Chapter IV: Through Flood and Fire (3)

Slowly she opened her eyes. Siegfried started back. She sat up dazed and wondering. Then her eyes rested on him. For a moment neither moved. But the silence between them said more than words, and though only a few brief instants went by, much happened in the time. For Siegfried passed from boyhood to manhood, and Brunhilda passed from the land of dreams and shadows back to the warm living earth.

At last she spoke. “Hail, thou sunshine, and light, and lovely daytime! Long has been my sleep!” Then, fixing shining eyes on Siegfried, “And who art _thou_,” she asked, “who hast awakened me out of my sleep?”

“I am Siegfried. Through the flames I won my way to thee. My sword it has cut through thy armor, O most glorious maiden!”

Brunhilda gazed at him in wonder and delight. “Siegfried! So thou art indeed Siegfried who hast awakened me? Siegfried, of whom in times long past I dreamed! My sun art thou, awakening me out of night and darkness!”

These words made Siegfried happier than ever. Never had his highest hopes or wildest dreams pictured one so fair and noble as this goddess-maid. For her sake what would he not do or dare?

But Brunhilda was now gazing sadly at her cast-off armor and shield on the ground. Slowly the words of her father’s curse were coming back to her. Never more to ride free through the heavens—to be a mortal woman wedded to a mortal man!

Gently and sadly she pushed Siegfried from her side, and tried to turn his thoughts from herself. “See there my faithful steed,” she said, pointing to Grani. “He also has been awakened by Siegfried the sun-god. Once he bore me through the heavens, and shared my life among the gods of Valhalla. With me also he slept. See how joyfully he has come back to life!”

“Alas!” cried Brunhilda, growing ever more melancholy. “Siegfried my hero, it is through you I forfeit my glorious estate! Brunhilda the Valkyrie is no more—she is dead indeed.”

Siegfried saw that a harder task yet remained to him than dashing through fire or cutting through steel, but he went on undaunted, for he felt his new-found love strong and great enough to carry him through all difficulties.

“Thou sleepest still, my beloved. I have but opened thy glorious eyes. Oh, wake, and rejoice that thou livest.”

So spake Siegfried, and his passionate pleading turned at last, as a magic key, the locked door of Brunhilda’s proud heart, which to no god or man had yielded before. She turned to him and as Siegfried clasped her to his heart, Brunhilda renounced for ever all she had counted most dear—all longings for the old free Valkyrie life, all dreams of bygone glory with the gods in Valhalla.

Now that her heart was won, Brunhilda gave it all, once and for ever; and a great and noble gift it was, worth any hero’s winning, at any cost.

THE PLOT AGAINST THE BEAUTIFUL ELSA OF BRABANT

By Constance Maud

Once upon a time there lived, in the ancient city of Antwerp, a beautiful maiden called Elsa.

She dwelt in a grand old palace: the walls were thick as any fortress, and the towers looked proudly down on the town.

Elsa’s father was the Duke of Brabant, a noble prince, who for long years had faithfully served his liege lord, the King of Germany, and had won much honor to Brabant.

Elsa had an only brother, the young Prince Godfrey; and these two loved each other more than any other brother and sister in the world.

One day the duke was taken ill, so ill that he could no longer attend to the affairs of state; and a few days later all Brabant knew that their beloved duke lay dying.

As their mother had been dead many years, and they had no near relatives, the duke then sent for his kinsman, Count Telramund. This man was imperious and hot-tempered, with manners uncouth as a bear; but he was brave as a lion, and the duke had full confidence in his good heart and knightly honor.

The count hastened to obey the royal summons.

“My trusted friend and kinsman, Frederick of Telramund,” said the duke, “I am dying. With my last breath I confide to thy care my beloved children, Elsa and Godfrey. Watch over them, protect them from all ill till Godfrey be of an age to reign, and Elsa is married to a husband she loves. Until then, I appoint thee as Regent and Protector in Brabant.”

