Chapter XVI: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (15)

In the fair land of Thuringia there once dwelt a handsome and noble knight, named Henry of Tannhäuser, who was famed for his wonderful gift of song.

In a country where music was the delight of high and low, and where minstrelsy and knighthood went hand in hand, Tannhäuser was the sweetest minstrel of all; and when contests of song were held, it was he who most frequently carried off the wreath of victory. Nor were his brother-minstrels jealous of his power, for they loved him dearly, and gladly yielded him the palm.

The Landgrave, or ruling Prince of Thuringia, had a beautiful niece, the young Princess Elisabeth, whose gracious custom it was to bestow the prizes won at the Tournaments of Song; and, surrounded by her Court of fair maidens, she would listen with delight to the joyous strains of the minstrels.

But when Tannhäuser sounded his harp with the soft and tender touch that was his gift, and the notes of his sweet, wonderful voice rang forth, the heart of the royal maiden was thrilled through and through, and she grew to love the Minstrel Knight with her whole being. And Henry of Tannhäuser trembled when her fair hands placed the wreath upon his brow; for he also loved, and Elisabeth of Thuringia was the queen of his heart.

But, strange to say, so far from being made happy by his love, Tannhäuser gradually became very wretched indeed, for he grew discontented and weary of his life. Whether it was that he fancied Elisabeth did not return his love, and that the royal maid would not be permitted to wed a humble knight; or whether an evil spirit tempted him, none can say. But day by day he grew more and more restless and heavy of heart--the joys, duties, and interests of earth no longer satisfying him--and he longed for a life of everlasting pleasure and delight, free from pain and trouble.

Now, in Thuringia, there was a mountain called the Hörselberg, or Hill of Venus, within which the heathen goddess of Love and Beauty dwelt with her Court, holding everlasting revels, and seeking to destroy the souls of erring men who fell into her toils; and in this evil, though enticing place, Tannhäuser (either despairing or woefully tempted) at last sought refuge from the griefs and disappointments of earth.

He vanished so suddenly and entirely that none knew whither he had gone; and though his friends and companions sought him long and lovingly, they could not find him.

And the Princess Elisabeth was so full of grief at his loss that she hid herself away in her own chamber to weep in secret; and though the minstrel knights still continued to hold their contests, she no longer graced the _fêtes_ with her presence, but refused to give away the awards.

In the meantime, Tannhäuser was living a life of soft ease and voluptuous delight in the enthralling Court of Venus; and the beautiful goddess hoped that her loveliness and tender caresses were satisfying the wild longings of the handsome minstrel, whose soul she wished to destroy.

And for a time, indeed, the young man felt that he had at last found the peace and happiness he vainly sought; and the constant indulgence of his senses deadened his conscience, and made him forget that duty, labour, striving, and suffering are the only true means by which a man can attain to his highest level.

Thus, a year passed swiftly by in this abode of monotonous joys and delights, where no count was kept of days and seasons; and then, at last, a passing return of his better nature came over Tannhäuser, and he awoke, as if from a trance, to the knowledge that a life of selfish pleasure cannot satisfy the longings of a noble nature.

He was kneeling, at the time, beside the fair goddess, as she reclined on a couch within the glittering cave where she held her Court; and on every side were the sights and sounds that had enthralled him so long. A wide shining lake stretched out into the distance, and in its rippling blue waters graceful Naiads were disporting themselves, whilst Sirens of wondrous beauty reclined on the mossy banks, their sweet, silvery voices filling the air with enticing songs.

Tender lovers, wrapped in ecstasy, were reclining here and there; and in the centre of the cave a number of dainty Nymphs were constantly dancing, joined ever and anon by a train of wild Bacchantes, who brought a whirl of tumult into their movements, exciting all to a perfect frenzy of joy.

The sounds of music never ceased for a moment: first low and tender, thrilling the heart, and then so merry and joyous that none could refrain from dancing. And over the whole dazzling scene a pall of soft, rosy light was spread, gathering into a mist of billowy clouds in the distance.

Fairest of the fair, and Queen of all this Love and Beauty, Venus sat, enthroned for ever; and as Tannhäuser knelt at the feet of the goddess, with his head sunk upon her knee, he felt for the moment that the world was indeed well lost.

Then, suddenly, with this passing thought of the earth he had left, the Minstrel Knight awakened from his dream of bliss, and seemed to hear the silvery chime of bells from the world outside, bringing back to his remembrance the thought of fair things now lost to him: the radiant sunshine of day, the starry splendour of night, the renewing life and sweet verdure of spring, the nightingale's song of hope and promise, the delight of joy after sorrow, of light after darkness, that only mortals know.

In a flash he saw what an evil choice he had made, how cloying were the selfish delights that now held him captive; and weary of such monotonous joys, he longed to be in the world once more with its mingled joys and pains, understanding now that to strive with evil and conquer was a true heart's highest aim.

The deceptive veil of glamour was thus torn from his eyes; and full of remorse for the time he had already wasted, he implored the beautiful goddess for freedom to return to earth.

But Venus was angry when she heard his request, reproaching him with ingratitude, since she had found him despairing, and brought him comfort; and she begged him to touch his harp once more, and love her still, that all her delights might be his for ever.

