoutly, "but he is not the Flying Dutchman.""Nor do I want to be!" exclaimed a hearty voice, as Erik himself burst into the room. "What is this I hear, Senta? Be careful, or I shall grow jealous even of the Flying Dutchman!"He greeted the visitors, and then continued: "But I just ran in to tell you that I sighted your father's ship rounding the headland, and back of it some distance is another vessel. Doubtless your father is bringing guests with him, so you had better tell the good Maria to bestir herself."Senta jumped up and clapped her hands at the news of her father's return. Instantly the whole room was in confusion. The spinning-wheels were quickly set aside, and the maidens helped to bring the long table to the centre of the room and set it for the expected company. Then they hastily gathered up their belongings and bade their hostess good-day, leaving her alone with Erik."What was this I heard about the Flying Dutchman, Senta?" he asked in a tender voice."I was just expressing pity for his lonely lot," she answered."Doesn'tmyloneliness awaken any pity, then?""You do not deserve so much sympathy," she said lightly. "You are young and strong and—well, almost any of the girls here to-day would show you some interest. But the poor wandering seaman is compelled to sail on till doomsday because nobody cares.""Come, come, Senta, you must be jesting!" said the hunter growing pale. "You surely cannot place this spectre ahead of all of us flesh-and-blood people in your regard!""Why does the thought alarm you so?" she said evasively."Because of a dream I had. It was so real that I have been able to think of nothing else all day.""Was it about—him?""Yes, it was about the Flying Dutchman. I dreamed that your father came home from sea, bringing with him a mysterious stranger whom no one knew anything about, except that he was very wealthy. He was tall and gaunt, with pale face, flowing black hair and eager-looking eyes. As soon as he saw you he could not keep these eyes off of you, and he asked for your hand in marriage.""And I consented?" asked Senta breathlessly."Oh, Senta! Yes, you left me at once and went with him. I followed you down to the beach imploring you to stay. But the stranger took you on board his ship, and hoisted a blood-red sail. You were gone with the Flying Dutchman—lost—lost forever!""No, not lost!" she cried. "It was a vision! It was my destiny!""Senta, Senta!" cried Erik almost beside himself with grief; and unable to control his emotion longer he rushed from the house.And then—as if in answer to the dream, Senta thought—presently the door opened and her father came in, and with him—the stranger! He was like Erik's description, even like the old print that hung upon the wall; and as he directed his gentle blue eyes to her face, Senta knew instinctively that this was none other than the Flying Dutchman himself.Springing to meet her father, she hid her face upon his shoulder and burst into tears. Daland kissed her and patted her upon the cheek."There, little daughter!" he said. "Have you really missed your old daddy while he was away? Well, he has missed you, too. But you are forgetting your manners. You have not yet greeted our guest."Senta had by this time regained some of her composure, and she now turned to the visitor and greeted him, but in a cold, constrained voice. She was in reality holding herself in check, for her whole heart went out to him.But her father thought, "She is cold, the little minx! I must tell her my wishes in this matter, and hint about the chest of gold." The foolish old captain measured everything by gold—even his daughter's affection, but this only showed how little he understood her.So, while the evening meal was being prepared and the stranger had been shown to his room to make himself ready, Daland took his daughter aside and told her what little he knew of the stranger; that he had been a wanderer without kith or kin; and that he had immense wealth and was now desirous of settling down and having a home of his own."He has asked me to receive him as a guest," Daland concluded; "and he has also obtained my permission to sue for your hand. Will you be obedient to my wish in this as heretofore, and consent to become his wife?""I will give my answer to him, father," she replied quietly, "after I learn from his own lips how much or little he needs me."Daland was fain to be content with this reply, but something in his daughter's tone reassured him, and he wisely decided not to press the matter further until the stranger had been given the chance to urge his own case.There was an air of constraint about the evening meal, despite the host's attempts to be jovial after his long absence. 'Tis true Senta gave a willing ear to the story of his voyage, and asked questions from time to time which showed how anxious she had been for his welfare while he was away. But the guest courteously evaded all inquiries about his own wanderings, and though he strove to be agreeable, it was plain to see that he was long unaccustomed to quiet home life such as this.Finally the supper was over, and Daland, saying that he had business that evening in the village, left Senta and the stranger alone.Then the girl, with an almost bursting heart, heard her visitor cross the room slowly and come to her side.[image]"'Senta!' he said, 'look at me'"Victor Prout"Senta!" he said—and there was both authority and entreaty in his low tone—"look at me!"She raised her eyes and met his gaze unflinchingly; and in that glance each saw the soul of the other laid bare and knew that each was beloved."Senta," he continued, taking her hand, "I am a plain, rough man of the sea, and know not how to mend my speech for gentle ears like yours. But from the first moment I saw you, I loved you. And your father has already given his consent to my suit. What is your answer? Do I read your eyes aright?""Yes," she answered simply; "it was Fate that brought you to me."The seaman felt a great wave of joy rush over him. He was loved! Freedom from the Evil Spirit was within his grasp! Then for the first time he realised how much he was asking of this innocent young girl. A curse was hanging over him; how could he ask one he loved to share it?"Stay!" he said, gently releasing her hand, "I have no right to obtain your promise thus. You do not know who I am."A bright smile broke over Senta's face."Ah, but I do!" she exclaimed."What! Is it possible that you know I am a wretched wanderer over the earth——""You have been," she said."That men look upon me with superstition and dread——""We will change all that.""In short, that a curse is upon me? Hear me out!" (He raised his hand, as she was about to speak again.) "Hear me out, and then send me forth into the night, where I belong! I sought you selfishly to-day, to obtain your aid in the lifting of this curse, of which I speak. The Evil One has decreed that I shall wander forever, unless some true woman gives me her love and remains faithful until death. If her faith in me should waver, the curse would descend upon her also. Before I had even seen you, I asked your father for you, and was willing to sacrifice you to my own selfish ends. I thought not at all of what I asked ofyou! I see now how selfish I was, and I release you. Will you not dismiss me, as I deserve? I shall remember you only with gratitude for the glimpse I have had of your brave heart.""But do you not love me?" asked Senta."It is just because I do love you that I cannot ask this sacrifice," he replied, his pale face showing the struggle through which he passed."Then this is my answer. Here is my hand; my heart goes with it, and even to death will I be faithful!""She gives her hand, and promises to be faithful till death!" exclaimed the Dutchman, shaking his fist as if at some unseen foe. "Dost thou hear this—dread Spirit? I am free, and I defy thee!"And falling upon his knees he pressed her hands again and again to his lips.Just at this moment Daland reentered the room, and was overjoyed at the turn of affairs. He gave the two his blessing, saying,"To-morrow I give a feast to my sailors, according to custom; and with your permission I shall announce your betrothal at once."The next day dawned bright and clear. On board the Norwegian ship all was bustle and activity. The sailors were dressing it in its finest pennants and colours, making it ready for the visit of the townspeople and for the feast. All was noise and laughter and song, for they were as delighted as schoolboys when the long-looked-for vacation has come.But on board the Dutch vessel everything was as quiet as the grave. No one was seen stirring above decks, and not a flag fluttered except a single tiny one which told that the captain was gone upon shore.Then a group of laughing girls came down to the beach. Most of them we have already seen at Senta's house. They brought great baskets of fruit and dainties to the sailors and when Daland's crew saw this treat they lost no time in coming on shore. But still the Dutchman's black ship gave no sign of life."What is the matter with your fellow-voyagers?" asked the maidens."No fellows of ours," answered the Norwegians, "we never saw them until yesterday, and they haven't budged since they cast anchor last night.""Hey, sleepy-heads!" called out the girls tauntingly. "Come out and be sociable!""You sleep like land-lubbers!" called a sailor.But no answer came back."Let them alone," said another sailor; "if they don't care for good things to eat and drink, there will be just that much more for us.""Greedy fellows!" laughed the girls."Well, if I was as old and grizzled as that greybeard crew yonder," said the one who had just spoken, "I wouldn't care for feasts either—nor yet for pretty girls." Here he gave a sly glance around."They look like the crew of the Phantom Ship," said another laughing. And lifting his voice he called; "Ho there, old black ship! What has become of the Flying Dutchman?"At this call a cold wind swept along the shore, so that all the merrymakers shuddered, and a nameless dread seized them. Then a strange thing happened. The waves in the harbour remained calm, while just around the black ship they rose and tossed angrily as though in a violent storm. It grew dark, the wind howled through the rigging, and weird blue lights played about the mastheads. In the midst of the miniature tempest, the ship's crew appeared and began to hoist sail as though preparing to depart; and as they worked they sang a dirge-like song that told of the Flying Dutchman and his seven year quest. He was even now in search of the wife that would save them all, they sang.This scene was too much for the merrymakers. The panic-stricken maidens fled in every direction, while the sailors seized with superstitious fear hastened to their ship and ran below, making the sign of the cross.At sight of the panic, the strange crew burst into wild laughter, and the storm subsided as quickly as it had arisen, leaving the blue sky and clear water as before.Just then the door of Daland's house opened, and Senta appeared and came down to the beach. She was followed by the hunter Erik, who had come to plead his cause once again. He could not bring himself to believe that his dream was coming true, and that Senta had plighted herself to the mysterious stranger, as he had just heard. He reminded her of their lifelong comradeship, and how he had, even as a