BRANGÆNA. What now? what mean'st thou? Wouldst thou flee? And where must I then follow?
ISOLDA (_checking herself suddenly_). Here I remain: heard you not? Tristan will I await.-- I trust in thee to aid in this: prepare the true cup of peace: thou mindest how it is made.
ISOLDA (_taking a bottle from the coffer_). This it is! From the flask go pour this philtre out; yon golden goblet 'twill fill.
BRANGÆNA (_filled with terror receiving the flask_). Trust I my wits?
BRANGÆNA (_throwing herself at_ ISOLDA'S _feet_). O horror! Pity thy handmaid!
ISOLDA. Pity thou me, false-hearted maid! Mindest thou not my mother's arts? Think you that she who'd mastered those would have sent thee o'er the sea without assistance for me? A salve for sickness doth she offer and antidotes for deadly drugs: for deepest grief and woe supreme gave she the draught of death. Let Death now give her thanks!
BRANGÆNA (_scarcely able to control herself_). O deepest grief!
(BRANGÆNA _rises, terrified and confused_. ISOLDA _strives with immense effort to control herself_.)
ISOLDA (_to Kurvenal_). Sir Tristan may approach!
[KURVENAL _retires again_. BRANGÆNA, _almost beside herself, turns up the stage_. ISOLDA, _mustering all her powers of resolution, walks slowly and with dignity towards the sofa, by the head of which she supports herself, turning her eyes firmly towards the entrance_]
(TRISTAN _enters, and pauses respectfully at the entrance_.)
ISOLDA. While knowing not what my demand is, wert thou afraid still to fulfil it, fleeing my presence thus?
ISOLDA. Scant honor hast thou shown unto me; for, unabashed, withheldest thou obedience unto my call.
TRISTAN. Obedience 'twas forbade me to come.
ISOLDA. But little I owe thy lord, methinks, if he allows ill manners unto his own promised bride.
TRISTAN. In our land it is the law that he who fetches home the bride should stay afar from her.
ISOLDA. Being so careful, my lord Tristan, another custom can you not learn? Of enemies friends make: for evil acts amends make.
ISOLDA. Find in thy fears! Blood-guilt gets between us.
TRISTAN. In open field, 'fore all the folk our old feud was abandoned.
ISOLDA. 'Twas not there I held Tantris hid when Tristan was laid low, He stood there brawny, bright and brave; but in his truce I took no part: my tongue its silence had learnt. When in chambered stillness sick he lay with the sword I stood before him, stern; silent--my lips, motionless--my hand. But that which my hand and lips had once vowed, I swore in stealth to adhere to: lo! now my desire I'm near to.