Tannhäuser declared he would evermore sing her praises; but now determined to be set free from her enslaving toils, he again begged her to send him back into the world, saying:

"'Twas joy alone, a longing thirst for pleasure,
That fill'd my heart, and darkened my desire:
And thou, whose bounty gods alone can measure,
Gav'st me, poor mortal, all its wealth to know.
But while my sense thou hast enchanted,
By thy great love my heart is daunted:
A god alone can dwell in joy,
To mortals frail, its blisses cloy.
I would be swayed by pain and pleasure
In Nature's sweet, alternate measure:
I must away from thee, or die!"

Once more Venus poured forth her anger upon him, declaring that he slighted her love since the charms he vaunted so soon wearied him; but the Minstrel Knight replied:

"While I have life, alone my harp shall praise thee,
No meaner theme shall e'er my song inspire:
And yet, for earth, for earth I'm yearning!
'Tis freedom I must win, or die.
For freedom I can all defy,
To strife or glory forth I go,
Come life or death, come joy or woe.
No more in bondage will I sigh!
Oh queen, beloved goddess, let me fly!"

Then, when Venus saw that the cloying delights she had to offer could no longer hold the awakened soul of Tannhäuser, she at last granted his request, and angrily bade him go back to the cold dull earth once more, declaring that he would but meet with scorn and disappointment, and be glad to return to her sweet joys again. But the Minstrel Knight said that he could never return to her, since repentance and his hope of Heaven would now fill all his days; and with these words he bade an everlasting farewell to the lovely enchantress.

And then the dazzling Court of Venus suddenly vanished from sight; and when Tannhäuser next opened his eyes, he found himself in a beautiful valley, between the forest-girt Hörselberg and the royal castle.

Overhead, the radiant sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, and on the mountain side a flock of sheep were feeding, whilst from a rocky eminence above, a joyous young shepherd piped a merry lay. The fresh green grass was spangled with early flowers, and the birds were singing in the budding trees; for it was spring-time, and all the world seemed full of praise and joy.

Overcome with gratitude, Tannhäuser sank upon his knees to return thanks to Heaven for his release from selfish pleasure; and humbly he resolved to lead a new life of repentance and devotion.

Whilst he thus knelt in prayer, a band of pilgrims on their way to Rome came by, and wound along the mountain path, singing a hymn of confession and repentance; and when they had gone, Tannhäuser repeated the hymn upon his knees.

A short time afterwards, it happened that the Landgrave of Thuringia and his minstrel knights passed through the valley on their return from a great forest-hunt; and seeing the kneeling Knight, they drew near to learn who he was, and whence he came.

But when Tannhäuser rose and faced them on their approach, they recognised him at once as their long-lost brother-minstrel, whom they had sought so vainly; and receiving him joyfully, they eagerly demanded of him where he had hidden himself so long, begging him to return with them to the castle.

Tannhäuser replied that he had wandered far into strange and distant realms in search of peace and rest, which he had not found; and he declared he could not rejoin their beloved ranks, since he had resolved to lead the lonely pilgrim's life of devotion.

Then a noble young knight, named Wolfram, who had been his dearest friend in the old days, stepped forward, and said that the fair Princess Elisabeth still mourned the absence of the favourite minstrel, whose sweet music had filled her heart with love and rapture; and he added:

"When thou in scorn hadst left us,
Her heart was closed to joy and song.
Of her sweet presence she bereft us,
For thee in vain she wearied long.
Oh, Minstrel bold, return and rest thee,
Once more awake thy joyous strain,
Cast off the burden that oppress'd thee,
And her fair star will shine again!"

The name of Elisabeth acted like a charm upon Tannhäuser, for love of this sweet royal maid still filled his whole heart, strengthened and deepened by the struggles he had gone through; and learning thus for certain that his love was returned, he flung aside all thoughts of a pilgrim's life, and cried out gladly: "What joy! What joy! Oh, guide my steps to her!"

The whole valley was by this time full of nobles and squires in hunting green; and when the Landgrave sounded his bugle, he was answered by a joyous peal from the merry huntsmen as they gathered round.

Then the brilliant cavalcade rode gaily forward with Tannhäuser in their midst, and when they reached the castle, high revels were held in honour of the Minstrel Knight's return. The chief of these revels was a grand Tournament of Song; and it was announced that the prize of the victor was to be the hand of the Princess Elisabeth, who, having learnt with joy of the return of Tannhäuser, had gladly agreed to be present, and to offer her hand as the reward, knowing full well who would gain it.

When the day of the contest arrived, the Landgrave, minstrels, and the whole Court assembled in the famous Hall of Song within the royal castle; and as the Princess Elisabeth entered with her train of fair maidens, she was received amongst them with great joy.

But Elisabeth had eyes for none other but Tannhäuser, who dropped on his knees before her; and raising him gently from the ground, she told him of the woe she had suffered during his absence, and of the joy she now felt at his return.

When Tannhäuser heard these gracious words, and knew that he might now win the hand of his dear Princess, he was full of happiness; and he told her that it was his great love that had always made his music so sweet in the old days.

And now the Landgrave announced that the theme of the contest was to be Nature and Praise of Love; and one by one the minstrel knights stepped forward to sing their songs.

The noble young Wolfram began the contest, and as he vainly loved the Princess Elisabeth with his whole heart, he addressed his song to her as a humble worshipper, whose only desire was to adore her from afar, and live and die in her service.

