ISEULT'S apartment at St. Lubin.--A curtain hung from the ceiling cuts off one-third of the room. This third is raised one step above the rest of the room. The background is formed by a double bay-window through which may be seen the tops of some pine trees. In front of a couch, on a small table, stands a large gold shrine in which rests the magic brachet Peticru, a toy of jewels and precious metals. Beside it stands a burning oil torch. The remaining two-thirds of the room are almost empty. A table stands in the foreground; on the floor lies a rug on which are embroidered armorial designs. In the middle and at both sides are wide double doors. ISEULT sits on the couch before the shrine. She is clad in a fur-trimmed robe. BRANGAENE loosens ISEULT'S hair which is divided into two braids. The cold, gray light of dawn brightens gradually; the rising sun falls on the tops of the trees, coloring them with a flood of red and gold. SCENE I ISEULT (singing). Brachet of safran and em'rald! Oh, brachet of purple and gold Once made by the mighty Urgan In Avalun's wondrous wold. Oh purple, and safran, and gold, When cast in the dim of the night, Have magical power to aid All lovers in sorrowful plight! Lord Tristram slew mighty Urgan, Lord Tristram the loving, the true, And pitying sorrowful lovers He carried away Peticru. Lord Tristram, the thoughtful and valiant, Lord Tristram, the noble and high, Has sent me this wondrous brachet Lest weeping and grieving I die. Lord Tristram, my friend, is unfaithful, And God's wrath on him shall descend; Though cruelly he has betrayed me, My love even death cannot end. Iseult with her hair of spun gold, Where rubies and emeralds shine, When the end of her life is at hand, Round Tristram some charm can entwine. --When Tristram too shall die.... [ISEULT stands up, extinguishes the light, and, flooded by her hair, steps to the window. BRANGAENE opens a chest from which she takes robes, combs, a mirror, and several small boxes. She prepares a small dressing table.] ISEULT. The light begins to filter through the land; Behold, the trees with storm-bow'd tips drop down A thousand drops into the moss below That seem as many sparks, all cold and bright. Each day is followed by another one, And then another day, and after each Comes night. Thus runs my life's long chain of beads, All black and white, endless, and all the same. [She turns and throws off her cloak.] Give me my new white cloak, and comb my hair, I pray, Brangaene.--O, it aches! [BRANGAENE throws a cloak over her shoulders. ISEULT sits down at the dressing table while BRANGAENE combs her hair, dividing it into strands and throwing it, as she combs it, over ISEULT'S shoulder.]