The ordinary dramatist or play-monger would drop the curtain on this dénouement; and undeniably it would be what is called an effective "curtain." However, effective curtains were not Wagner's business in planning _Tristan_; he had long since passed through that stage. He could not after such a curtain--the sort of curtain that ends many an opera--have carried out the plan of _Tristan_--to show us the lovers realising their impossible situation in life and deliberately seeking death as the refuge. Tristan and Isolda care nothing for shame and disgrace: they care only for their love, and their love relentlessly drives them into their grave. Mark has a great affection for them both, and precisely on that account he is their enemy. He begins a long expostulation: "How is it that the two people dearer to him than all the world have so betrayed his trust?" It is lengthy, and must needs be so; each proof he gives them of his love only more clearly defines his real significance and relation to them. Tristan does not fear Melot: he dreads Mark's affection. He (Tristan) calls out, "Daylight phantoms! morning visions, empty and vain--away, begone!" but Mark continues, putting in a dozen ways the same question, "Why, why have they done this?" It is not the behaviour of a barbaric king; but we must remember that Wagner's Mark is not, and is not intended to be, the legendary Mark any more than Tristan and Isolda are the legendary Tristan and Isolda: he is the personification of human affection, a thing to which they, enthralled by elemental love, are indifferent--detest, indeed, as interfering with their love. When he ends Tristan knows he has no explanation to offer--none that Mark could possibly understand: human affection and elemental human passion are unintelligible to one another. He replies that he cannot answer Mark's "Why?" and turning to Isolda asks whether she will follow him whither he is now going--the land of eternal night. He, not Mark, plans his death. Isolda answers straightway that she will follow. Tristan and Melot fight, but Tristan allows his treacherous foe to run the sword through him, and he falls. _Then_ we get the curtain; Tristan has done with this world and has started out for another, and the drama has taken a second step towards its goal. This, held for long to be bad craftsmanship, is consummate, daring craftmanship. _Tristan_ is a drama of spiritual conflicts; and those who do not like that sort had better try something by the trade playwrights of to-day. V