The other minstrels described the nature of their love in a similar strain; and then Tannhäuser sprang forward, and passionately disputed all that they had said. Having loved profanely himself, and being full of impatience at what he called their cold and timid hearts, he outraged the whole company by describing to them the voluptuous ideas of love he had gained from his sojourn in the Court of Venus; and led away by his exaltation, he addressed himself to the fair goddess herself, declaring that none but those who had enjoyed the enchantments of her embraces were worthy to speak of Love.

When his wild and beautiful song came to an end, a loud chorus of dismay and indignation arose from the company, and the minstrel knights, full of horror because one of their number had been in the Court of the heathen goddess, rushed upon Tannhäuser with drawn swords, uttering curses, and declaring that the gates of Heaven were now closed on him for ever.

But quick the beautiful Elisabeth sprang in front of her lover; and, though utterly crushed with disappointment at his unworthiness, she bade the knights stand back and refrain their curses and reproaches, since repentance was still left to the poor sinner.

The Landgrave now pronounced sentence of banishment upon Tannhäuser, but since Elisabeth had interceded for him, he declared hers to be the voice of Heaven, and held out one ray of hope. He commanded him to join the band of holy pilgrims now passing through the land on their way to the sacred shrine at Rome, and there, repentant and humble, to seek forgiveness from the Pope, not daring to return unless by him forgiven.

Elisabeth again besought her lover to repent, and set his thoughts alone on Heaven; and Tannhäuser, full of despair, seeing now that an illusion had blinded him, rushed off to join the ranks of the pilgrims, humbly praying as he went.

When the pilgrims had left the country, Elisabeth gave herself up entirely to heavenly thoughts and devotions, and every day went to kneel before a shrine at the foot of the mountain to pray that Heaven's forgiveness might come upon her lover, and that he might be restored to her.

Slowly and sadly the months went by; and at last the day came on which the pilgrims were expected to pass by on their return from Rome.

Early in the morning Elisabeth went to the Virgin's shrine in the valley to pray; and the faithful Wolfram, who loved her still in vain, kept watch on the path above, and nobly prayed Heaven to send the lovers a happy meeting.

At length a holy chant was heard in the distance, and soon afterwards the band of pilgrims came trooping down the mountain path and passed along the valley, singing joyous songs of thankfulness because their repentance had been accepted and their sins forgiven.

Wolfram and Elisabeth eagerly scanned the passing pilgrims with anxious eyes; but Tannhäuser was not amongst them.

Full of grief and disappointment, the royal maiden now resolved to leave the outside world, with its troubles and pains, and seek peace in the pure, calm life of a nun; and kneeling once more before the shrine, she solemnly consecrated herself to the Virgin in these beautiful words:

"Oh, blessed Virgin, hear my prayer!
Thou star of glory, look on me!
Here in the dust I bend before thee,
Now from this earth, oh set me free!
Let me, a maiden pure and white,
Enter into thy kingdom bright!
In this hour, oh grant thy aid!
Till thy eternal peace thou give me.
I vow to live and die thy maid,
And on thy bounty I will call,
That heavenly grace on him may fall."

Then Elisabeth arose in peace and returned to the Castle; but her heart was broken, and a few hours later she died in the arms of her weeping maidens.

When evening fell, Wolfram, sad at heart, stood alone on the mountain-side; and still thinking of his lost love, his voice presently broke forth into a low, sweet song.

"Oh star of eve, thy tender beam
Smiles on my spirit's troubled dream.
From heart that ne'er its trust betrayed,
Greet, when she passes, the peerless maid!
Bear her beyond this vale of sorrow
To fields of light that know no morrow."

The sound of the Minstrel's singing caused a crouching figure on the mountain path to draw nearer; and in this grief-stricken form, clad in a pilgrim's robe, Wolfram recognised the wretched Tannhäuser.

Still scorning his friend for having, as he supposed, deserted the pilgrims' ranks and never made the journey to Rome, Wolfram drew back; but when Tannhäuser assured him that he had indeed visited the sacred shrine, and returned uncomforted, he was filled with pity instead, and willingly listened to his sad tale.

Then Tannhäuser told him that, full of the humblest repentance, he had made the journey to Rome, gladly enduring more hardships and sufferings than any of the other pilgrims.

"When I beheld a heavy burdened pilgrim,
It seemed to me his load was all too light.
And if he sought a pathway o'er the meadow,
I trod, unshod, amid the rock and thorns.
If he refreshed his lips by cooling fountains,
The brazen sun poured on my head forlorn,
When he besought the saints in murmur'd prayer,
I shed my life-blood in the cause divine;
When in the hospice he sought rest and shelter,
On ice and snow it was that I sought mine!"

Amidst such hardships as these the poor pilgrim had at length reached Rome, and humbly kneeling before the sacred shrine, had begged the Pope to grant him Heaven's forgiveness.

But when the Pope had listened to his confession he said the sin was too great for pardon, and declared that it was as impossible for one who had dwelt in the evil Courts of Venus to hope for Heaven's forgiveness as it was for the rood in his hand to put forth green leaves.

And then, scorned by one and all, with his sin still unabsolved, and the hand of Elisabeth farther away from him than ever, the wretched Tannhäuser had followed in the wake of the homeward-bound pilgrims: and now, having finished his story, and being full of despair, he called wildly upon the goddess Venus to receive him into her dazzling Courts of Love once more.

