The Love Story of Tristan and Isolde

The tale of Tristan and Isolde has origins in French and Celtic tradition. It shows how desire drags everything along its unyielding path.

Tristan was a man who had known loss—triste, sad; tristan, sad one. His mother had died bringing him into life, and his father joined her soon after. Without roots, he pledged his loyalty to King Mark of Cornwall, who loved and cared for Tristan as his own son.

Tristan and Mark were inseparable. He confided in Tristan that he desired a wife worthy of him. One day a dove flew into Mark’s window, carrying a strand of gold hair. Convinced this was a sign, he asked Tristan to find the hair’s owner, for only she would be his wife. Tristan traveled far and wide. He found the hair belonged to Isolde, daughter of the King of Ireland, King Mark’s fiercest enemy. But enemy or no, Tristan would do Mark’s bidding.

As Tristan wooed Isolde anonymously for King Mark, the princess thought the handsome knight wanted her himself and felt desire in his favor. Her desire turned to fury when Tristan revealed he was acting in proxy for King Mark. But without the marriage, the threat of war loomed between Ireland and Cornwall. Against her will, Isolde agreed to wed a man she had never seen and did not love.

Isolde wept as she left her father and mother. As she embraced them for a last time, her mother pressed a package into the princess’s hands. This package contained a magical potion she promised Isolde would bring her joy until death upon her wedding night. Hearing her mother’s words, Isolde thought her mother had given her a way to kill herself, thus sparing her the shame of an unwanted marriage. Isolde decided she would not die alone; instead, she would die with Tristan, who had won her heart but betrayed her trust.

Isolde mixed the potion with wine in a silver cup. She invited Tristan to see her. Offering her hand in friendship, Isolde drank deep of the cup, then handed it to Tristan. Tristan drank what remained. As the wine snaked through Tristan and Isolde’s veins, love spread like a vine stronger than thorns and far more wild, enchaining one to the other. For Tristan and Isolde had drunk not death, but love that would last onto death. Isolde’s mother, wishing her daughter joy in marriage, had concocted a love potion so strong that no earthly powers could amend it.

Nothing could be done. As the ship sped toward Cornwall, Tristan and Isolde gave themselves up to desire’s irresistible pull.

Content © 2007 and adapted from The Lover's Path Tarot.