Count Telramund knelt by the side of the dying duke, and swore solemnly to fulfil the trust, and, if needs be, to lay down his life for the young prince and princess.

“Thank Heaven!” murmured the duke. “And now, my cousin, is there aught that I can do for thee, in return for so great a service?” he asked.

“Oh, most noble prince, there is one boon I would ask, were it not so great a gift I scarce dare even to name it!” answered the count.

“Whatever thy wish, cousin, it is granted, if it be in my power to bestow it,” said the duke readily. “What is thy request?”

“Most gracious sovereign,” stammered the count, growing red to the roots of his tawny beard, “I love the Princess Elsa—wilt thou give her to me to be my wife?”

Elsa started. Without stirring, and her face deadly pale, she listened breathlessly for her father’s reply.

“Gladly would I give my child to thy safe keeping, noble cousin. But in this matter I must leave the maiden free to choose for herself. If she accept thy hand, thou hast my full consent and blessing. More than this I cannot say.”

The count knelt and pressed his lips to the hand of the dying duke, who, blessing Telramund, sank back exhausted and bade him farewell.

Shortly after, the good prince died, at peace with all.

Elsa, heartbroken at her father’s death, found her only consolation in her young brother Godfrey. For a long time she refused to see anyone else.

Count Telramund often sought opportunity to speak with her, but she avoided him with dread.

Then Telramund changed his tone, and demanded her hand as his right, the dying bequest of her father the duke.

“My father left me free,” answered Elsa, indignant. “Never would he wish me to give my hand where I could not give my heart also, sir count.”

No woman, and very few men, had ever dared to contradict his wishes; sooner or later, he vowed, she should be his.

Now there was a wicked lady, of a tall, commanding figure, dark and handsome—Ortruda by name. She was very learned, and had studied all manner of sorceries, which enabled her to exert the magic power of a witch. Her forefathers had once been mighty princes, who reigned over Brabant and all the countries round. She regarded Elsa and Godfrey as usurpers, holding what rightfully belonged to her; and she hated them with a bitter hatred. Also, there was another and a deeper cause for her hatred towards Elsa; and that was, that she herself had long wished to marry Count Telramund.

One day Telramund came to Ortruda and told her how Elsa had dared to despise his love, and reject his hand. That he should confide in her pleased Ortruda well; also that Elsa should refuse the count, though she loved her none the more for doing so.

“The impertinent minx, to take on such airs!”

Telramund found comfort in Ortruda’s indignation. His heart was set on marrying Elsa, and he was willing to wait long if only he might win her in the end.

When Ortruda saw this, she laid a deep plot, by means of which she hoped to turn his love from Elsa. In the depths of the forest was a lonely tower. Here Ortruda was wont to retire and study sorcery, for long days and nights together. She became at last so practiced, that she could by enchantments change people into different birds and beasts.

One day, Elsa and Godfrey were roaming together alone in the forest. Ortruda, always on the watch, followed them, unseen, at a distance. After a while they sat down to rest by the side of a pool, whose still depths, it was said, no one had ever fathomed.

Presently, Elsa and Godfrey were startled by hearing a piercing, pitiful cry, like that of some animal caught in a trap. Godfrey started up, crying: “I must go and free that poor beast! Rest here a while, Elsa; I will return shortly.”

He sprang lightly through the thickly growing bushes and trees, and was soon hidden from sight.

Elsa waited by the pool, thinking of all the happy plans she and Godfrey had been making for the future, when he would reign as duke. The trees overhead rustled strangely, and Elsa, looking up, saw a great white swan circling round, and waving his wings wildly as though in distress. Then with a sad cry, he flew away.

Elsa grew uneasy. Surely an hour must have passed, yet Godfrey had not returned! She called aloud: “Godfrey! Godfrey! where art thou?” But there was no answer save the echo of her own voice, which rang through the wood as though mocking her anxious cry.