In answer to his call, the sounds of enchanting music were distinctly heard in the distance, and in a thick, billowy mist that began to encircle the Hörselberg, the lovely form of Venus became dimly visible; but Wolfram implored the despairing Knight to refrain from again sharing these evil joys that would ruin his soul, and still to think only of repentance for his sin.

But Tannhäuser was hopeless, and felt that, scorned by the world, and denied to Heaven, the Court of Venus was the only haven left to him; and though he loathed the thought of its cloying pleasures, he was just about to yield to the enticing calls of the fair goddess, when another incident occurred.

At this moment, the solemn funeral procession of Elisabeth came slowly by, and passed along the mountain path, with mourning knights and weeping maidens singing a low requiem hymn; and at the same time, a fresh band of pilgrims appeared on the heights above and announced that a miracle had taken place on the night of Tannhäuser's departure from Rome. The Pope's rood had put forth fresh green leaves by morning light; and taking this as a sign of Heaven's favour, he had sent messengers into every part to proclaim that Tannhäuser's sin was forgiven, and his repentance accepted.

Full of thankfulness that the prayers of Elisabeth, now an angel in Heaven, had been thus answered, Wolfram joined the pilgrims in their rejoicings for the forgiven sinner, whilst Venus disappeared within her mountain once more; but Tannhäuser, overcome with joy, and filled with a wonderful peace, sank dying beside the bier of his beloved one, and the golden gates of Heaven were opened to him at last.

LOHENGRIN

During the early years of the tenth century, Henry the Fowler, King of Germany, gained great renown in all the countries of Europe, and by means of his courage and skill in warfare, had brought many fair cities and large tracts of land beneath his sway.

Amongst these countries was Brabant, over which he ruled as Liege Lord; and coming one day to Antwerp, the chief city of this fair land, to gather his faithful vassals together to help him to fight against the wild Hungarians, who had invaded his realms, he found them in a troubled state, since they were without a ruler, and their chiefs were quarrelling amongst each other.

Some years ago, the brave Duke of Brabant had died and left his two children in the charge of his nearest kinsman, Count Frederick of Telramund, who promised to love and guard them until they were old enough to rule the Dukedom for themselves. The boy, Gottfried, and his sister, Elsa, loved one another so dearly that they could not bear to be parted; but, happy though they were in each other's love, a great trouble fell upon them.

As the years went on, Frederick of Telramund came under the evil influence of a princess of another powerful family of Brabant, rivals for the throne with the late Duke. This Princess, whose name was Ortrud, was very unscrupulous, and a dealer in magic; and she had learnt the arts of sorcery so well that it was her delight to change people into the forms of animals, and to work all the mischief she could. She hated Elsa, who had now grown up to be a sweet and beautiful maiden; and, determined to bring trouble upon her, she persuaded Telramund, with cunning words, that she herself was the rightful ruler of Brabant, and that if he would marry her they would rule the country together.

Now, Telramund wished to marry Elsa, whose hand had been promised him by her father; but the pure and lovely Elsa only felt scorn for him, knowing him to be neither good nor worthy of her love. Then Ortrud laid a wicked plot, by means of which she hoped to gain her ends.

One day, when Elsa and Gottfried had gone into the forest to walk and talk together according to their usual custom, Ortrud, by her spells, caused them to wander apart from each other; and then, by further magic, she transformed Gottfried into a bird. Elsa wandered about for some time, searching for her brother, but at last returned to the palace, sad and alone. Then the wicked Ortrud came forward and declared that she had seen Elsa drown her brother in the moat of a ruined castle in the forest; and she soon persuaded Telramund that the maiden had indeed murdered the young Gottfried. So Telramund renounced the hand of Elsa, and married Ortrud instead; and very soon afterwards he claimed the throne of Brabant.

The poor Princess Elsa was now very unhappy, full of grief for the loss of the brother she had loved so well, and in fear for her own safety; but one day she was comforted by a vivid and beautiful dream as she was praying to Heaven for help. In her dream she saw a splendid Knight clad in silver armour, who looked upon her with eyes of love, and spoke such cheering words of hope that she no longer felt alone and helpless. When she awoke, she spoke of the noble Champion whom she now believed would come to protect her; but Telramund and Ortrud laughed with scorn, and declared this mysterious lover was but the partner in her evil deed, with whom she wished to share the throne.

It was just at this time that Henry the Fowler, Liege Lord of Brabant, came to Antwerp to call for aid from his vassals; and hearing of the strife that was going on, he gathered the nobles together on the banks of the river Scheldt, and declared he would give judgment in the matter that very day.

When all the people were assembled on the river-side, Frederick of Telramund came forward and accused the Princess Elsa of having murdered her brother in order to win the throne for herself; and then the King called upon Elsa to defend the charge made against her.

When the royal maiden appeared with her ladies, pale and sad, she looked so fair and pure that all the people felt her to be innocent; and as they gazed upon her, almost with awe, she presently stood forth and sang a beautiful song, describing the noble Knight she had seen in her dream, whom she felt would be her Champion. These were the words she sang:

"I saw in splendour shining, a Knight of glorious mien,
On me his eyes inclining with tranquil gaze serene;
A horn of gold around him, he leant upon his sword,
Thus when I erst espied him 'mid clouds of light he soared,
His words so low and tender brought life renewed to me;
My guardian, my defender, thou shalt my Champion be!"