little boy, claimed her as his future wife."Indeed you do belong to me!" he exclaimed, carried away by his emotion. "You gave me your heart—you know you did! Now you cannot take it away and give it to a stranger!""Oh, Erik! you misjudge me!" Senta replied, wounded deeply by his words. And sorry for his evident distress she tried to comfort him with sympathy and tenderness. She could not bear to see her old playmate suffer, or have him think badly of her.Her attitude, however, was misunderstood by a third person who had approached unnoticed. It was the Flying Dutchman. He now believed that Senta was already regretting her promise to him, and with a wild, despairing cry of "Lost! All lost!" he sprang down the beach and prepared to take boat for his ship."What do you mean?" asked Senta, hastening towards him."Farewell, Senta!" he cried. "To sea, to sea, till time is ended! I release you from your promise! It is the only way I can save you from my fate!""Ah, do not go!" implored Senta. "I will not take back my word. I love you, love you! I knew you from the first moment I saw you, and wheresoever you go, there will I go!""Think what you are saying, Senta!" exclaimed Erik trying to restrain her. "They say that he and his ship are bewitched!""I care not for that! My place is by his side!" she said, struggling to free herself."Be advised by your friend," said the seaman, who had mastered his own emotion in some measure. "I am indeed under a spell. Ask any mariner who sails the seas, and he will tell you, with a shudder, to beware of the Flying Dutchman!"But Senta did not shrink back as he expected. Instead she stretched out her arms triumphantly, crying, "Ah, I told you I knew you! Now you cannot go and leave me! I will save you in spite of yourself!"Nevertheless the Dutchman turned away as though pushed forward by some unseen power."No! 'tis I who must save you!" he exclaimed. And going aboard his ship hastily he blew his whistle and ordered the ship to be got under way.It had grown dark again, but through the gloom the blood-red sails glowed like a flame, while a strange signal-light burned in the prow, and the waves lapped eagerly about the bow as it began to move forward.With a shriek Senta endeavoured to follow, but Erik and her father, who had just run up with other villagers, held her back. The Phantom Ship was now fast leaving the harbour and directing its course to the headland, when Senta by a quick movement wrenched herself free and fled swiftly along the shore to the jutting point of rock.[image]"She flung herself from the Cliff into the raging Sea"G. RochegrosseReproduction authorised by the publishers, A. Durand et Fils, Paris"Senta, you are beside yourself!" the others cried, trying to follow her. But she outdistanced them all, leaping over boulders and across chasms in her flight, till she had reached the headland. The Phantom Ship was close beneath her in the seething spray."Senta!" cried Erik, hastening to the point of rock where she stood.But she did not heed him. Instead, she stretched out her arms once more to the pale-faced man, standing in the prow of the oncoming vessel."Here stand I, faithful even unto death!" she exclaimed, a heroic light shining in her dark eyes. "Give thanks to heaven that one way was left for your salvation!"With this she flung herself from the cliff into the raging sea. And instantly—wonder on wonder!—the waves grew calm. One last leap they gave as she touched them, and the Phantom Ship and all in it sank as she disappeared from view. But to the watchers on the shore a beautiful picture was given, which sent them their separate ways with peace in their hearts.Above the spot where the Phantom Ship had gone down, never to be seen again, a rosy light hovered, making as it were a path leading straight through the bursting clouds to the bright sky beyond. And in this glory two figures were seen hovering, locked in each other's arms and rising upward. They were the radiant spirits of Senta and the lover she had saved. The Flying Dutchman's voyages were ended; the curse was lifted from him for evermore.Tristan and Isolde(Tristan und Isolde)It will be interesting to compare this story with the version by Malory. The differences are characteristic of the distance between the colder ideals of Malory and the warmer and more human age of Wagner.Once upon a time a brave knight of Brittany went across the English Channel to the court of King Mark of Cornwall. The knight was noted for his valiant deeds, so the King was right glad to welcome him and attach him to his retinue. The knight also was willing to tarry, for the King had a sister who because of her beauty was called the "White Lily." Indeed, the knight had fallen deeply in love with this fair Princess, and so he was overjoyed when at length he found that his love was returned. He obtained the King's consent to make her his wife; and after a splendid ceremony the knight and his lady set sail for their castle in Brittany. Fate had so smiled upon them, that they thought themselves the happiest people in the whole world, and that none had been so favoured as they.But after a few short months of wedded life the knight fell sick and died. The poor bride was broken-hearted, and although a little boy was presently given to her, the child did not assuage her grief. Instead he reminded her constantly of the husband she had lost. She called the boy's name Tristan, which means "sadness."Realising that she would soon follow her beloved husband she entrusted the boy to a trusty knight, Kurneval by name, to be taken over to her brother in Cornwall. Shortly afterward she died, and the little orphan was conveyed to his uncle as the mother had desired.King Mark was without wife or children of his own, so he gladly received Tristan into his lonely home. He brought him up as his own son, and publicly proclaimed him heir to the throne of Cornwall.Tristan grew rapidly in beauty and strength, finding so especial a delight in horsemanship and knightly warfare, that by the time he was fifteen he could joust with the best of the knights. Courteous in speech and bearing was he, likewise, for he had been carefully trained by the knight Kurneval. And so, when the time of his knighting had arrived, Sir Tristan was already famed for his chivalry and prowess alike. His name became a proverb for true knighthood, and there was no man in Cornwall who could stand against him.A few years before this time, King Mark had been defeated in battle by the King of Ireland, and had promised to pay him a yearly tribute. Each year since that defeat the tribute had been collected by Sir Morold a gigantic knight whom all men feared because of his courage and cruelty. His demands grew heavier, year by year, until at last they became so great that the whole country groaned. Thus it went on until Tristan had become a knight, when eager for some splendid service to prove his spurs, he resolved to put an end to this oppression. So he challenged the huge warrior to mortal combat.The challenge was promptly accepted, Morold liking nothing better than a fight, though—as he expressed it—he greatly feared this rash youth would not last long enough to get his blood warm. King Mark also was fearful of the fate of his foster-son, but the word had gone forth and could not be withdrawn.The day came for the conflict, and many anxious spectators assembled to watch the champions fight—the one for the honour of Ireland, the other for the freedom of Cornwall. But Morold did not enter the lists fairly. Enraged that any one should presume to oppose him, he bore a poisoned spear which he flung at Tristan without warning. It made a slight wound which was unnoticed in the heat of the conflict that immediately began.The young knight sprang forward with sword drawn and met his towering opponent fiercely but with the most finished skill. Morold soon found that he had met more than his match at sword play, and he tried by his superior strength to beat down his antagonist. But in this also he was defeated, after a thrilling contest. At last growing rash he raised his sword and brought it about with a terrific swish that would certainly have cut Tristan in two, if he had not leaped nimbly backward. Before the Irish knight could recover himself, Tristan sprang forward again and by one swift stroke cut his head from his body.Cornwall was now free, and instead of sending his yearly tribute, King Mark sent the head of Morold back to Ireland to show this freedom for all time to come. Now Morold had been betrothed to an Irish Princess named Isolde; and when his severed head was received at court, she swore bitter vengeance against the one who had done this deed. Looking closely at the head, she chanced to find a bit of sword-point sticking in the skull, and she knew this must have been broken from the weapon which had done the deed. So she kept the sword-point carefully by her, in the hope that it might lead her to find her enemy.Meanwhile Tristan, though showered with praises from the court and people he had delivered, was faring but ill. The wound from the poisoned spear refused to heal. The best physicians of the country were called in, but the wound only grew more grievous and painful, day by day. Finally, when Tristan was beginning to despair of his life, an old soothsayer told him to go to the land whence the wound was received and there he would find an antidote for the poison. So Tristan set forth without delay; but knowing that it would not be safe for him to travel in Ireland under his own name, he went alone as Tantris a wandering minstrel.The fame of Isolde's skill in mixing draughts and potions presently reached his ears, and he directed his steps to the court. Both Isolde's mother and maid-servant knew the secrets of drugs and they had taught her many of these arts. So when a poor minstrel came to her attention, suffering from a poisoned wound, both her sympathy and skill were enlisted, and all the more because he seemed of noble bearing, and his eyes sought hers in an appealing way.So Isolde called in her maid and they undertook to heal Tristan of his wound, applying many balsams and soothing herbs. It was a long time, however, before even their skill availed and the harper began to rally from his illness.It chanced one day while he slept, that Isolde sat by his side watching the progress of his fever. And as she sat there she happened to notice the beauty of his sword-hilt, and wishing to examine it closely she drew the sword from its scabbard. Suddenly she saw that a piece was missing from the point. A thought occurred to her that made the blood rush to her head. She hastened to the place where she had concealed the broken piece, and placed it in the gap. It fitted exactly. She had been nursing her sworn enemy!Just then Tristan called to her, and she turned and went to his bedside with the blade uplifted ready to strike. Neither spoke, but he read her purpose to slay him in her face and action; yet he did not flinch. He merely looked up sadly and tenderly with those eyes which she had found it so hard to resist, the first time she ever saw him. And instantly, she knew not why, the sword fell from her hand clashing upon the floor.After that she continued to nurse him more tenderly than ever, but without either of them saying a word about the incident. Her care and skill were rewarded, and at last Tristan was wholly recovered and ready to set sail for home. Still he did not speak to the Princess of the strange new feeling that possessed him, for he thought that only pity on her part, for his defenceless state, had saved his life on that day when she guessed the truth. He contented himself with thanking her in the best phrases his oddly faltering tongue could repeat; begged permission to kiss her hand in token of the gratitude he could not utter; and asked leave to return upon some future day.