Then, in deadly fear, she started up and tried to trace his steps, but the dense thicket left no track. Pale and trembling, Elsa returned at last to the palace, and told how Godfrey had mysteriously disappeared.

That night the forest was searched from end to end with torches and lanterns, and all the following day the search continued, but not a trace of the missing boy could be found.

Two days after Godfrey’s disappearance, Ortruda came to Telramund. She appeared in deep distress, saying she had something to reveal, and dared no longer keep silence. “Alas!” replied Ortruda, “what I know is well-nigh too terrible to be spoken. Who will credit my dark tale? Listen,” she continued; “thy search for Godfrey is useless.”

“Two days ago I sat alone meditating in my tower in the forest, when I espied Elsa and Godfrey sitting together by the pool—that awful pool where, ’tis said, a drowning man may sink for a thousand years, yet never touch the bottom. On a sudden I heard a cry, and looking, saw Elsa, aided by a stranger, whose face was turned to me, push her young brother backward into the dread pool.”

“Horrible! most horrible!” cried Telramund. “Thou sawest this with thine own eyes?”

“I saw it with these same eyes, that will I swear, though it were with my last breath!” replied Ortruda.

“Who could dream that such black sin dwelt in one so young and fair!”

“Ay,” said Ortruda, eyeing him askance; “and knowing that thou lovedst her, I would have kept silence. But when thine enemies whispered that thou, being next of kin, might thyself have caused the lad’s disappearance, then my love for thee made me bold to speak the dread secret.”

“I thank thee, Ortruda. Thou hast ever shown thyself my faithful friend,” said Telramund. “It were better had I given my love to thee, instead of wasting it on one so unworthy.”

“My father’s house once ruled in this land, and, in justice, should be ruling still. Ah! were poor Ortruda queen, with what joy would she lay her kingdom at thy feet, noblest and bravest of men!”

“Thou art worthy to be a queen!” cried Telramund, “and that shalt thou be, noble and wise Ortruda! For here do I swear to make thee my wife, instead of her in whom I have been so woefully deceived. As for the murderess, her cruel deed shall be brought to light. She shall be tried by our king, Henry of Germany, and both she and her base lover will assuredly be condemned to death.”

In obedience to Telramund’s orders, Elsa was then put under arrest, and placed in a dark prison-cell, to await her trial before the king. She was kept a close prisoner, no one save the followers of Telramund and Ortruda being allowed to come near her. In her grief and despair she knelt one night and prayed, one long bitter cry for help. And all at once her prayer seemed taken up, as though on angels’ wings; above the narrow prison-cell—up, up, till it pierced the utmost heights of the sky above. Elsa listened till she heard the faint echo fade away far overhead. And, as she wondered what it might mean, a gentle sleep closed her eyes. She dreamt; and in her dream she saw a noble knight in shining silver armor. Swiftly through the air he came, and, descending to her prison-cell, stood by her side. No word did he speak, but with looks and signs he bade her banish all fear and sorrow, and trust in him, for he was sent by Heaven in answer to her cry.

When Elsa woke, the bitterness of her grief had passed. The vision had departed, but she felt assured her prayer was heard, and that, sooner or later, the Heaven-sent knight of her dream would come and bring her deliverance.

THE KNIGHTS OF THE HOLY GRAIL

By Constance Maud

Far away, in the mountains of Spain, there dwelt a holy band of knights, vowed to the service of all those in distress or need.

The famous Knight Parsifal was at this time king of the Order, and under his reign the Knights of the Holy Grail were unsurpassed for valor and truth. When any cry of distress went up to Heaven, the great bells of the Grail temple would commence to swing slowly to and fro, and at this sign the knights assembled in their temple, whatever the hour, day or night: there the Holy Grail would reveal to them, in letters of fire, what service was required.