When the song came to an end, the King was so struck with Elsa's angelic look that he declared so evil a deed could never have been done by one whom Heaven seemed to protect.

On hearing this, Telramund grew angry, and announcing that he had spoken the truth, he challenged any man who doubted his word to fight with him. The King now determined that Elsa's innocence or guilt should thus be proved by single combat, and calling upon her to name a champion who should fight for her, he said that Heaven alone should decide between them. If _her_ Champion gained the victory, she should be declared innocent, but if Count Telramund overcame, they would know that she was guilty.

Elsa agreed to this, and said that her Champion should be the noble Knight of her dream; and then the King's herald blew a long, loud blast upon his trumpet, and cried out: "Who will do battle for Elsa of Brabant?"

There was a long, breathless pause, but no one answered the call. Again the herald called out: "Who will do battle for Elsa of Brabant?" Then Elsa stretched out her arms and prayed Heaven to send her the Champion she sought; and this time the call was answered.

A great shout arose from the people, and all eyes were turned towards the river; for there they saw, drawn by a beautiful white swan, a skiff approaching, in which stood a splendid Knight of glorious mien. He was clad entirely in dazzling silver armour, with a shining helmet upon his head, a golden horn at his side, and a flashing sword girt around his waist; and the beauty of his face and form, and the truth and purity that shone in his eyes, were so wondrous that everyone gazed upon him with speechless wonder.

When the skiff drew near to the shore, the Knight sprang lightly to the bank; but facing the river once again, he uttered a few words of thanks and farewell to the swan that had brought him thither:

"I give thee thanks, my faithful swan!
Turn thee again and breast the tide,
Return unto that land of dawn
Where joyous we did long abide.
Well thy appointed task is done;
Farewell, my trusty swan!"

The swan then sailed away with the skiff in a stately manner, and when it had vanished out of sight, the Knight turned towards the amazed company on the shore.

As Elsa saw him approaching towards her she was filled with joy, for she knew him at once to be the radiant Knight of her dream, and when he declared that he had come to fight for her cause, she rapturously accepted him as her Champion, promising her hand as his reward should he gain the victory. The Knight of the Swan next begged of her to promise that she would never ask him to tell her his race and name, or whence he came, and Elsa already loved him so dearly that she gladly gave this promise.

Then the stranger drew his sword, and the fight began; and after a sharp conflict he felled Telramund to the ground, but generously spared his life. Ortrud shrieked with rage and dismay, but the rest of the company uttered loud shouts of joy.

The King now declared that since Heaven had given the victory to Elsa's Champion, the royal maiden's innocence was proved; and he commanded the people of Brabant to obey Elsa and her Knight as their rulers.

So Telramund and Ortrud were stripped of all their power, honours, and riches; and disgraced, poor, and wretched, they were driven from the palace, to wander in the streets as outcasts.

They could not, however, keep away from the scenes of their former splendour; and on the night before Elsa's marriage with the Knight of the Swan, they came, clad in their coarse garments, and crouched outside the walls of the palace. The sounds of revelry that came from within made them feel more wretched still, and Telramund began to reproach Ortrud bitterly for the trouble she had brought on them both by her wicked spells and false words.

But Ortrud answered: "List to me, and we may yet overcome Elsa and her Champion, and win back our power! Yonder Knight of the Swan bids the maiden never to ask his name and home. And why? Because if he becomes known he must return whence he came. Let us then put doubt in Elsa's heart by telling her he gained this victory by sorcery, and thus entice her to drag from him his secret. He is certainly helped by sorcery, and I have learnt by my own arts that if but one drop of blood be spilt of him to whom magic help is lent, all his powers will vanish. Do them, then, seek to wound this Knight, and if I can also entice Elsa to ask his name and race, all shall yet be well with us."

Frederick of Telramund eagerly agreed to Ortrud's evil plans; and whilst they were thus talking together, Elsa herself, clad in flowing white garments, appeared on the balcony above, singing a glad song of thankfulness for the joy that was in her heart. Whilst she sang, Telramund crept quietly away, and when the sweet song came to an end, Ortrud came forth from her hiding-place, and called out: "Elsa!"

The royal maiden, who had thought herself quite alone, was surprised at hearing her name thus spoken; and when she recognised Ortrud in the square below, she was filled with pity at seeing her in such a sad plight. So when the wily Ortrud next began to relate a false story, declaring that she and her husband were under an evil spell when they accused her of having murdered her brother, and that they were now full of remorse and misery, Elsa's kind heart was touched; and presently she came down into the square and took Ortrud back into the palace with her, promising that next morning she would intercede for the two outcasts with her Champion Knight.

On the morrow, all in the palace were full of excitement and rejoicing, for this was Elsa's wedding day, and great preparations had been made to celebrate it in fitting style. Elsa was delighted at the prospect of happiness before her, but doubt of her brave Champion was already springing up in her heart, planted there by Ortrud. A fear that she would lose her lover began to fill her with dread, for her cunning enemy did not fail to point out that one to whom magic aid was lent might at any moment vanish from her sight.