[image]"Suddenly she saw that a Piece was missing from the Point"Victor ProutWhen he had come to the court of Cornwall, he found the King overjoyed to see him, for he had given him up as dead. To the King and court he related his adventures, praising without stint the beauty and kindness of the Princess Isolde. Indeed he spoke with such youthful enthusiasm that it unwittingly set his hearers to thinking. Some of the courtiers had long been jealous of Tristan and wished to keep him from the throne. They had been trying to persuade the King to seek a wife and thus provide a son of his own for the kingdom. Now they urged him to ask for the hand of the Princess Isolde. It would cement the peace of the two kingdoms, they said, and from all accounts she was indeed worthy to be his Queen.King Mark pondered long over this advice, and asked many questions of the unsuspecting Tristan; and the more the monarch thought of it, the more the picture of Isolde filled his fancy. Finally he decided to send a formal request for her hand; and as Tristan was familiar with the Irish court he was entrusted with the embassy.The request of the King sent a sudden chill through Tristan's heart. He realised all at once how much Isolde meant to him. But his uncle had been a father to him, and he could not requite his kindness in any other way than by obedience. So he gave no outward sign, and prepared to execute his hard task.When messengers came to Isolde and told her that Sir Tristan was come to seek audience with her, her heart leaped for joy. Surely, she thought, he had come in his own proper guise, as he promised, to say the things he dared not utter when he went away. So she hastened to greet him and show him all graciousness. But when she learned the truth of his errand, her new hopes were dashed. Anger and pride took their place, that she should be rejected by this man whom she had cared for—and pardoned despite her oath of vengeance! But hiding her emotions she instantly resolved to go to King Mark and become his Queen, without letting the world—least of all, Sir Tristan—know how she suffered.To the King and Queen of Ireland the news of the embassy was welcome. They had become weary of the feud with Cornwall and were glad to conclude the peace and ally their house with that of King Mark. They received the ambassador, therefore, with every sign of honour, and held feasting and revelry until he should conduct the Princess to his ship.But through it all Isolde remained cold and silent. Her conduct alarmed her mother, who wished her to be contented in the new home she was entering. So the Queen brewed a powerful love potion which she entrusted to Isolde's maid, Brangeane, telling her to give the potion to Isolde and her husband on the day of their wedding, when it would fill their hearts with mutual love and cause their after lives to be happy.So Tristan conducted Isolde to his ship and set sail for Cornwall; and of the deep love which had come to fill his own heart he uttered no word; nor so much as by a look or sign would he betray the trust reposed in him by his uncle the King. Indeed, Tristan went to the farther side of caution, and when the Princess was once upon shipboard he did not linger in her presence or speak with her, but busied himself with the steering of the vessel.This courteous reserve Isolde did not understand. She had been accustomed, all her life, to much attention and to seeing her lightest wish obeyed. And now it angered her more than ever that Tristan—who owed her so much—should treat her like the veriest stranger. She endured his neglect in sullen silence until the last day of the voyage, when the ship was within sight of the shores of Cornwall. Then despair at the thought of becoming the bride of a man she had never seen, and anger at the conduct of Tristan, overcame her. In a violent outburst she lamented her fate and wished that the waves could rise and swallow her up.Brangeane her maid was alarmed at this unusual mood and endeavoured to calm her. Finally Isolde raised her head and looked out through the doorway. She was in a pavilion on a raised portion of the deck, which commanded a view of the entire ship. As she looked, her eyes rested upon Sir Tristan who stood at the wheel steering the vessel. His brown muscular arms were bare, as also was his head save for a wealth of soft brown curls. A cloak fastened about his shoulders swept in graceful folds to his feet. His whole frame spoke of grace and strength. But his clear blue eyes, fastened intently upon the vessel's course, had a tense look, almost stern in their sadness. He seemed, indeed, to be fighting a hidden grief. Isolde pointed to him and asked mockingly of Brangeane:"What think you of our fine hero?""Who—Sir Tristan, my lady? He is said to be the bravest and knightliest man in Christendom.""I care not what they say. He is an arrant coward!""Oh, my lady!""He is a coward, I tell you! Afraid to meet a woman's eyes! Conducting me to his royal master as though I were some kitchen wench! Go you to him and ask him why he has neglected our presence and treated us so coldly.""Shall I request him to attend upon you?""No. Command him! Tell him it is the Princess Isolde who speaks!"The maid was reluctant to deliver this message, and walked slowly along the deck. But finally she paused beside the wheel and said:"A message, my lord, from the Princess Isolde.""Isolde!" Tristan started at the name and almost released the wheel. Then recovering himself quickly he asked; "What is my lady pleased to say?""She commands you to wait upon her."Tristan paid no heed to the wording of the message, but bade the maid excuse him in all courtesy to her mistress, saying that he could best serve her at that moment by steering the vessel safely between the dangerous rocks which lay off the coast of Cornwall.The gruff old knight, Kurneval, who had attended Tristan upon the voyage, broke into a scornful laugh when he chanced to hear the message of the Princess."'Command' forsooth!" he exclaimed. "The slayer of Morold is the vassal of no one, be she even a queen!"Isolde overheard this speech, and when her maid returned to her, bearing Tristan's refusal, her passion knew no bounds."Do you know who this ingrate is, who cannot find a moment's time for me?" she cried. "He is the minstrel whose life I saved in Ireland, and whom you helped me to nurse!""Can it be possible!" exclaimed Brangeane. "But 'tis strange that I did not know him again!""That is not the strange part," continued Isolde, storming. "I had sworn to take vengeance upon the slayer of Sir Morold. I found out that he was the slayer, and yet I pardoned him! And this is his gratitude!""My lady, my lady!" said Brangeane, trying to soothe her mistress. "Perchance Sir Tristan is not to blame for this. He is serving his King; and he shows you only the more honour, that he should woo you for the King instead of for himself.""But I care not a whit for the King! Why should they all be forcing me into this loveless marriage—into a life of misery?""No, no, not that!" replied Brangeane eagerly. "It was your mother's dearest wish that you should be happy. See this casket? It contains a love potion which she brewed for you, and which will fill your heart and that of your husband with the truest devotion."The sight of the potion diverted Isolde's mind into other channels. It reminded her that she herself could brew drinks and mix powders. She began at once to prepare a deadly poison, quietly telling her maid that it would make her forget her unhappy past.By the time she had finished brewing this drink of death the ship had almost reached its anchorage; and Kurneval entered to announce that they would speedily land, and that Sir Tristan awaited to escort her to the King.Isolde drew herself up proudly."Go back to Sir Tristan," she said, "and say that we await him here. We will not leave this place until he appears to offer an apology for his rudeness!"Kurneval was moved to make some retort to this, but deeming that diplomacy was the wisest plan he returned to Tristan and advised him to wait upon the irate Princess.Isolde, meanwhile, handed the poison flask to her maid, saying, "When he comes, give us to drink from it. We have much to forget, and I would be at peace with the world this day.""Oh, my lady! What is it you would have me do?" asked Brangeane, terrified by her mistress's manner. But Isolde pressed her hand reassuringly.At that moment Tristan entered, and with tones of the deepest respect he asked what the Princess's will was with him. But Isolde was in no mood to temporise, and she reproached him haughtily for his treatment of her during the voyage, asking what he meant by such neglect to her station.It was such language as one would address to an underling, and Sir Tristan drew himself up with quiet dignity, replying that it was the custom in his country, when an ambassador brought a bride home to his lord, to refrain from intruding his presence during the journey.Isolde replied scornfully, that if he was such a strict observer of custom, he would do well to recall one other which he had overlooked."What is that?" asked Tristan."The blood ransom," she answered, "for the life of Sir Morold!""But that feud is healed!" he responded quickly. "There is now peace between Cornwall and Ireland.""But not between Tristan and Isolde!" she retorted. And she recalled to him the time when he had sought her care in disguise; how she had discovered his identity by the broken sword, and yet had spared his life and kept his secret when her own land was filled with his enemies. His life, she now claimed, was still forfeit to her.Tristan had listened to her with varied emotions, but had made no move to interrupt her. Now with an indescribable air of sorrow and hurt pride he drew his sword and presented it to her, handle foremost."It is the same weapon that slew Sir Morold in fair fight," he said. "If you still so bitterly regret his death and your previous kindness to me, I pray you slay me!""Nay!" she answered, her face growing pale and red by turns. "Such deed would ill requite King Mark, whose ambassador you are. But we will declare a truce, if you will drink the usual cup of peace with me before we land."And turning to Brangeane she commanded her to pour out the drink. The maid, pale and trembling, turned to fill the cup. Sounds from without now told them that the vessel was coming to anchor. Isolde took the cup and handed it to Tristan."Your unwelcome voyage is over," she said darkly, looking into his eyes, "will you drink with me?"Tristan took the cup. He knew that Isolde had been plotting his death, and he now suspected that the drink was poisonous. Yet death seemed welcome to him at this moment."I thank you," he said calmly. "I drink in gladness, giving you my oath of truce for all time—the honour and the pain of Tristan!"He put the cup to his lips and began to