The same night on which Elsa knelt in her prison-cell, far away in Antwerp, the mighty bells of Mount Salvat suddenly broke the stillness of the peaceful night. With Parsifal at their head, the brothers of the Holy Grail hastened to the temple. Among them was one Lohengrin, a young knight of most noble fame, son of Parsifal, the king.

Round the altar knelt the knights; while the king mounted the steps and took from a golden shrine the miraculous crystal Cup, known as the Holy Grail. A dazzling ray of light instantly streamed down from the dome above the altar, lighting up the Cup, which then began to glow with letters of fire written round the brim. Parsifal held the Cup aloft, that all might read the message: “There is one falsely accused, in sore need and trouble—the Princess Elsa of Brabant.” So ran the writing on the Holy Grail. The glowing letters slowly faded and vanished.

But while the knights discussed among themselves which of them should at once depart for Brabant, the Cup again glowed with another message: “Let Lohengrin, the son of Parsifal, make ready and depart. He it is, appointed to be her champion.”

Lohengrin rejoiced greatly at being chosen. Kneeling before his father, he craved a blessing before setting out on his journey. Then, buckling on his armor and his sword, a golden horn slung round his neck, he mounted his black charger, and rode off into the silent forest.

On he rode. The tall, dark pine trees met over his head; the silver moon peeped between the branches, lighting him on his way. All the forest slept. At length he came to the river which marked the boundary of the Grail dominions. He was about to ford the stream, when, to his amazement, he beheld a boat, drawn by a snow-white swan, evidently awaiting him.

Lohengrin dismounted, and recognized the swan as a bird which had not long since appeared among them, and taken up his abode with the knights. As a white swan had always been held in good omen by the knights, the bird received a hearty welcome. And the more so when, shortly after his arrival, the Grail revealed that the bird was none other than a youth of noble birth, the innocent victim of a wicked enchantment. Round the swan’s neck was a fine gold chain of curious workmanship, with neither clasp nor fastening, so that no man could remove it without injury to the bird. From the day he appeared, the swan attached himself specially to Lohengrin. He would follow him about like a dog, and often gazed into his face as though he longed to speak with him.

Seeing this faithful bird awaiting him, Lohengrin asked him: “Wilt thou that I go with thee, dear swan?” The bird instantly bent his graceful head, and spread wide his white wings, as though impatient to start. Lohengrin then dismissed his horse, bidding him return to Mount Salvat, stepped into the boat, and the swan sailed away joyfully with him. Down the river they floated swiftly. The swan seemed quite sure of his way. Even when they came at last to the sea, he never paused, but steered a steady course right out of the bay, and away across the wide ocean.

LOHENGRIN THE CHAMPION OF ELSA OF BRABANT

By Constance Maud

In the city of Antwerp great preparations were going forward.

King Henry of Germany had arrived in state, and had summoned all the ministers and chief nobles of Brabant to appear before him.

Elsa, in her prison-cell, was wakened early with the news that she would be tried this day before the king, in face of all the people.

She heard as though it scarce concerned her. Since the vision of the knight in shining armor, she no longer seemed to dwell in the dark prison. Her thoughts were far away, and she cared nothing for what took place around her.

It was noon when the king, with his heralds, outriders, and a numerous retinue, proceeded in solemn state to the Judgment Oak. Mid the cheers and blessings of the people, he ascended a gorgeous throne prepared for him.

Count Telramund bowed low before the king. Then, in a clear ringing voice, told his story, and made his accusation against Elsa, Princess of Brabant, of whose horrible crime he said he had, alas, convincing proof. He then claimed the kingdom of Brabant for himself, as next of kin to the late duke, and also in right of his noble wife Ortruda, whose fathers once ruled in that land.

“Now, O most noble king, thou hast heard me fully,” he concluded. “Naught have I spoken but the truth—my oath upon it. Be thou our judge.”

The crowd shuddered with horror at the story of Elsa’s crime. Their own princess, so gentle and fair, the cruel murderess of her brother! Impossible! Yet who dare dispute it, since Count Telramund, whose honor no man could doubt, himself swore to the fact.