When the bridal procession to the Minster was formed, Ortrud, clad once more in gorgeous garments, was amongst the train of ladies; but as they drew near to the church, her haughty spirit could no longer bear that Elsa should go before her, and angrily she commanded the bride to stand back, declaring that she herself should lead, since she was the rightful ruler of Brabant. Elsa stopped, full of surprise as she remembered how humble Ortrud had been the night before; and the angry sorceress now challenged her to name her Champion Knight, and to say from whence he obtained his mystic power and strength.

In the midst of this confusion, the King and his lords appeared on the scene with the bridegroom; and when the Knight of the Swan saw Elsa in conversation with the wicked Ortrud, he begged her not to be led to doubt him. As he spoke to her, Frederick of Telramund sprang out from a hiding-place close at hand, and, before all the bridal party, accused Elsa's Champion of having gained the victory over him by sorcery and evil spells, and called upon him to declare his name and place of abode if he would be regarded as a true knight.

But the Knight of the Swan still refused to tell his secret, declaring that Elsa alone could compel him to speak; and he added that the King and princes must be satisfied with having seen his deed of valour, and how Heaven had shown favour to him. The King and nobles now declared they were satisfied for him to remain unknown, and that they would always honour and stand by him for the deed he had done.

Having failed with this shaft, Telramund crept round to Elsa and whispered to her the suggestion that she should allow him to wound her lover slightly, since, if but one drop of his blood could be spilled, he would lose his strange power and remain for ever at her side; and he added that that very night he would be near at hand to do the deed. But the Knight of the Swan came and drew Elsa quickly away, begging her to have no further doubt of him; and Elsa, gladly placing her hand in his, entered the Minster with him, and the bridal procession followed.

When the wedding ceremony was over, great revels were held in the palace; and ere these came to an end, Elsa and her husband were led to their bridal chamber by a splendid company of knights and ladies, who sang to them the following sweet marriage song:

"Faithful and true we lead ye forth,
Where love triumphant shall crown ye with joy!
Star of renown, flow'r of the earth,
Blest be ye both, far from all life's annoy.
Champion victorious, go thou before!
Mirth's noisy revel ye have forsaken,
Tender delights for you now awaken!
Fragrant abode enshrine ye in bliss,
Splendour and state in joy ye dismiss,
Faithful and true, we lead ye forth!"

When at last they were left alone, the Knight of the Swan clasped his beautiful wife in his arms, and the two rejoiced together in their happy love. But joyous though she was, the seeds of doubt and fear in Elsa's heart, planted there by Ortrud, were growing fast; and when these first blissful moments were past, she begged her husband to reveal to her his secret, declaring that she would guard it well.

The Knight of the Swan begged her not to ask him, since all their happiness must thus come to an end, and he would be obliged to leave her; but Elsa declared that he was bound by a magic spell, and entreated him to tell her his secret, since she could not trust in him nor be sure that he would remain at her side.

Sorrowfully her husband again implored her not to question him; but Elsa, now torn with the fear of losing her beloved one, cried out wildly:

"What magic can I borrow
To bind thy heart to me?
A spell is cast around thee,
By magic thou art here;
In vain thou wouldst assure me.
Declare thy race and name!"

At this moment, Telramund, with four of his companions, broke into the room with drawn swords, intending to kill, or, at least, to wound the stranger Knight; but Elsa, quick to see the danger, handed her husband his sword, and with one blow of it, he felled Telramund to the ground, dead.

The noise of the scuffle soon brought the lords and ladies of the Court into the chamber, and the Knight of the Swan put the fainting Elsa into the charge of her maidens, declaring sadly that all their joy must now come to an end, for since she had demanded to be told his name and home, he must tell her, and his secret once known, he was compelled to depart.

So, as soon as daylight came, and the sun rose in the sky, the King, with Elsa and her husband and the nobles of Brabant, gathered together once more on the banks of the Scheldt. The nobles first of all gave their promise to Henry the Fowler to fight for him as faithful vassals against the Hungarians; and then the Knight of the Swan stepped forward to make himself known to them, declaring that since Elsa had asked to know his secret, he could no longer keep it from her.

He announced that he was a knight of the Holy Grail, and that so long as he remained unknown, he had wonderful powers of strength and might, and could overcome all evil; but once he became known to man he was compelled to depart and return to the Grail that sent him, for its Champion Knight must be guarded from all doubtings. He thus described the sacred relic which he and other pure and stainless knights served so faithfully:

"In distant land, by ways remote and hidden,
There stands a burg that men call Montsalvat;
It holds a shrine, to the profane forbidden:
More precious there is nought on earth than that:
And thron'd in light it holds a Cup immortal,
That whoso sees from earthly sin is cleansed;
'Twas borne by angels thro' the Heav'nly portal--
Its coming hath a holy reign commenced.
Once ev'ry year a dove from Heaven descendeth,
To strengthen it anew for works of grace;
'Tis called the Grail!..."

As the people remained lost in astonishment at this wondrous tale, the Knight of the Swan added:

"Now mark, craft or disguise my soul disdaineth,
The Grail sent me to right yon lady's name;
My father, Percival, gloriously reigneth,
His Knight am I, and Lohengrin my name!"

As he spoke these words, a cry arose from the people: "The swan! The swan! Behold it comes!"

All eyes were turned towards the river; and there, in the distance, the skiff in which the Champion Knight had arrived was seen once more approaching, drawn by the beautiful swan. All this time Elsa had sat silent, pale and sad; but now she sprang up with a cry of grief, and clung to her husband with tears and entreaties.

