Iseult

A, a major influence on Oscar Wilde and the, the aesthetic movement.

Um, he's got a painting of Isolde from Tristan, from the m- myth of Tristan and Isolde, which is of course this, um, Arthurian tale of a doomed love.

Another example of how the Pre-Raphaelites are fascinated by kind of repurposing this mythic fabula material into scenes of intense realism.

And so the, um, the William Morris painting, which is actually the only oil painting he finished, was of a woman named Jane Burden, who he actually ended up marrying.

Anon he heard the voice that billowed round the barriers roar an ocean-sounding welcome to one knight, but newly entered, taller than the rest, and armored all in forest green, whereon there tripped a hundred tiny silver deer, and wearing but a holly spray for crest with ever-scattering berries, and on shield a spear, a harp, a bugle.

Tristram, late from overseas in Brittany returned, and marriage with a princess of that realm, Iseult the White, Sir Tristram of the Woods, whom Lancelot knew had held sometime with pain his own against him, and now yearned to shake the burden off his heart in one full shock with Tristram, even to death.

His strong hands gripped and dinted the gilt dragon's right and left, until he groaned for wrath.

So many of those that wear their lady's colors on the casque drew from before Sir Tristram to the bounds, and there with gibes and flickering mockeries stood, while he muttered, "Craven crests! O shame! What faith have these in whom they swear to love? The glory of our Round Table is no more." So Tristram won, and Lancelot gave the gems, not speaking other word than, "Hast thou won? Art thou the purest, brother? See, the hand wherewith thou takest this is red." To whom Tristram, half plagued by Lancelot's languorous mood, made answer, "Ay, but wherefore toss me this like a dry bone cast to some hungry hound? Lest be thy fair queen's fantasy.

But when the twangling ended, skipped again.

And being asked, "Why skipped ye not, Sir Fool?" made answer, "I had lie for twenty years skipped to the broken music of my brains than any broken music thou canst make." Then Tristram, waiting for the quip to come, "Good now, what music have I broken, fool?" And little Dagonet skipping, "Arthur, the king's.

For when thou playest that air with Queen Iseult, thou makest broken music with thy bride, her daintier namesake down in Brittany.

And so thou breakest Arthur's music too." "Save for that broken music in thy brains, Sir Fool," said Tristram, "I would break thy head.

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Part One of Tristram and Iseult by Matthew Arnold.

This is a LibriVox recording.

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For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Nathan at antipodeanwriter.wordpress.com. Tristram and Iseult by Matthew Arnold.

Part One: Tristram.

Is she not come? The messenger was sure.

This cannot long endure.

Soft, who is that? Stands by the dying fire.

Isolt.

Ah, not the isolt I desire.

What night is this so weak and pale? Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head, propped on pillows in his bed, gazing seaward for the light of some ship that fights the gale.

One last kiss upon the living shore.

Tristram, Tristram, stay, receive me with thee.

Esau leaves thee, Tristram, never more.

You see them clear, the moon shines bright.

"If they happen to understand," Clark observed thoughtfully.

"I can very well conceive of a lecherous textbook of the calculus, or of a reporter's story of a picnic in which burnt, under the surface, undiscoverable, save to the initiate, the tragic passion of Tristram and Iseult." Chapter six.

Several weeks had elapsed since the conversation in Reginald Clark's studio.

The spring was now well advanced and had sprinkled the meadows with flowers and the bookshelves of the reviewers with fiction.

he took with him two knights brought up in his court who he thought were devoted to him and not willing to leave isoude behind named two of her maidens to attend her together with her faithful brangwen and made them accompany him having arrived in the neighborhood of camelot mark imparted his plan to his two knights but they rejected it with horror nay more they declared that they would no longer remain in his service and left him giving him reason to suppose that they should repair to the court to accuse him before Arthur.

It was necessary for Mark to meet and rebut their accusation, so leaving Isolde in an abbey, he pursued his way alone to Camelot.

Mark had not ridden far when he encountered a party of knights of Arthur's court, and would have avoided them, for he knew their habit of challenging to adjust every stranger knight whom they met.

But it was too late.

Mark, who saw that his antagonist was by no means formidable in appearance, was not disinclined to the combat, but when the dwarf rode towards him, calling out that he was Sir Lancelot of the lake, his fears prevailed.

He put spurs to his horse and rode away at full speed, pursued by the shouts and laughter of the party.

Meanwhile, Isolde, remaining at the abbey with her faithful Brangwain, found her only amusement in walking occasionally in a forest adjoining the abbey.

There, on the brink of a fountain girdled with trees, she thought of her love, and sometimes joined her voice and her harp in lays reviving the memory of its pains or pleasures.

I remember she sent us a picture of her betta fish.

And she says, and we were guessing Isolde or Isolde.

She says, and we asked for a language of origin.

She says, Isolde.

Isolde.

Isolde.

And it's Welsh in origin.

And the name comes from a character in Arthurian myth.