drink. But before he had drunk half its contents, Isolde with a suppressed cry snatched it from his hands and drained the rest. Then the massive cup fell to the floor, unheeded, and the two stood silent, looking at each other.Only a few moments they remained thus, and yet it seemed ages to them. The drug had begun to take effect in a strange, unaccountable way. Instead of the icy chill of death, which they had expected to sweep through their veins, there came a wonderful tingle of life and love and bliss, all intermingled in a splendid wave drawing each nearer to the other."Tristan!""Isolde!"The cries burst from their lips, as though they were in a trance; and forgetful of the whole world without, each sprang forward and was clasped in the other's arms."Alas! What have I done?" moaned Brangeane, wringing her hands. In her terror at giving the brew whose contents she feared, she had poured the love potion in its stead. Now she dreaded lest it should be the more fatal of the two in its consequences. But there was no way of escape. The voices of the sailors and soldiers on the near-by shore proclaimed the fact that King Mark was at hand. Brangeane hastily seized the robe and crown, which Isolde was to wear, and placed them upon her mistress, urging her to make herself ready.Awakened from her brief dream of happiness, Isolde suffered herself to be clad in the royal attire and led forward, weak and almost fainting, to meet her future husband.The generous and courtly King received her with every consideration. Noting that she was faint and pale, which he thought due to the voyage, he ordered rooms in his castle to be set aside for her and her maids; and he postponed the betrothal feast and other public events until she should be strong enough to undergo them. He and all his court were delighted with this fair Irish Princess, and looked forward to the time when she should adorn their throne.The rooms set aside for her use were the choicest in the castle, opening directly out upon a private garden. Here the Princess was glad to take refuge for a few days, and thus put off the wedding as long as possible. She knew now that it was the love potion she and Tristan had swallowed, and so violent was her passion that she felt she could not live without seeing him. So she prevailed upon Brangeane to set a signal for her lover. A light was to be left burning in the window of the tower, and when it was extinguished Tristan knew that he would find Isolde in the garden. His love was no less ardent than hers, and he impatiently awaited the secret meeting. Now there was one knight in the court who had long tried to supplant Tristan in the King's favour. His name was Melot, and he was wily and treacherous. Always on the watch to trip up Tristan in some way, he had noticed his confusion and Isolde's weakness when the ship had come to land, and had rightly guessed the cause. So he now sought to surprise the lovers at a meeting and then inform the King.Brangeane had noticed Melot's manner and warned her mistress against him, but Isolde was intent upon nothing else than seeing Tristan again. Scarcely was darkness come, upon the eventful evening, when she bade the maid put out the light which was to summon him; and when Brangeane hesitated, she herself extinguished it.It was a beautiful moonlit night in early summer, when the flowers were in their first freshness and fragrance. It seemed to the Princess that all nature was rejoicing in her love. She was not, however, paying heed to the blossoms on every side. She was pacing eagerly back and forth listening for a welcome footfall. She had not long to wait, for Tristan sprang quickly through the shadows to meet her. Gladly the two greeted each other, without reserve, and wandered together down the path talking in low earnest tones of the happiness that had come to them. Isolde confessed that she had planned his death upon that fateful day on shipboard; while Tristan said he had expected nothing less, and would have welcomed it at her hands.Meanwhile the faithful maid had been left upon the tower to keep watch. Several times she called in low warning tones that they would best not linger, but the lovers paid no heed to her, until Brangeane suddenly gave a cry of alarm. At the same instant Kurneval rushed upon the scene with drawn sword, imploring Tristan to fly. But it was too late; the sound of horns was heard, and the King and Melot appeared, followed by a hunting party.Isolde, covered with shame, sank upon the ground. Tristan stood in front of her trying to shield her, but his own head was bent in trouble and he did not meet the King's gaze.
At the time when our story begins, a fierce storm had been raging in the North Sea. To escape its fury a stout Norwegian ship sailed hastily before the wind into the nearest port and cast anchor. Its captain, a stout weather-beaten man, was provoked at having to do this, as he was nearly home and anxious to get there and greet his only daughter, after a long voyage. Daland was the captain's name, and Senta that of his daughter. She had been left motherless when very young, and now lived quietly with her old nurse while her father was away upon his voyages. Senta was a quiet, dark-eyed girl given much to day dreams on account of her somewhat lonely life. She was devoted to her father, and believed in him implicitly.
Daland was not a bad man, but he had one great passion, and that was for gold. His life-long desire was to be rich, and this desire led to his taking long voyages and braving many dangers. Nevertheless, his money did not accumulate so fast as he wished—does it ever do that?—and Daland was often discontented.
His last voyage had been anything but a success. His ship had met one adverse wind after another, and in two heavy storms it had come so near sinking that they were forced to throw overboard some of the cargo. And now when they were within forty miles of home, another gale sent them scudding into the wrong harbour. It was hard luck, but sailor-like they prepared to make the best of it. Daland allowed all the weary crew to go below and get a good rest. He himself followed their example, leaving only one man at the wheel.
The air was heavy, as it often is during a thunderstorm, and the dark clouds rolled fiercely across the sky. But within the bay the water was comparatively quiet, and the ship rode easily at her anchor. The gentle motion and still air were too much for the man on lookout, and he, also, went to sleep with his head leaning upon the wheel.
While he slept, the storm burst again with increased fury just beyond, in the open sea; and out of the teeth of the gale sped another ship coming straight for the same harbour. The rising waves leaped high on all sides of her low black hull, threatening to engulf her. But if you could have seen the crew at work, you would have noticed that they paid no heed to the tempest except to shake their fists, perhaps, in defiance of it. On they came, the wind howling shrilly through the rigging and tugging vainly at the bulging sails. And, marvellous to relate, every one of these sails was set, as though it had been a clear day instead of a time to scud with bare poles; and the sails were red as blood!
Not until they had entered harbour and were close alongside Daland's ship did the crew furl sail or cast anchor. So quickly and noiselessly was the canvas dropped that the ship rode at anchor before any of the other crew were even aware of their approach. Then a boat was lowered from the newcomer's side, and the captain entered it and was rowed ashore. He was a strange-looking man, with long black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a hunted expression about the eyes. His skin was fair, despite his many other evidences of long sailing, and he had a certain air of gentleness and sadness which lent him an attractive—almost handsome—appearance. His crew were even stranger in looks, for they all seemed to be old men, grey and withered, despite the vigorous strokes with which they sent the longboat flying through the waves.
As the boat grated upon the sand the captain breathed a great sigh of relief, and leaped ashore without heeding the shallow water between him and dry land. He walked with the stiffness of a man who has long felt under his feet only the rolling decks of a ship. The first rock he met, jutting out of the beach, he fell upon his knees and embraced, out of very gladness to be on firm ground! Then he mounted the crag and looked landward.
"Seven long years!" he mused. "Thank God, that I am permitted to set foot upon dry land once more! When will my weary voyaging cease, and I become free of this fickle ocean?"
If was, as you have doubtless guessed, the Flying Dutchman, home on another search for the woman who would release him from his spell.
Just then his musings were cut short by a voice hailing him. "Skipper, ahoy!" it said.
Daland had awakened out of his slumber and come on deck to find his helmsman asleep and the strange ship anchored close by. He was both startled and provoked, but seeing the captain on shore he now addressed him through a speaking trumpet.
"Whence come you?" he asked, seeing the stranger turn and look at him.
For answer, the Dutchman made a wide sweep with his arms and then beckoned to Daland. Something in his manner so aroused the latter's curiosity that he ordered a boat lowered and rowed over to the beach.
"My name is Daland, a skipper of Norway," he said. "Whence and who are you?"
"I am a Dutchman and I have been around the world since I last set foot here," answered the stranger in a low voice.
"I should think you would be glad to come ashore again," said Daland. "I am, for I've had a precious rough voyage of it. Did you meet any storms?"
The Dutchman smiled. "Nothing but storms," he said, "but my ship will weather the best of them."
"What cargo do you carry?" asked Daland, mindful of his own unlucky experience.
"Oh, weighty enough; I've been trading in gold and precious stones," said the stranger indifferently.
An eager look came into Daland's eyes. "I should think you would hate to throw over any of that!" he said.
"There are a good many things I value more highly," replied the other. "I have known the time when I would gladly give it all for a little corner of dry land where I might live in peace."
"And I," laughed Daland, "leave my little corner and cruise around the world in search of that same gold."
It was now the stranger's turn to become interested.
"Do you live near here?" he asked.
"Aye, just around the next headland. There's a cosy hearthstone and cheering cup awaiting me there, and I should have been there now, if it had not been for this wretched storm."
"Perhaps it has blown you a little good luck," replied the Dutchman; "that is, if you really care for money."
"What do you mean?"
"Just this. I was in earnest, awhile ago, when I said I would give all my gold for a plot of dry land. My heart is hungry for a bit of home life; and if you will let me be your guest while we are ashore, I shall make you a rich man."
"Do you mean that?" asked Daland staring at him.
"I will pay you in advance," said the stranger. And he blew a shrill whistle to his crew and shouted out some orders in a strange tongue. In answer some of the curious-looking sailors ran down into the hold and came up again bearing a heavy chest which they brought to the strand and opened.