“What terrible accusation dost thou bring? Bid the accused appear!” cried the king. “The trial shall forthwith begin.”

The herald blew his trumpet, and proclaimed the king’s order. There was a stir in the crowd. All eyes turned towards her as Elsa appeared, followed by her ladies. Slowly she walked to the foot of the throne, gazing before her like one in a dream.

“Art thou Elsa of Brabant?” asked the king. Elsa bowed her head.

“Dost thou know the charge that is brought against thee?” he demanded sternly.

Again Elsa assented, dropping her head sadly, but without speaking.

“What answer canst thou make? Dost admit thy guilt?” the king inquired.

She gazed around her with a bewildered air, as though trying to remember something long forgotten.

“Alas,” she sighed, “my poor brother!”

The people murmured: “’Tis marvellous! What can it mean?”

“Speak, Elsa!” urged the king, wondering at her strange behavior. “Dost thou not trust in thy king?”

Then Elsa spoke in a low gentle voice, as to herself when alone in the prison: “In my misery I knelt one night and besought God’s aid. My woeful cry seemed all at once caught up to the highest heaven. I listened wondering, then peace fell on my spirit, and a gentle sleep came over me.”

The King thought Elsa’s mind was certainly affected, whether from brooding on her crime, or on her innocence and the injustice of her imprisonment, he could not tell. “Come, Elsa,” he said, in a rousing tone, “defend thyself now before the judge.”

But Elsa appeared neither to hear nor understand, and continued her dream with a look of rapture: “Borne through the air he came—a knight of such perfection and nobility never yet I saw! Clothed in glittering armor—in his hand a sword—slung round his neck a golden horn! No word he spake, but gazed on me tenderly. Peace and comfort came to me with his look. That knight will be my champion and deliverer!”

The king was sorely perplexed. This dreamy maiden hardly seemed like a criminal. Looking at the sad, fair face of the prisoner, he could not find it in his heart to believe her guilty. Yet he held the count, as a true and honorable knight, incapable of falsehood; one who had, besides, risked his life for king and country.

Turning to the count, he then asked solemnly: “Frederick of Telramund, wilt thou in mortal combat let Heaven’s ordeal decide thine accusation as true or false?”

“Yea, that will I, O king,” answered Telramund, with proud confidence.

“And thee also, I ask, Elsa of Brabant, wilt thou abide by Heaven’s decree in the mortal combat that shall be fought for thy cause?”

Elsa’s eyes were fixed on the far distance. “Yea, that will I,” she replied slowly.

“What champion shall defend thee?” asked the king.

“That knight whom Heaven sent me! He and none other shall be my champion,” replied Elsa. “And this is the reward I offer. He shall wear my father’s crown, and high honor I shall deem it to give to him my land, my wealth, and my hand.”

“A prize worth fighting for!” murmured the people. Their hearts beat true to their princess, in spite of appearances against her.

“Let the summons go forth!” cried the king.

The heralds and trumpeters then marched to the outposts and proclaimed the challenge, so that all might hear it, far and near: “Let him who will fight in mortal combat for Elsa of Brabant now appear!” There was a long pause, and breathless silence followed. The echo of the trumpet’s blast died away into the distance. But no one appeared in answer to the call. Elsa listened, looking round on all sides, with anxious, expectant gaze. “O gracious king,” implored Elsa, “I beseech thee let the call go forth once again to summon my knight. He dwells so far he has not heard.”

“Let the summons go forth yet once more,” he ordered. Again the heralds proclaimed the challenge.

There followed a longer pause and a longer silence. No one stirred. The people scarcely seemed to breathe, so great was the suspense and expectation.

Elsa fell on her knees, while her maidens closed round as though to protect her. “O Lord,” she cried, “send my knight speedily, I beseech thee. Once, at Thy command, he came to me. Oh, send him now again. Tell him of my sore need,” she implored in despair. Her women knelt also, weeping and praying.