But Lohengrin gently unwound her clinging arms, and sadly said:

"Too long I stay--I must obey the Grail!
Oh, Elsa, think what joys thy doubts have ended!
Couldst thou not trust in me for one short-year?
Then thy dear brother, whom the Grail defended,
In life and honour thou hadst welcom'd here.
If he returns, when our sweet ties are broken,
This horn, this sword, and ring give him in token;
This horn succour on battlefield shall send him,
And with this sword he'll conquer ev'ry foe;
This ring shall mind him who did most befriend him--
Of me who saved thee from the depths of woe!"

He then embraced her tenderly, and bade her a gentle farewell. But as he moved towards the river-bank, Ortrud pressed forward and declared that the swan was in reality young Gottfried, the heir of Brabant, whom she had thus transformed by her magic; and she added triumphantly to Elsa that if she could have kept her Champion Knight by her side for one year, her brother would have been restored again.

But Lohengrin heard these words, though they were not intended to reach him, and sinking on his knees, he prayed for power to overcome Ortrud's magic. His prayer was graciously answered; for as the people gazed in wonder, the fair white Dove of the Holy Grail flew softly down and hovered over the skiff, whilst Lohengrin quickly loosened the golden chain that bound the swan. Instantly, the swan sank into the water, and presently there arose in its place the young prince, Gottfried, Elsa's brother.

Lohengrin led the fair youth forward, declaring him to be the rightful ruler of Brabant; and then, as the nobles were receiving Gottfried with surprise and delight, the stranger Knight stepped lightly into the skiff, and the white Dove, seizing the chain, began to draw it along.

Elsa, who had clasped Gottfried in her arms with great joy, now turned towards the river, and seeing Lohengrin standing up in the departing skiff signing a last sad farewell to her, she uttered a cry of grief and despair, and sank senseless to the ground.

Gottfried knelt in dismay beside her; and at that moment the Champion Knight of the Holy Grail vanished out of sight.

TRISTAN AND ISOLDA

In the glorious days of chivalry, when King Arthur and his knights were gaining honour and renown by their noble deeds, a stately barque might have been seen one golden noon-tide swiftly approaching the shores of Cornwall. Tristan, a valiant Cornish knight, far-famed for his prowess and untarnished honour, was bringing the beautiful Princess Isolda of Ireland as a bride for his uncle, King Mark, who held his Court at Tyntagel, in Cornwall; and as they drew near to their native shores, the ruddy sailors broke forth into a glad song of greeting, rejoicing at the safe conclusion of their honourable mission.

But there was no joy in the heart of Tristan, who stood at the helm, silent and full of gloom. For he, himself, loved this fair Princess of Ireland; but a dark blood-feud between them had forced him to stifle his own passion, and to secure her as a bride for another.

And a tumult was also raging in the heart of the proud Isolda, for she resented the alliance that had been made for her, and was filled with anger against the knight who came as ambassador to bear her away. For they had met before, these two, and a dread secret lay between them.

For many years there had been war between Ireland and Cornwall, and at last the King of Ireland had felt himself powerful enough to claim tribute from King Mark.

Morold, the cousin and lover of Isolda, was sent to levy the tax; but he met with a sorry reception.

For Tristan, the nephew and bravest knight of King Mark, indignantly resented the claim, and challenged Morold to mortal combat on the shore; and, to his joy, he defeated and slew the Irish knight, whose head was sent back as the only tribute the subjects of King Mark would pay to Ireland.

But Tristan, himself, had also been grievously wounded by his adversary; and after searching in vain for a healer for his hurts, he crawled into a small boat and set it adrift in his feverish despair. The wind and waves bore the frail craft far out from the coast, and at last the wounded knight found himself cast upon the shores of Ireland.

Here he was hospitably received by the Irish King and his beautiful daughter, to whom he gave his name as Tantris; and the Princess Isolda, being greatly skilled in leech-craft, and famous for her knowledge of balsams and simples, set herself the task of healing the stranger's wounds. His noble appearance and pitiful plight soon won her heart, and Tristan, loving the fair princess directly he beheld her, was quick to vow fealty to her.

But one day, as Isolda sat watching beside the couch of her charge, she noticed in the sick man's discarded sword a curiously-shaped notch, which exactly fitted a splinter of steel that had been found imbedded in the skull of Morold, whose head had lately arrived from Cornwall as a ghastly token of defeat and defiance.

Knowing now that it was the world-renowned Tristan, the bold defier and enemy of Ireland, the slayer of her cousin and former lover, Morold, who lay before her, and whom she had nursed so tenderly, Isolda was filled with scorn and anger; and seizing the tell-tale sword in her hand, she rushed furiously forward, intending to plunge it in his heart. But Tristan's eyes met hers in such a pleading, helpless glance that the angry princess was quickly filled with pity, and felt she could not harm him as he lay thus in feebleness; and letting the sword drop gently to the ground, she crushed her revengeful feelings, and continued her nursing of the sick man. Yet Tristan did not dare to speak of love to her again, feeling that Isolda would now regard his slaying of Morold as a blood-feud and barrier between them; and as soon as his wounds were sufficiently healed, he returned to Cornwall.