There before Daland's greedy eyes lay revealed a glittering mass of precious stones and fine gold, richer than anything of which he had ever dreamed. His fingers twitched and he fairly gasped with amazement.
"Gorgeous!" he exclaimed. "You must be the happiest man in the world to have all that!"
"Happy?" said the other, in a sad voice. "Of what use is this treasure if I have no treasure of the heart—no home, no wife, no family ties? For years I have wandered alone, till my soul is weary; and what I have longed for, it has been beyond the power of this paltry stuff to supply!"
And the Dutchman snapped his fingers in contempt at the chest.
Daland who was really good of heart was touched by the stranger's words.
"Come home with me," he said. "With or without reward you shall have the best my modest table affords, and my daughter Senta shall cook and serve it with her own hands."
"Then you have a daughter?" asked the stranger turning quickly. "How old is she?"
"She is grown now, though I can scarcely think of her save as a little girl. Winsome is she, as all my neighbours say, and a better girl never lived. My will has been her law ever since her mother died."
"Hark you, man!" said the stranger, gripping his hand and speaking swiftly and earnestly. "You must judge me by what you see of me. But if you will promise me your daughter's hand, provided I win her, all that this chest contains shall be yours!"
Daland looked at the stranger keenly. His clear-cut face and noble bearing told strongly in his favour.
"She is my only child," the Norwegian answered presently, "but I promise to further your suit. As you are generous, you show me a good and noble heart. Yes, I should be glad to see you my son-in-law. And were your wealth not half as great, I'd not choose another."
A glad smile broke over the wandering seaman's face as he heard these words. And as if in sympathy the sun broke forth from the bank of clouds in the western sky, the wind died down and the water grew calm.
"See! it is to be clear weather, after all!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, we can make the home harbour by nightfall. Come, let us weigh anchor and hoist sail!" said Daland.
"Lead on, and I will follow you presently. I have some sails to mend," replied the Dutchman. He well knew that his ship's strange appearance and red sails would arouse comment if he entered the harbour before night.
"So be it!" agreed Daland; and he went on board ship and ordered all sails set. Before a brisk little breeze his vessel scudded out of harbour, while the sailors, delighted with the prospect of soon being at home after their long, rough voyage, sang a rollicking song ending with the shout, "Hoho! Halloho!"
While her father's ship was nearing harbour that afternoon, Senta was in the midst of a merry group at her home. Several of her girl friends had come to pay her a visit, and, according to the quaint Norwegian custom, they had brought their spinning-wheels with them so that they might not be idle during the daylight hours. Now the wheels whirred and the maidens chattered at a lively rate. But strange to say, Senta was the idlest of the lot. Her hands would fall into her lap, and her gaze would wander into space. She was indeed a lovely picture as she sat thus, her great dark eyes glowing and the rich colour coming and going in her cheeks, called up by the romantic visions she saw.
"What, dreaming again, Senta?" exclaimed her old nurse and housekeeper, Maria, entering at one of these idle moments. "You are setting your visitors a fine example! And what if your father should come home and see you dawdling thus?"
Senta flushed, smiled, and took up her flax. The other girls laughed mischievously.
"You oughtn't to have told her that old ballad, Maria!" they said. "Now she can't get her mind off the Flying Dutchman. She sits here and gazes at his picture by the hour."
There was indeed an old print supposed to be a likeness of the wandering seaman, on the wall. It had been picked up with many other curious things by Daland upon his travels; and Maria who knew a ballad telling of the Dutchman's weary search for a wife had recited it to them. The story was just of the sort to attract Senta.
"'Tis strange," she murmured, as though speaking to herself, "strange that the poor Flying Dutchman is doomed to sail on forever, because he can find no one who will love him till death! Are we maidens, then, all so fickle and heartless?"
"No, we are not heartless, at anyrate!" laughed one of the girls. "But who wants to wed the captain of a Phantom Ship that comes to port only once in seven years?"
"And who will outlive you, and marry someone else, a hundred years from now?" chimed in another.
"No, no!" said Senta; "that would be because you did not love him!"
"But whocouldlove him—a ghost like that? Ugh!" said a third.
"Icould!" exclaimed Senta, her fine eyes flashing. "If I knew that I could save him, I would devote myself to him gladly!"
"Oh, Senta! What are you saying!" cried the girls in a chorus.
"You forget Erik!" said one.
Erik was a young hunter who lived in the mountains, and who was devoted in his attentions to Senta. She had always liked him, having grown up with him, but she had not given him all her love.
"No, I do not forget Erik," she said stoutly, "but he is not the Flying Dutchman."
"Nor do I want to be!" exclaimed a hearty voice, as Erik himself burst into the room. "What is this I hear, Senta? Be careful, or I shall grow jealous even of the Flying Dutchman!"
He greeted the visitors, and then continued: "But I just ran in to tell you that I sighted your father's ship rounding the headland, and back of it some distance is another vessel. Doubtless your father is bringing guests with him, so you had better tell the good Maria to bestir herself."
Senta jumped up and clapped her hands at the news of her father's return. Instantly the whole room was in confusion. The spinning-wheels were quickly set aside, and the maidens helped to bring the long table to the centre of the room and set it for the expected company. Then they hastily gathered up their belongings and bade their hostess good-day, leaving her alone with Erik.
"What was this I heard about the Flying Dutchman, Senta?" he asked in a tender voice.
"I was just expressing pity for his lonely lot," she answered.
"Doesn'tmyloneliness awaken any pity, then?"
"You do not deserve so much sympathy," she said lightly. "You are young and strong and—well, almost any of the girls here to-day would show you some interest. But the poor wandering seaman is compelled to sail on till doomsday because nobody cares."
"Come, come, Senta, you must be jesting!" said the hunter growing pale. "You surely cannot place this spectre ahead of all of us flesh-and-blood people in your regard!"
"Why does the thought alarm you so?" she said evasively.
"Because of a dream I had. It was so real that I have been able to think of nothing else all day."
"Was it about—him?"
"Yes, it was about the Flying Dutchman. I dreamed that your father came home from sea, bringing with him a mysterious stranger whom no one knew anything about, except that he was very wealthy. He was tall and gaunt, with pale face, flowing black hair and eager-looking eyes. As soon as he saw you he could not keep these eyes off of you, and he asked for your hand in marriage."
"And I consented?" asked Senta breathlessly.
"Oh, Senta! Yes, you left me at once and went with him. I followed you down to the beach imploring you to stay. But the stranger took you on board his ship, and hoisted a blood-red sail. You were gone with the Flying Dutchman—lost—lost forever!"
"No, not lost!" she cried. "It was a vision! It was my destiny!"
"Senta, Senta!" cried Erik almost beside himself with grief; and unable to control his emotion longer he rushed from the house.
And then—as if in answer to the dream, Senta thought—presently the door opened and her father came in, and with him—the stranger! He was like Erik's description, even like the old print that hung upon the wall; and as he directed his gentle blue eyes to her face, Senta knew instinctively that this was none other than the Flying Dutchman himself.
Springing to meet her father, she hid her face upon his shoulder and burst into tears. Daland kissed her and patted her upon the cheek.
"There, little daughter!" he said. "Have you really missed your old daddy while he was away? Well, he has missed you, too. But you are forgetting your manners. You have not yet greeted our guest."
Senta had by this time regained some of her composure, and she now turned to the visitor and greeted him, but in a cold, constrained voice. She was in reality holding herself in check, for her whole heart went out to him.
But her father thought, "She is cold, the little minx! I must tell her my wishes in this matter, and hint about the chest of gold." The foolish old captain measured everything by gold—even his daughter's affection, but this only showed how little he understood her.
So, while the evening meal was being prepared and the stranger had been shown to his room to make himself ready, Daland took his daughter aside and told her what little he knew of the stranger; that he had been a wanderer without kith or kin; and that he had immense wealth and was now desirous of settling down and having a home of his own.
"He has asked me to receive him as a guest," Daland concluded; "and he has also obtained my permission to sue for your hand. Will you be obedient to my wish in this as heretofore, and consent to become his wife?"
"I will give my answer to him, father," she replied quietly, "after I learn from his own lips how much or little he needs me."
Daland was fain to be content with this reply, but something in his daughter's tone reassured him, and he wisely decided not to press the matter further until the stranger had been given the chance to urge his own case.
There was an air of constraint about the evening meal, despite the host's attempts to be jovial after his long absence. 'Tis true Senta gave a willing ear to the story of his voyage, and asked questions from time to time which showed how anxious she had been for his welfare while he was away. But the guest courteously evaded all inquiries about his own wanderings, and though he strove to be agreeable, it was plain to see that he was long unaccustomed to quiet home life such as this.
Finally the supper was over, and Daland, saying that he had business that evening in the village, left Senta and the stranger alone.
Then the girl, with an almost bursting heart, heard her visitor cross the room slowly and come to her side.
[image]"'Senta!' he said, 'look at me'"Victor Prout
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"'Senta!' he said, 'look at me'"Victor Prout
"Senta!" he said—and there was both authority and entreaty in his low tone—"look at me!"
She raised her eyes and met his gaze unflinchingly; and in that glance each saw the soul of the other laid bare and knew that each was beloved.
