The German Classics, v. 20: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English
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The German Classics, v. 20: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
I broke my name, and throwing up the bits
I caught them as they fell, and threw them up
Again; and so I played with my fair name
Until the fragments rang again and fell
At last back to my hand, deformed and changed,
To stick, and make a name that is no name--
So call me Tramtris.
ISEULT.
--Tramtris--!
[UGRIN claps his hands and rolls laughing
on the ground.]
MARK.
Fool, what ails
Thee now?
UGRIN.
The jester jesteth. Seest thou not?
Why, turn it 'round! Tramtris--Tristram!
He says
He was Lord Tristram! Ho!
[Laughter.]
GANELUN.
That was the jest
That he so cunningly devised!
1ST BARON.
This shaft
Of irony has struck the mark and hits
This day and thee, King Mark!
2D KNIGHT.
A clever fool!
MARK (laughing softly).
I wish Lord Tristram saw the knave!
2D BARON.
He'd laugh!
ISEULT (trembling with anger).
Let not thy nephew Tristram's knightly fame
And noble name serve as a mockery
To such a ghoul!
MARK (gaily).
Forgive me, fair Iseult;
And yet it makes me laugh to think that this
Poor fool went mad from thinking that he was
My noble nephew Tristram. Speak, thou toy of fate,
Wast thou Lord Tristram once!
STR. JESTER (almost timidly).
Ay, Mark, I was;
And often was I with Iseult, thy wife!
Forgive it me!
[Laughter.]
ISEULT.
Dost thou permit that he
Should heap such insults on thy wife's fair
name?
MARK (gaily).
Heed not his words; the people love such jests.
(To the jester.)
Give us a sign, Sir Fool.
UGRIN.
A sign! A sign!
1ST BARON.
Ay, let the fool describe the Queen. Give ear.
UGRIN.
'Twill be a royal sport! And first he shall
Describe her feet! Speak on!
[UGRIN sits on the ground. ISEULT hides
her face in BRANGAENE'S breast.]
GIMELLA (to ISEULT laughingly).
He'll liken thee
Unto his wench!
MARK.
Why dost thou hesitate?
I grant thee jester's freedom, Fool. Begin!
STR. JESTER (softly and hesitatingly).
From pedestals white snowy columns rise
Of ivory, draped in softly whispering silk,
That arched, and all immaculate, stretch up,--
The swelling pillars of her body's frame--
MARK.
A graceful speech, my friend. Canst thou go on?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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