Tristan Und Isolde.
A love more complete than any other. Two people, bound helplessly to each other and to death, by a potion coursing through their veins.
They strain, they resist. Yet every turn, every attempt at flight pulls the knots of their passion unbreakably tighter.
Tristan and Isolde twist and twine their way through the centuries and across the continents. They spring from a legend so old, its origins are lost to us now.
Wagner’s version of the tale, written so long before our era of authenticity, of archaeology and facsimile, is surprisingly faithful to these ancient origins.
In fact, there’s only one small detail missing.
A detail that happens to change everything:
In its original form, Tristan and Isolde’s love is bound by no potion.
Yes, with the wind harrying the sails and the Cornish cliffs looming, Tristan and Isolde drink. And yes, their hatred turns to delirious love just seconds later.
But then one day the potion just wears off. And in this new found freedom, Isolde’s love beats stronger than ever. And Tristan’s devotion burns brighter still.
Wagner’s lovers needed a potion to sustain their perfect love.
The real Tristan and Isolde didn’t.
They just needed something to dispel their differences, the mirage keeping them apart. Something that would clear the conflicts, the family feuds, the faith and politics from their eyes. Something that would help them see each other for what they were.
Two people.
Two people inherently, indelibly, linked. Two people whose mere humanity guarantees that more will join them than can ever separate them. Two people, like all people, capable of devotion. And sacrifice. And perfect love.
With that thought and this past week’s events in mind, here is the Symphony ‘for London’, written by Vaughn Williams in 1914.
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