"Senta," he continued, taking her hand, "I am a plain, rough man of the sea, and know not how to mend my speech for gentle ears like yours. But from the first moment I saw you, I loved you. And your father has already given his consent to my suit. What is your answer? Do I read your eyes aright?"
"Yes," she answered simply; "it was Fate that brought you to me."
The seaman felt a great wave of joy rush over him. He was loved! Freedom from the Evil Spirit was within his grasp! Then for the first time he realised how much he was asking of this innocent young girl. A curse was hanging over him; how could he ask one he loved to share it?
"Stay!" he said, gently releasing her hand, "I have no right to obtain your promise thus. You do not know who I am."
A bright smile broke over Senta's face.
"Ah, but I do!" she exclaimed.
"What! Is it possible that you know I am a wretched wanderer over the earth——"
"You have been," she said.
"That men look upon me with superstition and dread——"
"We will change all that."
"In short, that a curse is upon me? Hear me out!" (He raised his hand, as she was about to speak again.) "Hear me out, and then send me forth into the night, where I belong! I sought you selfishly to-day, to obtain your aid in the lifting of this curse, of which I speak. The Evil One has decreed that I shall wander forever, unless some true woman gives me her love and remains faithful until death. If her faith in me should waver, the curse would descend upon her also. Before I had even seen you, I asked your father for you, and was willing to sacrifice you to my own selfish ends. I thought not at all of what I asked ofyou! I see now how selfish I was, and I release you. Will you not dismiss me, as I deserve? I shall remember you only with gratitude for the glimpse I have had of your brave heart."
"But do you not love me?" asked Senta.
"It is just because I do love you that I cannot ask this sacrifice," he replied, his pale face showing the struggle through which he passed.
"Then this is my answer. Here is my hand; my heart goes with it, and even to death will I be faithful!"
"She gives her hand, and promises to be faithful till death!" exclaimed the Dutchman, shaking his fist as if at some unseen foe. "Dost thou hear this—dread Spirit? I am free, and I defy thee!"
And falling upon his knees he pressed her hands again and again to his lips.
Just at this moment Daland reentered the room, and was overjoyed at the turn of affairs. He gave the two his blessing, saying,
"To-morrow I give a feast to my sailors, according to custom; and with your permission I shall announce your betrothal at once."
The next day dawned bright and clear. On board the Norwegian ship all was bustle and activity. The sailors were dressing it in its finest pennants and colours, making it ready for the visit of the townspeople and for the feast. All was noise and laughter and song, for they were as delighted as schoolboys when the long-looked-for vacation has come.
But on board the Dutch vessel everything was as quiet as the grave. No one was seen stirring above decks, and not a flag fluttered except a single tiny one which told that the captain was gone upon shore.
Then a group of laughing girls came down to the beach. Most of them we have already seen at Senta's house. They brought great baskets of fruit and dainties to the sailors and when Daland's crew saw this treat they lost no time in coming on shore. But still the Dutchman's black ship gave no sign of life.
"What is the matter with your fellow-voyagers?" asked the maidens.
"No fellows of ours," answered the Norwegians, "we never saw them until yesterday, and they haven't budged since they cast anchor last night."
"Hey, sleepy-heads!" called out the girls tauntingly. "Come out and be sociable!"
"You sleep like land-lubbers!" called a sailor.
But no answer came back.
"Let them alone," said another sailor; "if they don't care for good things to eat and drink, there will be just that much more for us."
"Greedy fellows!" laughed the girls.
"Well, if I was as old and grizzled as that greybeard crew yonder," said the one who had just spoken, "I wouldn't care for feasts either—nor yet for pretty girls." Here he gave a sly glance around.
"They look like the crew of the Phantom Ship," said another laughing. And lifting his voice he called; "Ho there, old black ship! What has become of the Flying Dutchman?"
At this call a cold wind swept along the shore, so that all the merrymakers shuddered, and a nameless dread seized them. Then a strange thing happened. The waves in the harbour remained calm, while just around the black ship they rose and tossed angrily as though in a violent storm. It grew dark, the wind howled through the rigging, and weird blue lights played about the mastheads. In the midst of the miniature tempest, the ship's crew appeared and began to hoist sail as though preparing to depart; and as they worked they sang a dirge-like song that told of the Flying Dutchman and his seven year quest. He was even now in search of the wife that would save them all, they sang.
This scene was too much for the merrymakers. The panic-stricken maidens fled in every direction, while the sailors seized with superstitious fear hastened to their ship and ran below, making the sign of the cross.
At sight of the panic, the strange crew burst into wild laughter, and the storm subsided as quickly as it had arisen, leaving the blue sky and clear water as before.
Just then the door of Daland's house opened, and Senta appeared and came down to the beach. She was followed by the hunter Erik, who had come to plead his cause once again. He could not bring himself to believe that his dream was coming true, and that Senta had plighted herself to the mysterious stranger, as he had just heard. He reminded her of their lifelong comradeship, and how he had, even as a little boy, claimed her as his future wife.
"Indeed you do belong to me!" he exclaimed, carried away by his emotion. "You gave me your heart—you know you did! Now you cannot take it away and give it to a stranger!"
"Oh, Erik! you misjudge me!" Senta replied, wounded deeply by his words. And sorry for his evident distress she tried to comfort him with sympathy and tenderness. She could not bear to see her old playmate suffer, or have him think badly of her.
Her attitude, however, was misunderstood by a third person who had approached unnoticed. It was the Flying Dutchman. He now believed that Senta was already regretting her promise to him, and with a wild, despairing cry of "Lost! All lost!" he sprang down the beach and prepared to take boat for his ship.
"What do you mean?" asked Senta, hastening towards him.
"Farewell, Senta!" he cried. "To sea, to sea, till time is ended! I release you from your promise! It is the only way I can save you from my fate!"
"Ah, do not go!" implored Senta. "I will not take back my word. I love you, love you! I knew you from the first moment I saw you, and wheresoever you go, there will I go!"
"Think what you are saying, Senta!" exclaimed Erik trying to restrain her. "They say that he and his ship are bewitched!"
"I care not for that! My place is by his side!" she said, struggling to free herself.
"Be advised by your friend," said the seaman, who had mastered his own emotion in some measure. "I am indeed under a spell. Ask any mariner who sails the seas, and he will tell you, with a shudder, to beware of the Flying Dutchman!"
But Senta did not shrink back as he expected. Instead she stretched out her arms triumphantly, crying, "Ah, I told you I knew you! Now you cannot go and leave me! I will save you in spite of yourself!"
Nevertheless the Dutchman turned away as though pushed forward by some unseen power.
"No! 'tis I who must save you!" he exclaimed. And going aboard his ship hastily he blew his whistle and ordered the ship to be got under way.
It had grown dark again, but through the gloom the blood-red sails glowed like a flame, while a strange signal-light burned in the prow, and the waves lapped eagerly about the bow as it began to move forward.
With a shriek Senta endeavoured to follow, but Erik and her father, who had just run up with other villagers, held her back. The Phantom Ship was now fast leaving the harbour and directing its course to the headland, when Senta by a quick movement wrenched herself free and fled swiftly along the shore to the jutting point of rock.
[image]"She flung herself from the Cliff into the raging Sea"G. RochegrosseReproduction authorised by the publishers, A. Durand et Fils, Paris
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"She flung herself from the Cliff into the raging Sea"G. RochegrosseReproduction authorised by the publishers, A. Durand et Fils, Paris
"Senta, you are beside yourself!" the others cried, trying to follow her. But she outdistanced them all, leaping over boulders and across chasms in her flight, till she had reached the headland. The Phantom Ship was close beneath her in the seething spray.
"Senta!" cried Erik, hastening to the point of rock where she stood.
But she did not heed him. Instead, she stretched out her arms once more to the pale-faced man, standing in the prow of the oncoming vessel.
"Here stand I, faithful even unto death!" she exclaimed, a heroic light shining in her dark eyes. "Give thanks to heaven that one way was left for your salvation!"
With this she flung herself from the cliff into the raging sea. And instantly—wonder on wonder!—the waves grew calm. One last leap they gave as she touched them, and the Phantom Ship and all in it sank as she disappeared from view. But to the watchers on the shore a beautiful picture was given, which sent them their separate ways with peace in their hearts.
Above the spot where the Phantom Ship had gone down, never to be seen again, a rosy light hovered, making as it were a path leading straight through the bursting clouds to the bright sky beyond. And in this glory two figures were seen hovering, locked in each other's arms and rising upward. They were the radiant spirits of Senta and the lover she had saved. The Flying Dutchman's voyages were ended; the curse was lifted from him for evermore.
Tristan and Isolde
(Tristan und Isolde)
It will be interesting to compare this story with the version by Malory. The differences are characteristic of the distance between the colder ideals of Malory and the warmer and more human age of Wagner.
Once upon a time a brave knight of Brittany went across the English Channel to the court of King Mark of Cornwall. The knight was noted for his valiant deeds, so the King was right glad to welcome him and attach him to his retinue. The knight also was willing to tarry, for the King had a sister who because of her beauty was called the "White Lily." Indeed, the knight had fallen deeply in love with this fair Princess, and so he was overjoyed when at length he found that his love was returned. He obtained the King's consent to make her his wife; and after a splendid ceremony the knight and his lady set sail for their castle in Brittany. Fate had so smiled upon them, that they thought themselves the happiest people in the whole world, and that none had been so favoured as they.