Soon after this, peace was declared between the two countries; and as the crowning pledge of the truce, King Mark was persuaded by his knights to ask the hand of the Princess Isolda in marriage. Tristan joined heartily in pressing forward this plan; for, believing that Isolda was now lost to him, he felt that he could reward her best for her kindness to him by making her Queen of Cornwall.

But King Mark was growing old, and, being childless, had decided to make Tristan his heir: and it was not until his beloved nephew himself added his entreaties to the desires of the courtiers that he at length gave consent. Then, when peace and friendship had been sworn by both nations, and the King of Ireland had willingly agreed to bestow his daughter upon King Mark as the pledge of their truce, Tristan was despatched in a gilded barge to conduct the lovely bride to her new home.

Isolda submitted to her father's will with due filial obedience and reverence; but her heart was filled with scorn and hot anger against the brave knight she had nursed back to life and health. As she now reclined in her curtained recess within the stately vessel that bore her so swiftly away from her native land, she declared passionately to her attendant handmaid, Brangæna, that she had been betrayed by Tristan; for after vowing fealty to her in Ireland, he had but returned to demand her in marriage for his kinsman. Brangæna, alarmed at this outburst, attempted to sooth her mistress's angry feelings by assuring her that Sir Tristan had doubtless meant to show his gratitude by making her Queen of Cornwall; and she added that King Mark, though advancing in years, was good and noble in disposition, and worthy of admiration and regard.

But Isolda gazed impatiently beyond the curtains at the silent, motionless figure of Tristan, wondering sadly how she could support a loveless life so near that glorious knight, who now seemed so indifferent to her; for Tristan, struggling to repress the love in his heart, had kept sternly aloof from his fair charge throughout the voyage, fearing to trust himself in her presence. This seeming unkindness and studied coldness enraged the proud and unhappy princess to such a pitch that she determined they should die together before landing in Cornwall; and she sent Brangæna to the helm to command Tristan's immediate presence in her recess.

At first Tristan refused to leave the helm, remembering his duty and loyalty to his royal uncle; but when, just as they were approaching the shore, Isolda sent another message, imperiously declaring that she would not land in Cornwall unless he sought her pardon first, the trembling knight was forced to yield to her request.

Isolda meanwhile opened her casket of drugs and simples, saying she desired a potion that would cure her of all her woes; and selecting a phial containing a deadly poison, she bade Brangæna pour it out into a golden cup.

But Brangæna was horror-struck; and, determined to save her beloved mistress from the consequences of so rash a resolve, she poured away the poison, unseen by Isolda, and filled the golden cup instead with a love-philtre that the Queen of Ireland, skilled in sorcery, had placed in the casket for her daughter to drink with her husband on her wedding-night.

When Tristan appeared within the recess, Isolda began to pour forth bitter words of reproach upon him, declaring that though she had preserved his life when he lay in feebleness before her, she had still sworn vengeance upon him; and then, offering him the golden cup, she bade him drink its contents with her as a final truce to all their strife. The ship was by this time at the landing-stage, where King Mark already stood with his lords, waiting to receive the lovely bride; and, full of despair, Tristan took the proffered cup and began to drink.

When he had swallowed half the draught, Isolda snatched the goblet from his trembling hand and drank the remainder; and then the two stood and gazed into each other's eyes in wonder and bewilderment. For the strange potion was coursing wildly through their veins like a fiery stream, changing all their dull despair into the glow of passion, and filling their hearts with uncontrollable love and desire for each other; and at last, utterly powerless to fight against the ecstasy within them, they fell into each other's arms, overcome by a rapture they could not quell.

Brangæna, terror-stricken at the dire result of her fond deed, implored the lovers to recollect their duty and the scene that was going on around them, for all their lords and attendants were now waiting for Tristan to conduct his royal charge to King Mark.

But the pair seemed wrapped in a sweet dream from which the joyous cries of greeting gradually awakened them; and then, when they realised what had happened, they were filled with despair, and Isolda sank back half-fainting into Tristan's outstretched arms.

But Brangæna, eager to prevent the immediate discovery of their hapless love, quickly roused her mistress, and hung upon her shoulders the gorgeous royal mantle that had been provided for her nuptials; and then Tristan, as in a trance, with woe in his heart, led his beloved one forth from the ship, and delivered her into the hands of his Sovereign.

Isolda and King Mark were immediately wedded, amidst great rejoicings; but although the unhappy victims of the fatal love-potion had strength to loyally fulfil this pledge of peace between the two countries, they could not long keep their devouring passion within bounds. With the help of the devoted and remorseful Brangæna, they frequently met in secret, and the rapture of these stolen interviews was as balm to their bleeding hearts, the one sweet chain that kept them still bound to life.

But Tristan had an enemy, a knight named Melot, who, under the disguise of friendship, had gained his confidence and learnt the secret of his hopeless passion, and who, having no real love for the man he called his friend, determined to use this woeful secret for his own base ends. For Melot was jealous of the renown and noble qualities of Tristan, and longed to supplant him in the regard of his royal master; and having now discovered a weapon to his hand in the secret confided to him by the unsuspecting knight, he eagerly sought an opportunity for betraying him, and quickly found one.

Having persuaded the King to arrange a royal hunt one beautiful summer night, the crafty Melot easily induced Tristan to remain behind, and so secure a long, sweet interview with his beloved Isolda; but the false friend gaily joined in the chase, intending to return in a short time with the King to entrap the lovers.