Tristan and Iseult

Tristan and Iseult are the ultimate star-crossed lovers of legend. Their story was extremely popular in the Middle Ages and grew out of the Arthurian cycle. The original tale is remote from the recent film, which was one fornication scene after another. In the earlier versions, the lovers struggle to resist their passion with Tristan going away and marrying someone else. As the basic story goes, Iseult was an Irish princess to be given in marriage to King Mark of Cornwall. Mark sends his nephew Tristan to escort the bride across the sea to her new home. On the ship, Iseult and Tristan drink of some wine that Iseult's mother had doctored with a "love potion" to help her daughter fall in love with the king. Instead, Iseult and Tristan fall deeply in love with each other, and although they are determined to honor their commitments, they are heartbroken and tormented. Iseult comes to see Tristan as he is dying, a moment magnificently captured in the final scene of Wagner's opera Tristan und Isolde. Iseult dies as well and the thwarted pair are buried in the same grave.

The late Victorian poet Cyril Emra describes the fatal moment of the shared chalice of wine in a lengthy poem. Here is an excerpt:

In crimson light the ocean shone
Beneath the heavens sublime;
Far-spent, the day was passing on
To the great deep of time;
And half-way hid behind the west,
The dying sun immense and bright
Touched with red fire the foamy crest
Of endless waves, and bathed in light
A ship with ivory sails unfurled
That danced adown the waste sea-world,
Alone of all things there,-
Sir Tristram's vessel voyaging
South to the Cornish coast to bring
For Mark, his uncle and his king,
A bride, Iseult the fair.

Iseult and Tristram - knight and maid: -
O names of dust and fire!
When shall the glamour of them fade,
Or when the pity tire?
On strange adventure came they, he
Unwilling escort of the queen
That was to be; unwilling she
To wed the king she ne'er had seen.
And who, that knows how love may be
Bound not by any man's decree,
But works its wilful way and free
To what dim fate it cannot see,
Through peril and through woe,
Shall wonder that between these twain,
The goodliest of all splendid men,
The loveliest woman living then,
A spell, a charm their souls to chain,
A bond of dread, delightful pain
Silent and strong should grow?

Shamed with a strange and sacred awe,
As in some holy place,
He lifted up his eyes and saw,
Framed round her loveliness,
All things that in that chamber made
Fit setting for a fairy face, -
The walls with costly stuff arrayed,
And mirrors of dark steely glaze;
Fur of wild things with peril killed,
And niche-held bowls with flowers filled,
Whose faint erotic perfume thrilled
Like some dim dream of old;
And on a carven shelf that swung
By chains of cunning silver slung,
A great bejewelled flagon hung,
And cup of curious gold.

'Lo here,' she said, 'a gift I bring
From that old home of mine,
My father's gift to Mark the king,
A meed of ancient wine.
And now, I wish, the night grows cold; -
Sir Tristram, ere thou go from here,
Of this rare vintage century-old
Drink thou one cup of royal cheer!"
No seals upon the vessel were,
And little toil it made for her
To take the golden lid from there,
And pour a cup thereof.
Thus with her lithe, white hands she did,
And thence her faltering fingers slid
To where lay in her bosom hid
A witchwork fiery and forbid,
A reckless charm of love.

Share