thing to do, for a man of heart.
Tristan is not long deciding upon his course. But before acting
he turns to Isolde, where she sits with eyes of undiminished love
raised toward the companion in shame and agony. In following the
call of honour he has no mind to forsake her. "Whither Tristan
now departs, will you, Isolde, follow him? The country Tristan
means no beam of the sun illumines. It is the dim nocturnal land
from which my mother sent me forth, when dying she gave to the
light a dead man's child. The refuge to which, having borne me,
she carried her love, the wonder-kingdom of the night from which of
old I woke. That is what Tristan offers. Thither he goes before. If
she will follow, kind and true, let now Isolde say!" With touching
more-than-readiness Isolde, trustful and unashamed, declares: "When
once before the friend bade her to a strange land, Isolde, kind
and true, must follow the unkind one. But now you lead to your
own dominions, to show me your heritage. How should I avoid the
realm which lies about the whole world? Where Tristan's house and
home, there let Isolde take her abode. That she may follow, kind
and true, let him now show Isolde the way!" Again for a moment
so lost in her that it is no else than as if they were alone in
all the world, he slowly bends over her and kisses her forehead. A
cry of indignation breaks from Melot. "Traitor! Ha, King, revenge!
Shall you endure this outrage?" But Tristan has suddenly cast off
the inertia of dreams, bared his sword, and turned about. "Who will
match his life against mine?" He gazes full into Melot's face.
"He was my friend. He loved me, he held me high. He, more than any,
was concerned for my honour, my fame. He made proud my heart to
arrogance. He headed the band of those who urged me on to augment
my glory and renown by wedding you to the King. Your eye, Isolde,
has dazzled him too. From envy he betrayed me to the King--whom I
betrayed!" With a feint of attack he springs toward Melot. "Defend
yourself, Melot!" Melot quickly thrusts with his sword. Tristan
who has not parried, who has let the sword drop from his hand,
sinks back wounded in Kurwenal's arms. Isolde casts herself upon
his breast. The music makes a brief sorrowful comment--and the
curtain falls.

III

The introduction to the third act not only presents the emotions
belonging to what shall follow, heaving deep heart-groans and expending
itself in pity over the stricken hero; it paints wit