(_He sets on_ MELOT.)

Guard thee, Melot!

[_As_ MELOT _presents his sword_ TRISTAN _drops his own guard and sinks wounded into the arms of_ KURVENAL. ISOLDA _throws herself upon his breast_. MARK _holds_ MELOT _back. The curtain falls quickly_.]

ACT III.

_A Castle-Garden_.

[_At one side high castellated buildings, on the other a low breastwork interrupted by a watch tower; at back the castle-gate. The situation is supposed to be on rocky cliffs; through openings the view extends over a wide sea horizon. The whole gives an impression of being deserted by the owner, badly kept, and here and there dilapidated and overgrown_.]

SCENE I.

[_In the foreground, in the garden, lies_ TRISTAN _sleeping on a couch under the shade of a great lime-tree, stretched out as if lifeless. At his head sits_ KURVENAL, _bending over him in grief and anxiously listening to his breathing. From without comes the mournful sound of a shepherd's pipe_.

_Presently the shepherd comes and looks in with interest, showing the upper half of his body over the wall_.]

SHEPHERD. Kurvenal, ho!-- Say, Kurvenal,-- tell me, friend!

Does he still sleep?

KURVENAL (_turning a little towards him and shaking his head sadly_). If he awoke it would be but for evermore to leave us, unless we find the lady-leech; alone can she give help.-- See'st thou nought?

No ship yet on the sea?

SHEPHERD. Quite another ditty then would I play as merry as ever I may.

But tell me truly, trusty friend, why languishes our lord?

KURVENAL. Do not ask me;-- for I can give no answer.

Watch the sea, if sails come in sight a sprightly melody play.

SHEPHERD (_turns round and scans the horizon, shading his eyes with his hand_).

Blank appears the sea!

(_He puts the reed pipe to his mouth and withdraws, playing_.)

TRISTAN (_motionless--faintly_).

The tune so well known-- why wake to that?

(_opens his eyes and slightly turns his head_).

Where am I?

KURVENAL (_starting in joyous surprise_).

Ha!--who is speaking?

It is his voice!-- Tristan! lov'd one!

My lord! my Tristan!

TRISTAN (_with effort_). Who--calls me?

KURVENAL. Life--at last-- O thanks be to heaven!-- sweetest life unto my Tristan newly given!

TRISTAN (_faintly_). Kurvenal!--thou?

Where--was I?-- Where--am I?

KURVENAL. Where art thou?

In safety, tranquil and sure!

Kareol 'tis; dost thou not know thy fathers' halls?

TRISTAN. This my fathers'?

KURVENAL. Look but around.

TRISTAN. What awoke me?

KURVENAL. The herdsman's ditty hast thou heard, doubtless; he heedeth thy herds above on the hills there.

TRISTAN. Have I herds, then?

KURVENAL. Sir, I say it!

Thine are court, castle--all.

To thee yet true, thy trusty folk, as best they might, have held thy home in guard: the gift which once thy goodness gave to thy serfs and va.s.sals here, when going far away, in foreign lands to dwell.

TRISTAN. What foreign land?

KURVENAL. Why! in Cornwall; where cool and able, all that was brilliant, brave and n.o.ble, Tristan, my lord, lightly took.

TRISTAN. Am I in Cornwall?

KURVENAL. No, no; in Kareol.

TRISTAN. How came I here?

KURVENAL. Hey now! how you came?

No horse hither you rode: a vessel bore you across.

But on my shoulders down to the ship you had to ride: they are broad, they carried you to the sh.o.r.e.

Now you are at home once more; your own the land, your native land; all loved things now are near you, unchanged the sun doth cheer you.

The wounds from which you languish here all shall end their anguish.

(_He presses himself to_ TRISTAN'S _breast_.)

TRISTAN. Think'st thou thus!

I know 'tis not so, but this I cannot tell thee.

Where I awoke ne'er I was, but where I wandered I can indeed not tell thee.

The sun I could not see, nor country fair, nor people; but what I saw I can indeed not tell thee.

It was-- the land from which I once came and whither I return: the endless realm of earthly night.