you?"--"Are you inquiring, my dear lady," Brangaene
asks in wonder, "of Tristan, the marvel of all nations, the man
of exalted renown, the hero without equal, honour's treasure and
vaunt?" Isolde catches up her tone, to continue in scornful mimicry:
"Who terrified at his own achievement flies to refuge wherever he
can, having won for his master a corpse to bride?... Is my saying
dark to you? Go then and ask himself, the presumably free man,
whether he dare to venture near me? All forms of reverence and
considerate service he forgets toward his sovereign mistress, the
shrinking hero, that of all things her glance may not light on
him.... Oh, he no doubt knows why!" Suddenly overmastered by an
impulse of her too-long controlled rancour: "Go to the haughty
one," she orders Brangaene, "bear to him this message from his
lady: Let him come into my presence forthwith, prepared to do my
command."--"Am I to bid him come and offer his duty?" Brangaene
timidly interprets. "Nay," Isolde storms, "let the self-sufficient
one be warned to fear the mistress! That do I bid him, I, Isolde!"

Fixedly she watches the attendant moving along the deck, past the
sailors at their work, toward the solitary figure of the knight.
She watches the two fixedly while their interview lasts.

Kurwenal, catching sight of the woman approaching, tugs at his
master's mantle: "Attention, Tristan! Message from Isolde!" Tristan's
start suggests how complete his abstraction, and what the effect
of that name unexpectedly pronounced. _As Brangaene comes before
him_, the stage-directions say, _he rapidly composes himself_.
Deferently he inquires of his lady's wishes. Bragaene tells him,
barely, that her lady wishes to see him. Then begins the series of
his evasions, courteous as possible, but determined as courteous.
"If she be weary of the long voyage, that is nigh ended. Before
sunset we shall touch land. Whatsoever orders my lady have for
me shall be faithfully carried out." Brangaene repeats the order:
"Let Sir Tristan then go to her, such is our lady's will."--"Yonder
where the green meadows are still coloured blue to the eye, my
king awaits my lady. That I may escort her to him, soon will I
approach the Bright One. To none would I yield the privilege."
The maid repeats, still patiently: "Tristan, my lord, listen and
attend: My lady requests your service,--that you should betake
yourself to the place where she awaits you."--"At what place soever
I be foun