To continue our Romance posts (and I am holding my fingers not to write about Shakespeare), I thought I should say something about Tristan and Iseult. Which is another very famous romance/ tragedy, which was very well explored by the media, and people tend to forget. Not me though….
Tristan and Iseult’s conflict of love and loyalty is one of the classic tales of Western literature; in the Arthurian tradition, their tragic trajectory rivals and complements that of Lancelot and Guinevere.
The legend of Tristan and Iseult is an influential romance and tragedy, retold in numerous sources with as many variations. The tragic story is of the adulterous love between the Cornish knight Tristan (Tristram) and the Irish princess Iseult (Isolde, Yseult, etc.). The narrative predates and most likely influenced the Arthurian romance of Lancelot and Guinevere.
There are two main traditions of the Tristan legend. The early tradition comprised the French romances of two poets from the second half of the twelfth century, Thomas of Britain and Béroul. Their sources could be traced back to the original, archetypal Celtic romance. Later traditions come from the Prose Tristan (c. 1240), which was markedly different from the earlier tales written by Thomas and Béroul. The Prose Tristan became the common medieval tale of Tristan and Iseult that would provide the background for the writings of Sir Thomas Malory, the English author, who wrote Le Morte d’Arthur (c. 1469).
The story and character of Tristan vary from poet to poet. Even the spelling of his name varies a great deal, although “Tristan” is the most popular spelling. Most versions of the Tristan story follow the same general outline.
In English, after being mostly ignored for about three centuries, there was a renaissance of original Arthurian literature, mostly narrative verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Tristan material in this revival included Alfred Tennyson’s The Last Tournament, one of his Idylls of the King; Matthew Arnold’s Tristram and Iseult; and Algernon Swinburne’s epic poem Tristram of Lyonesse. After World War II most Tristan texts were in the form of prose novels or short stories.
The basic story is one of mis-directed love: Tristan, the heroic nephew of King Mark of Cornwall, is sent to Ireland to escort the Irish king’s daughter, the beautiful Iseult, to Cornwall to become his uncle’s bride. In most versions, it is during the return voyage that Tristan and Iseult accidentally consume a love potion (meant to ensure Iseult’s happiness with Mark) together, and fall in love. Because Iseult’s engagement to Mark cannot be broken, she marries the king despite her love for Tristan, and the two lovers spend the rest of their lives attempting to satisfy their desire for each other without revealing that desire to Mark and the Cornish court.
If you would like to read one of the versions of this story, you can download the e-book here and also, if you like to read Tennyson’s Idylls of the Kingyou can download the ebook here
The story, as Romeo and Juliet, has caught attention of the media many times along the last century and has also been adapted into film many times. The earliest is probably the 1909 French film Tristan et Yseult, an early, silent version of the story and the most recent Tristan film is 2006′s Tristan & Isolde, produced by Tony Scott and Ridley Scott, written by Dean Georgaris, directed by Kevin Reynolds, and starring James Franco and Sophia Myles.
And let’s not forget the Pre-Raphaelites also loved this theme, as you can see in some of the paintings bellow: CLICK TO SEE THE FULL PAINTING
We can’t deny stories may guide our lives in ways we can’t explain, and I have to confess, the one that have been following me for a long time, is not a very happy one, but I find in it some elements that make my life magical and inspiring… so,if I could choose a poem/ fairytale, as a favourite, I would choose:
“The Lady of Shalott”, which is a Victorian ballad by the English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892). The poem talks about the Arthurian subject based on medieval sources. What is it about? (Especially for those too lazy to read a good poem!)
The Lady of Shalott lives in an island castle in a river, which flows to Camelot, but the local farmers know little about her.
She seems to be a magical and Her business is to look at the world outside her castle through a mirror, and to weave what she sees into a tapestry/loom. She is forbidden by the magic to look at the outside world directly.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
The farmers who live near her island hear her singing and know who she is, but they never see her.
The Lady sees ordinary people, loving couples, and knights in pairs reflected in her mirror.
One day, she sees the reflection of Sir Lancelot riding alone. Although she knows that it is forbidden, in love, she looks out the window at him.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot
The mirror brakes, the tapestry flies off on the wind, and the Lady feels the power of her curse.
Out flew the web and floated wide-
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
An autumn storm suddenly arises. The lady leaves her castle, finds a boat, writes her name on it, gets into the boat, sets it adrift, and sings her death song as she drifts down the river to Camelot. The locals find the boat and the body, realize whom she is, and are saddened. Lancelot, in Love, prays that God will have mercy on her soul.
Lord Alfred Tennyson’s Inspiration
This is one of Tennyson’s most popular poems. The story of the Lady of Shalott is a version of “Elaine the fair maid of Astolat”, from Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Elaine’s naive love for Lancelot was unrequited. She died of a broken heart (committed suicide). Her dead body (with a suicide note between her hands) was floated down the Thames to Camelot.
Some late authors wrote about her, or inspired in Tennyson’s poem, such as, Agatha Christie that wrote a Miss Marple mystery entitled “The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side”.
Other forms of art were inspired by it, like, The Pre-Raphaelites Brotherhood painters. Where a good example is Waterhouse who made three separate paintings of “The Lady of Shalott”. I have a copy of one of them hanging above my bed… LONG STORY!) CLICK TO ENLARGE
Even in a modern world, we have the exquisite work of Loreena Mckennitt in the following song:
and finally:
THE POEM
The Lady of Shalott – 1842 version
“On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil’d,
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower’d Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, ” ‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
“I am half sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river’s dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance –
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right –
The leaves upon her falling light –
Thro’ the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”
