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Updated: July 8, 2025
They start, tremble, the love-motive steals into and at last dominates the orchestra, and they fly into one another's arms. The increasing commotion outside and the cheers of the men indicate that King Marke has put out from the shore and is nearing the ship. An aside of Brangaene at this moment is not without significance.
Inexpressibly pathetic is the turn which she gives to the words of the song as she repeats the phrase of Brangaene: Is. the last sentence being to the refrain of the song. Brangaene cries out in astonishment at her own blindness. When Morold lived, who would have dared to offer us such an insult?... Woe, woe to me! Unwitting I brought all this shame on myself.
"The sweetest draught of all I hold here!" Isolde pushes aside her hand and stretches her own to the casket. "You are mistaken. I know better which one that is. I marked it with a deep incision. Here is the draught which shall serve my turn!" Brangaene stares at the phial which Isolde has taken from among the rest. "The death-potion!" she gasps, recoiling.
The curtain rising shows the rich pavilion on ship-deck where Isolde hides her face from the light against the cushions of a day-bed. Her attendant, Brangaene, stands gazing over the ship-side. The voice of a young sailor is heard from the rigging out of sight.
What a Fricka, Brangaene, Ortrud, Sieglinde, Erda, this clever girl might become! She was musical, she was dramatic in temperament he let his imagination run away with him. She only sang an Oberbayerische yodel, and, while her voice was not very high, she contrived a falsetto that made her English listener shiver.
Brangaene, almost out of her senses, obeys instinctively, and in the midst of her entreaties Kurwenal throws back the curtain and announces Sir Tristan. SCENE VI. My purpose in these notes is to explain what may at first seem difficult; it is no part of my plan to expound the obvious.
The terrified Brangaene tries to calm her, and at the same time to learn what is the cause of her anger. She recalls Isolde's strange and cold behaviour on parting from her parents in Ireland, and on the voyage; why is she thus?
Slow, involuntary, words drop from her lips, her inmost thoughts speaking to herself, while her eyes brood gloomily upon the unconscious head. "Mine elected, lost to me! Lofty and beautiful, brave and craven! Death-devoted head! Death-devoted heart!" Starting awake at the ring of her own words, she laughs unpleasantly and, turning to Brangaene: "What do you think of the lackey yonder?"
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