Tristan and Isolda: Opera in Three Acts

Isolda. (_hurries to_ BRANGAENA _and embraces her vehemently_) Now farewell, Brangaena! Greet ev'ry one, Greet my father and mother!

Brangaena. What now? what mean'st thou? Wouldst thou flee? And where must I then follow?

Isolda. (_checking herself suddenly_) Here I remain: heard you not? Tristan will I await.-- I trust in thee to aid in this: prepare the true cup of peace: thou mindest how it is made.

Brangaena. What meanest thou?

Isolda. (_taking a bottle from the coffer_) This it is! From the flask go pour this philtre out; yon golden goblet 'twill fill.

Brangaena. (_filled with terror receiving the flask_) Trust I my wits?

Isolda. Wilt thou be true?

Brangaena. The draught--for whom?

Isolda. Him who betrayed!

Brangaena. Tristan?

Isolda. Truce he'll drink with me.

Brangaena. (_throwing herself at_ ISOLDA'S _feet_) O horror! Pity thy handmaid!

Isolda. Pity thou me, false-hearted maid! Mindest thou not my mother's arts? Think you that she who'd mastered those would have sent thee o'er the sea without assistance for me? A salve for sickness doth she offer and antidotes for deadly drugs: for deepest grief and woe supreme gave she the draught of death. Let Death now give her thanks!

Brangaena. (_scarcely able to control herself_) O deepest grief!

Isolda. Now, wilt thou obey?

Brangaena. O woe supreme!

Isolda. Wilt thou be true?

Brangaena. The draught?

Kurvenal. (_entering_) Sir Tristan!

(BRANGAENA _rises, terrified and confused_. ISOLDA _strives with immense effort to control herself_.)

Isolda. (_to Kurvenal_) Sir Tristan may approach!