The Romance of Tristan and Iseult
“My lords, let us take counsel of Frocin the Dwarf; for he knows the
seven arts, and magic and every kind of charm. He will teach us if he
will the wiles of Iseult the Fair.”
The little evil man drew signs for them and characters of sorcery; he
cast the fortunes of the hour and then at last he said:
“Sirs, high good lords, this night shall you seize them both.”
Then they led the little wizard to the King, and he said:
“Sire, bid your huntsmen leash the hounds and saddle the horses,
proclaim a seven days’ hunt in the forest and seven nights abroad
therein, and hang me high if you do not hear this night what converse
Tristan holds.”
So did the King unwillingly; and at fall of night he left the hunt
taking the dwarf in pillion, and entered the orchard, and the dwarf
took him to the tall pine-tree, saying:
“Fair King, climb into these branches and take with you your arrows
and your bow, for you may need them; and bide you still.”
That night the moon shone clear. Hid in the branches the King saw his
nephew leap the pallisades and throw his bark and twigs into the
stream. But Tristan had bent over the round well to throw them and so
doing had seen the image of the King. He could not stop the branches
as they floated away, and there, yonder, in the women’s rooms, Iseult
was watching and would come.
She came, and Tristan watched her motionless. Above him in the tree he
heard the click of the arrow when it fits the string.
She came, but with more prudence than her wont, thinking, “What has
passed, that Tristan does not come to meet me? He has seen some foe.”
Suddenly, by the clear moonshine, she also saw the King’s shadow in
the fount. She showed the wit of women well, she did not lift her
eyes.
“Lord God,” she said, low down, grant I may be the first to speak.”
“Tristan,” she said, “what have you dared to do, calling me hither at
such an hour? Often have you called me —to beseech, you said. And
Queen though I am, I know you won me that title—and I have come. What
would you?”
“Queen, I would have you pray the King for me.”
She was in tears and trembling, but Tristan praised God the Lord who
had shown his friend her peril.
“Queen,” he went on, “often and in vain have I summoned you; never
would you come. Take pity; the King hates me and I know not why.
Perhaps you know the cause and can charm his anger. For whom can he
trust if not you, chaste Queen and courteous, Iseult?”
“Truly, Lord Tristan, you do not know he doubts us both. And I, to add
to my shame, must acquaint you of it. Ah! but God knows if I lie,
never went cut my love to any man but he that first received me. And
would you have me, at such a time, implore your pardon of the King?
Why, did he know of my passage here to-night he would cast my ashes to
the wind. My body trembles and I am afraid. I go, for I have waited
too long.”
In the branches the King smiled and had pity.
And as Iseult fled: “Queen,” said Tristan, “in the Lord’s name help
me, for charity.”
“Friend,” she replied, “God aid you! The King wrongs you but the Lord
God will be by you in whatever land you go.”
So she went back to the women’s rooms and told it to Brangien, who
cried: “Iseult, God has worked a miracle for you, for He is
compassionate and will not hurt the innocent in heart.”
And when he had left the orchard, the King said smiling:
“Fair nephew, that ride you planned is over now.”
But in an open glade apart, Frocin, the Dwarf, read in the clear stars
that the King now meant his death; he blackened with shame and fear
and fled into Wales.
THE DISCOVERY
King Mark made peace with Tristan. Tristan returned to the castle as
of old. Tristan slept in the King’s chamber with his peers. He could
come or go, the King thought no more of it.
Mark had pardoned the felons, and as the seneschal, Dinas of Lidan,
found the dwarf wandering in a forest abandoned, he brought him home,
and the King had pity and pardoned even him.
But his goodness did but feed the ire of the barons, who swore this
oath: If the King kept Tristan in the land they would withdraw to
their strongholds as for war, and they called the King to parley.
“Lord,” said they, “Drive you Tristan forth. He loves the Queen as all
who choose can see, but as for us we will bear it no longer.”
And the King sighed, looking down in silence.
“ King,” they went on, “we will not bear it, for we know now that this
is known to you and that yet you will not move. Parley you, and take
counsel. As for us if you will not exile this man, your nephew, and
drive him forth out of your land forever, we will withdraw within our
Bailiwicks and take our neighbours also from your court: for we cannot
endure his presence longer in this place. Such is your balance:
choose.”
“My lords,” said he, “once I hearkened to the evil words you spoke of
Tristan, yet was I wrong in the end. But you are my lieges and I would
not lose the service of my men. Counsel me therefore, I charge you,
you that owe me counsel. You know me for a man neither proud nor
overstepping.”
“Lord,” said they, “call then Frocin hither. You mistrust him for that
orchard night. Still, was it not he that read in the stars of the
Queen’s coming there and to the very pine-tree too? He is very wise,
take counsel of him.”
And he came, did that hunchback of Hell: the felons greeted him and he
planned this evil.
“Sire,” said he, “let your nephew ride hard to-morrow at dawn with a
brief drawn up on parchment and well sealed with a seal: bid him ride
to King Arthur at Carduel. Sire, he sleeps with the peers in your
chamber; go you out when the first sleep falls on men, and if he love
Iseult so madly, why, then I swear by God and by the laws of Rome, he
will try to speak with her before he rides. But if he do so unknown to
you or to me, then slay me. As for the trap, let me lay it, but do you
say nothing of his ride to him until the time for sleep.”