But after a few short months of wedded life the knight fell sick and died. The poor bride was broken-hearted, and although a little boy was presently given to her, the child did not assuage her grief. Instead he reminded her constantly of the husband she had lost. She called the boy's name Tristan, which means "sadness."
Realising that she would soon follow her beloved husband she entrusted the boy to a trusty knight, Kurneval by name, to be taken over to her brother in Cornwall. Shortly afterward she died, and the little orphan was conveyed to his uncle as the mother had desired.
King Mark was without wife or children of his own, so he gladly received Tristan into his lonely home. He brought him up as his own son, and publicly proclaimed him heir to the throne of Cornwall.
Tristan grew rapidly in beauty and strength, finding so especial a delight in horsemanship and knightly warfare, that by the time he was fifteen he could joust with the best of the knights. Courteous in speech and bearing was he, likewise, for he had been carefully trained by the knight Kurneval. And so, when the time of his knighting had arrived, Sir Tristan was already famed for his chivalry and prowess alike. His name became a proverb for true knighthood, and there was no man in Cornwall who could stand against him.
A few years before this time, King Mark had been defeated in battle by the King of Ireland, and had promised to pay him a yearly tribute. Each year since that defeat the tribute had been collected by Sir Morold a gigantic knight whom all men feared because of his courage and cruelty. His demands grew heavier, year by year, until at last they became so great that the whole country groaned. Thus it went on until Tristan had become a knight, when eager for some splendid service to prove his spurs, he resolved to put an end to this oppression. So he challenged the huge warrior to mortal combat.
The challenge was promptly accepted, Morold liking nothing better than a fight, though—as he expressed it—he greatly feared this rash youth would not last long enough to get his blood warm. King Mark also was fearful of the fate of his foster-son, but the word had gone forth and could not be withdrawn.
The day came for the conflict, and many anxious spectators assembled to watch the champions fight—the one for the honour of Ireland, the other for the freedom of Cornwall. But Morold did not enter the lists fairly. Enraged that any one should presume to oppose him, he bore a poisoned spear which he flung at Tristan without warning. It made a slight wound which was unnoticed in the heat of the conflict that immediately began.
The young knight sprang forward with sword drawn and met his towering opponent fiercely but with the most finished skill. Morold soon found that he had met more than his match at sword play, and he tried by his superior strength to beat down his antagonist. But in this also he was defeated, after a thrilling contest. At last growing rash he raised his sword and brought it about with a terrific swish that would certainly have cut Tristan in two, if he had not leaped nimbly backward. Before the Irish knight could recover himself, Tristan sprang forward again and by one swift stroke cut his head from his body.
Cornwall was now free, and instead of sending his yearly tribute, King Mark sent the head of Morold back to Ireland to show this freedom for all time to come. Now Morold had been betrothed to an Irish Princess named Isolde; and when his severed head was received at court, she swore bitter vengeance against the one who had done this deed. Looking closely at the head, she chanced to find a bit of sword-point sticking in the skull, and she knew this must have been broken from the weapon which had done the deed. So she kept the sword-point carefully by her, in the hope that it might lead her to find her enemy.
Meanwhile Tristan, though showered with praises from the court and people he had delivered, was faring but ill. The wound from the poisoned spear refused to heal. The best physicians of the country were called in, but the wound only grew more grievous and painful, day by day. Finally, when Tristan was beginning to despair of his life, an old soothsayer told him to go to the land whence the wound was received and there he would find an antidote for the poison. So Tristan set forth without delay; but knowing that it would not be safe for him to travel in Ireland under his own name, he went alone as Tantris a wandering minstrel.
The fame of Isolde's skill in mixing draughts and potions presently reached his ears, and he directed his steps to the court. Both Isolde's mother and maid-servant knew the secrets of drugs and they had taught her many of these arts. So when a poor minstrel came to her attention, suffering from a poisoned wound, both her sympathy and skill were enlisted, and all the more because he seemed of noble bearing, and his eyes sought hers in an appealing way.
So Isolde called in her maid and they undertook to heal Tristan of his wound, applying many balsams and soothing herbs. It was a long time, however, before even their skill availed and the harper began to rally from his illness.
It chanced one day while he slept, that Isolde sat by his side watching the progress of his fever. And as she sat there she happened to notice the beauty of his sword-hilt, and wishing to examine it closely she drew the sword from its scabbard. Suddenly she saw that a piece was missing from the point. A thought occurred to her that made the blood rush to her head. She hastened to the place where she had concealed the broken piece, and placed it in the gap. It fitted exactly. She had been nursing her sworn enemy!
Just then Tristan called to her, and she turned and went to his bedside with the blade uplifted ready to strike. Neither spoke, but he read her purpose to slay him in her face and action; yet he did not flinch. He merely looked up sadly and tenderly with those eyes which she had found it so hard to resist, the first time she ever saw him. And instantly, she knew not why, the sword fell from her hand clashing upon the floor.
After that she continued to nurse him more tenderly than ever, but without either of them saying a word about the incident. Her care and skill were rewarded, and at last Tristan was wholly recovered and ready to set sail for home. Still he did not speak to the Princess of the strange new feeling that possessed him, for he thought that only pity on her part, for his defenceless state, had saved his life on that day when she guessed the truth. He contented himself with thanking her in the best phrases his oddly faltering tongue could repeat; begged permission to kiss her hand in token of the gratitude he could not utter; and asked leave to return upon some future day.
[image]"Suddenly she saw that a Piece was missing from the Point"Victor Prout
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"Suddenly she saw that a Piece was missing from the Point"Victor Prout
When he had come to the court of Cornwall, he found the King overjoyed to see him, for he had given him up as dead. To the King and court he related his adventures, praising without stint the beauty and kindness of the Princess Isolde. Indeed he spoke with such youthful enthusiasm that it unwittingly set his hearers to thinking. Some of the courtiers had long been jealous of Tristan and wished to keep him from the throne. They had been trying to persuade the King to seek a wife and thus provide a son of his own for the kingdom. Now they urged him to ask for the hand of the Princess Isolde. It would cement the peace of the two kingdoms, they said, and from all accounts she was indeed worthy to be his Queen.
King Mark pondered long over this advice, and asked many questions of the unsuspecting Tristan; and the more the monarch thought of it, the more the picture of Isolde filled his fancy. Finally he decided to send a formal request for her hand; and as Tristan was familiar with the Irish court he was entrusted with the embassy.
The request of the King sent a sudden chill through Tristan's heart. He realised all at once how much Isolde meant to him. But his uncle had been a father to him, and he could not requite his kindness in any other way than by obedience. So he gave no outward sign, and prepared to execute his hard task.
When messengers came to Isolde and told her that Sir Tristan was come to seek audience with her, her heart leaped for joy. Surely, she thought, he had come in his own proper guise, as he promised, to say the things he dared not utter when he went away. So she hastened to greet him and show him all graciousness. But when she learned the truth of his errand, her new hopes were dashed. Anger and pride took their place, that she should be rejected by this man whom she had cared for—and pardoned despite her oath of vengeance! But hiding her emotions she instantly resolved to go to King Mark and become his Queen, without letting the world—least of all, Sir Tristan—know how she suffered.
To the King and Queen of Ireland the news of the embassy was welcome. They had become weary of the feud with Cornwall and were glad to conclude the peace and ally their house with that of King Mark. They received the ambassador, therefore, with every sign of honour, and held feasting and revelry until he should conduct the Princess to his ship.
But through it all Isolde remained cold and silent. Her conduct alarmed her mother, who wished her to be contented in the new home she was entering. So the Queen brewed a powerful love potion which she entrusted to Isolde's maid, Brangeane, telling her to give the potion to Isolde and her husband on the day of their wedding, when it would fill their hearts with mutual love and cause their after lives to be happy.
So Tristan conducted Isolde to his ship and set sail for Cornwall; and of the deep love which had come to fill his own heart he uttered no word; nor so much as by a look or sign would he betray the trust reposed in him by his uncle the King. Indeed, Tristan went to the farther side of caution, and when the Princess was once upon shipboard he did not linger in her presence or speak with her, but busied himself with the steering of the vessel.
This courteous reserve Isolde did not understand. She had been accustomed, all her life, to much attention and to seeing her lightest wish obeyed. And now it angered her more than ever that Tristan—who owed her so much—should treat her like the veriest stranger. She endured his neglect in sullen silence until the last day of the voyage, when the ship was within sight of the shores of Cornwall. Then despair at the thought of becoming the bride of a man she had never seen, and anger at the conduct of Tristan, overcame her. In a violent outburst she lamented her fate and wished that the waves could rise and swallow her up.
Brangeane her maid was alarmed at this unusual mood and endeavoured to calm her. Finally Isolde raised her head and looked out through the doorway. She was in a pavilion on a raised portion of the deck, which commanded a view of the entire ship. As she looked, her eyes rested upon Sir Tristan who stood at the wheel steering the vessel. His brown muscular arms were bare, as also was his head save for a wealth of soft brown curls. A cloak fastened about his shoulders swept in graceful folds to his feet. His whole frame spoke of grace and strength. But his clear blue eyes, fastened intently upon the vessel's course, had a tense look, almost stern in their sadness. He seemed, indeed, to be fighting a hidden grief. Isolde pointed to him and asked mockingly of Brangeane:
"What think you of our fine hero?"
