Chapter 9

ISOLDA (_hurries to_ BRANGÆNA _and embraces her vehemently_). Now farewell, Brangæna! Greet ev'ry one, Greet my father and mother!

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.

BRANGÆNA. 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.

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

ISOLDA. Wilt thou be true?

BRANGÆNA. The draught--for whom?

ISOLDA. Him who betrayed!

BRANGÆNA. Tristan?

ISOLDA. Truce he'll drink with me.

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!

ISOLDA. Now, wilt thou obey?

BRANGÆNA. O woe supreme!

ISOLDA. Wilt thou be true?

BRANGÆNA. The draught?

KURVENAL (_entering_). Sir Tristan!

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

ISOLDA (_to Kurvenal_). Sir Tristan may approach!