And when King Mark had agreed, this dwarf did a vile thing. He bought
of a baker four farthings’ worth of flour, and hid it in the turn of
his coat. That night, when the King had supped and the men-at-arms lay
down to sleep in hall, Tristan came to the King as custom was, and the
King said:
“Fair nephew, do my will: ride to-morrow night to King Arthur at
Carduel, and give him this brief, with my greeting, that he may open
it: and stay you with him but one day.”
And when Tristan said: “I will take it on the morrow;”
The King added: “Aye, and before day dawn.”
But, as the peers slept all round the King their lord, that night, a
mad thought took Tristan that, before he rode, he knew not for how
long, before dawn he would say a last word to the Queen. And there was
a spear length in the darkness between them. Now the dwarf slept with
the rest in the King’s chamber, and when he thought that all slept he
rose and scattered the flour silently in the spear length that lay
between Tristan and the Queen; but Tristan watched and saw him, and
said to himself:
“It is to mark my footsteps, but there shall be no marks to show.”
At midnight, when all was dark in the room, no candle nor any lamp
glimmering, the King went out silently by the door and with him the
dwarf. Then Tristan rose in the darkness and judged the spear length
and leapt the space between, for his farewell. But that day in the
hunt a boar had wounded him in the leg, and in this effort the wound
bled. He did not feel it or see it in the darkness, but the blood
dripped upon the couches and the flour strewn between; and outside in
the moonlight the dwarf read the heavens and knew what had been done
and he cried:
“Enter, my King, and if you do not hold them, hang me high.”
Then the King and the dwarf and the four felons ran in with lights and
noise, and though Tristan had regained his place there was the blood
for witness, and though Iseult feigned sleep, and Perinis too, who lay
at Tristan’s feet, yet there was the blood for witness. And the King
looked in silence at the blood where it lay upon the bed and the
boards and trampled into the flour.
And the four barons held Tristan down upon his bed and mocked the
Queen also, promising her full justice; and they bared and showed the
wound whence the blood flowed.
Then the King said:
“Tristan, now nothing longer holds. To-morrow you shall die.”
And Tristan answered:
“Have mercy, Lord, in the name of God that suffered the Cross!”
But the felons called on the King to take vengeance, saying:
“Do justice, King: take vengeance.”
And Tristan went on, “Have mercy, not on me—for why should I stand at
dying?—Truly, but for you, I would have sold my honour high to cowards
who, under your peace, have put hands on my body—but in homage to you
I have yielded and you may do with me what you will. But, lord,
remember the Queen!”
And as he knelt at the King’s feet he still complained:
“Remember the Queen; for if any man of your household make so bold as
to maintain the lie that I loved her unlawfully I will stand up armed
to him in a ring. Sire, in the name of God the Lord, have mercy on
her.”
Then the barons bound him with ropes, and the Queen also. But had
Tristan known that trial by combat was to be denied him, certainly he
would not have suffered it.
For he trusted in God and knew no man dared draw sword against him in
the lists. And truly he did well to trust in God, for though the
felons mocked him when he said he had loved loyally, yet I call you to
witness, my lords who read this, and who know of the philtre drunk
upon the high seas, and who, understand whether his love were
disloyalty indeed. For men see this and that outward thing, but God
alone the heart, and in the heart alone is crime and the sole final
judge is God. Therefore did He lay down the law that a man accused
might uphold his cause by battle, and God himself fights for the
innocent in such a combat.
Therefore did Tristan claim justice and the right of battle and
therefore was he careful to fail in nothing of the homage he owed King
Mark, his lord.
But had he known what was coming, he would have killed the felons.
THE CHANTRY LEAP
Dark was the night, and the news ran that Tristan and the Queen were
held and that the King would kill them; and wealthy burgess, or common
man, they wept and ran to the palace.
And the murmurs and the cries ran through the city, but such was the
King’s anger in his castle above that not the strongest nor the
proudest baron dared move him.
Night ended and the day drew near. Mark, before dawn, rode out to the
place where he held pleas and judgment. He ordered a ditch to be dug
in the earth and knotty vine-shoots and thorns to be laid therein.
At the hour of Prime he had a ban cried through his land to gather the
men of Cornwall; they came with a great noise and the King spoke them
thus:
“My lords, I have made here a faggot of thorns for Tristan and the
Queen; for they have fallen.”
But they cried all, with tears:
“A sentence, lord, a sentence; an indictment and pleas; for killing
without trial is shame and crime.”
But Mark answered in his anger:
“Neither respite, nor delay, nor pleas, nor sentence. By God that made
the world, if any dare petition me, he shall burn first!”
He ordered the fire to be lit, and Tristan to be called.
The flames rose, and all were silent before the flames, and the King
waited.
The servants ran to the room where watch was kept on the two lovers;
and they dragged Tristan out by his hands though he wept for his
honour; but as they dragged him off in such a shame, the Queen still
called to him:
“Friend, if I die that you may live, that will be great joy.”
Now, hear how full of pity is God and how He heard the lament and the
prayers of the common folk, that day.