"Who—Sir Tristan, my lady? He is said to be the bravest and knightliest man in Christendom."
"I care not what they say. He is an arrant coward!"
"Oh, my lady!"
"He is a coward, I tell you! Afraid to meet a woman's eyes! Conducting me to his royal master as though I were some kitchen wench! Go you to him and ask him why he has neglected our presence and treated us so coldly."
"Shall I request him to attend upon you?"
"No. Command him! Tell him it is the Princess Isolde who speaks!"
The maid was reluctant to deliver this message, and walked slowly along the deck. But finally she paused beside the wheel and said:
"A message, my lord, from the Princess Isolde."
"Isolde!" Tristan started at the name and almost released the wheel. Then recovering himself quickly he asked; "What is my lady pleased to say?"
"She commands you to wait upon her."
Tristan paid no heed to the wording of the message, but bade the maid excuse him in all courtesy to her mistress, saying that he could best serve her at that moment by steering the vessel safely between the dangerous rocks which lay off the coast of Cornwall.
The gruff old knight, Kurneval, who had attended Tristan upon the voyage, broke into a scornful laugh when he chanced to hear the message of the Princess.
"'Command' forsooth!" he exclaimed. "The slayer of Morold is the vassal of no one, be she even a queen!"
Isolde overheard this speech, and when her maid returned to her, bearing Tristan's refusal, her passion knew no bounds.
"Do you know who this ingrate is, who cannot find a moment's time for me?" she cried. "He is the minstrel whose life I saved in Ireland, and whom you helped me to nurse!"
"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Brangeane. "But 'tis strange that I did not know him again!"
"That is not the strange part," continued Isolde, storming. "I had sworn to take vengeance upon the slayer of Sir Morold. I found out that he was the slayer, and yet I pardoned him! And this is his gratitude!"
"My lady, my lady!" said Brangeane, trying to soothe her mistress. "Perchance Sir Tristan is not to blame for this. He is serving his King; and he shows you only the more honour, that he should woo you for the King instead of for himself."
"But I care not a whit for the King! Why should they all be forcing me into this loveless marriage—into a life of misery?"
"No, no, not that!" replied Brangeane eagerly. "It was your mother's dearest wish that you should be happy. See this casket? It contains a love potion which she brewed for you, and which will fill your heart and that of your husband with the truest devotion."
The sight of the potion diverted Isolde's mind into other channels. It reminded her that she herself could brew drinks and mix powders. She began at once to prepare a deadly poison, quietly telling her maid that it would make her forget her unhappy past.
By the time she had finished brewing this drink of death the ship had almost reached its anchorage; and Kurneval entered to announce that they would speedily land, and that Sir Tristan awaited to escort her to the King.
Isolde drew herself up proudly.
"Go back to Sir Tristan," she said, "and say that we await him here. We will not leave this place until he appears to offer an apology for his rudeness!"
Kurneval was moved to make some retort to this, but deeming that diplomacy was the wisest plan he returned to Tristan and advised him to wait upon the irate Princess.
Isolde, meanwhile, handed the poison flask to her maid, saying, "When he comes, give us to drink from it. We have much to forget, and I would be at peace with the world this day."
"Oh, my lady! What is it you would have me do?" asked Brangeane, terrified by her mistress's manner. But Isolde pressed her hand reassuringly.
At that moment Tristan entered, and with tones of the deepest respect he asked what the Princess's will was with him. But Isolde was in no mood to temporise, and she reproached him haughtily for his treatment of her during the voyage, asking what he meant by such neglect to her station.
It was such language as one would address to an underling, and Sir Tristan drew himself up with quiet dignity, replying that it was the custom in his country, when an ambassador brought a bride home to his lord, to refrain from intruding his presence during the journey.
Isolde replied scornfully, that if he was such a strict observer of custom, he would do well to recall one other which he had overlooked.
"What is that?" asked Tristan.
"The blood ransom," she answered, "for the life of Sir Morold!"
"But that feud is healed!" he responded quickly. "There is now peace between Cornwall and Ireland."
"But not between Tristan and Isolde!" she retorted. And she recalled to him the time when he had sought her care in disguise; how she had discovered his identity by the broken sword, and yet had spared his life and kept his secret when her own land was filled with his enemies. His life, she now claimed, was still forfeit to her.
Tristan had listened to her with varied emotions, but had made no move to interrupt her. Now with an indescribable air of sorrow and hurt pride he drew his sword and presented it to her, handle foremost.
"It is the same weapon that slew Sir Morold in fair fight," he said. "If you still so bitterly regret his death and your previous kindness to me, I pray you slay me!"
"Nay!" she answered, her face growing pale and red by turns. "Such deed would ill requite King Mark, whose ambassador you are. But we will declare a truce, if you will drink the usual cup of peace with me before we land."
And turning to Brangeane she commanded her to pour out the drink. The maid, pale and trembling, turned to fill the cup. Sounds from without now told them that the vessel was coming to anchor. Isolde took the cup and handed it to Tristan.
"Your unwelcome voyage is over," she said darkly, looking into his eyes, "will you drink with me?"
Tristan took the cup. He knew that Isolde had been plotting his death, and he now suspected that the drink was poisonous. Yet death seemed welcome to him at this moment.
"I thank you," he said calmly. "I drink in gladness, giving you my oath of truce for all time—the honour and the pain of Tristan!"
He put the cup to his lips and began to drink. But before he had drunk half its contents, Isolde with a suppressed cry snatched it from his hands and drained the rest. Then the massive cup fell to the floor, unheeded, and the two stood silent, looking at each other.
Only a few moments they remained thus, and yet it seemed ages to them. The drug had begun to take effect in a strange, unaccountable way. Instead of the icy chill of death, which they had expected to sweep through their veins, there came a wonderful tingle of life and love and bliss, all intermingled in a splendid wave drawing each nearer to the other.
"Tristan!"
"Isolde!"
The cries burst from their lips, as though they were in a trance; and forgetful of the whole world without, each sprang forward and was clasped in the other's arms.
"Alas! What have I done?" moaned Brangeane, wringing her hands. In her terror at giving the brew whose contents she feared, she had poured the love potion in its stead. Now she dreaded lest it should be the more fatal of the two in its consequences. But there was no way of escape. The voices of the sailors and soldiers on the near-by shore proclaimed the fact that King Mark was at hand. Brangeane hastily seized the robe and crown, which Isolde was to wear, and placed them upon her mistress, urging her to make herself ready.
Awakened from her brief dream of happiness, Isolde suffered herself to be clad in the royal attire and led forward, weak and almost fainting, to meet her future husband.
The generous and courtly King received her with every consideration. Noting that she was faint and pale, which he thought due to the voyage, he ordered rooms in his castle to be set aside for her and her maids; and he postponed the betrothal feast and other public events until she should be strong enough to undergo them. He and all his court were delighted with this fair Irish Princess, and looked forward to the time when she should adorn their throne.
The rooms set aside for her use were the choicest in the castle, opening directly out upon a private garden. Here the Princess was glad to take refuge for a few days, and thus put off the wedding as long as possible. She knew now that it was the love potion she and Tristan had swallowed, and so violent was her passion that she felt she could not live without seeing him. So she prevailed upon Brangeane to set a signal for her lover. A light was to be left burning in the window of the tower, and when it was extinguished Tristan knew that he would find Isolde in the garden. His love was no less ardent than hers, and he impatiently awaited the secret meeting. Now there was one knight in the court who had long tried to supplant Tristan in the King's favour. His name was Melot, and he was wily and treacherous. Always on the watch to trip up Tristan in some way, he had noticed his confusion and Isolde's weakness when the ship had come to land, and had rightly guessed the cause. So he now sought to surprise the lovers at a meeting and then inform the King.
Brangeane had noticed Melot's manner and warned her mistress against him, but Isolde was intent upon nothing else than seeing Tristan again. Scarcely was darkness come, upon the eventful evening, when she bade the maid put out the light which was to summon him; and when Brangeane hesitated, she herself extinguished it.
It was a beautiful moonlit night in early summer, when the flowers were in their first freshness and fragrance. It seemed to the Princess that all nature was rejoicing in her love. She was not, however, paying heed to the blossoms on every side. She was pacing eagerly back and forth listening for a welcome footfall. She had not long to wait, for Tristan sprang quickly through the shadows to meet her. Gladly the two greeted each other, without reserve, and wandered together down the path talking in low earnest tones of the happiness that had come to them. Isolde confessed that she had planned his death upon that fateful day on shipboard; while Tristan said he had expected nothing less, and would have welcomed it at her hands.
Meanwhile the faithful maid had been left upon the tower to keep watch. Several times she called in low warning tones that they would best not linger, but the lovers paid no heed to her, until Brangeane suddenly gave a cry of alarm. At the same instant Kurneval rushed upon the scene with drawn sword, imploring Tristan to fly. But it was too late; the sound of horns was heard, and the King and Melot appeared, followed by a hunting party.
Isolde, covered with shame, sank upon the ground. Tristan stood in front of her trying to shield her, but his own head was bent in trouble and he did not meet the King's gaze.