Suddenly a cry went up from the people standing near the river-bank: “See! A wondrous sight! A swan! a swan drawing a boat! And, standing in the prow, behold a knight in shining armor. Lo, he comes with utmost speed!” All rushed forward eagerly to see.

The king from his throne looked towards the river and beheld the amazing sight. Elsa, on her knees, listened spellbound, in a transport of joy. Frederick of Telramund, struck dumb with awe and astonishment, looked at Ortruda. Her face had turned to an ashen hue. Her glittering eyes were dull, as though the light within had suddenly gone out. She gazed at the swan with greater terror than had he been a dragon.

“’Tis a miracle! A miracle of Heaven!” exclaimed the men.

The women, on their knees, cried joyfully: “Oh, God be thanked, who hast heard our prayer! Hail to the Heaven-sent one who comes to save the guiltless!”

The boat had now reached the bank. Lohengrin stepped lightly to land, and then turned lovingly to the swan: “My thanks to thee, beloved swan,” he said. “Return now o’er the waters to the blessed land from whence we came. Faithfully hast thou fulfilled thy task. Farewell, beloved swan.”

He gazed sadly after his faithful companion, as the swan slowly turned and swam away.

The crowd made way for him eagerly, as Lohengrin advanced to the king’s throne and bowed low. As he raised his head, Elsa turned, and uttered a cry of joy at beholding no other than the knight of her vision.

“Hail, royal Henry! May the blessing of Heaven ever rest on thee!” said Lohengrin.

“Welcome, sir knight!” replied the king graciously. “Surely by a miracle divine thou art come to this land?”

“I have been sent, O king, to fight for the honor of an innocent maiden, in sore need and distress,” answered Lohengrin. Then, going before Elsa, he asked her: “Wilt thou trust thy cause to me, O Elsa of Brabant? Wilt thou take me for thy champion without doubt or fear?”

Elsa raised her eyes to his. “My deliverer, my knight—with my whole heart do I trust thee!” she answered. Lohengrin knelt and, taking her hand in his, asked: “And if, with Heaven’s help, I win this fight for thee, wilt thou consent to be my bride?”

“I am thine—thine only, my knight. All I have I give thee gladly!” said Elsa, with shining eyes.

“One promise wilt thou give me?”

“To thee will I promise anything,” Elsa answered readily.

“Then if thou desirest, as I, that nothing part us ever—that thy people and thy country become from henceforth my people and my country—never shalt thou ask of me my name and race, or whence I come,” said Lohengrin earnestly.

“Never will I seek to know thy secret. Thy love is enough for me—naught else do I desire!”

“But Elsa, think well what it is I ask,” urged Lohengrin. “Never must thou desire this knowledge, and never must this secret between us cause thee sadness.”

Elsa was troubled that Lohengrin repeated his request. There was nothing in the world she would not gladly grant to him—her champion, her deliverer. “Thou hast never doubted my innocence,” she answered. “Dost thou not trust in me? And shall not I also trust in thee, my knight, whate’er thou askest of me?”

Then Lohengrin stood forth, and, in a ringing voice that all might hear, proclaimed: “Hear now, all ye people, and ye nobles of Brabant! I hereby declare, before Heaven and before all men, by my honor as a knight, that free from every shadow of guilt is the maiden Elsa, Princess of Brabant. False and unfounded is thy black charge, Frederick of Telramund, and that will I prove by Heaven’s ordeal!”

Telramund advanced with angry mien and flashing eyes: “What magic brought thee here, sir stranger, I know not. Thy talk is bold enough! But my answer is not in words. This, my good sword, shall defend mine honor. May victory be to right and truth, say I!”

Lohengrin turned towards the throne: “We await thy command, O king, to commence the combat.”

The king ordered the fighting-ring to be measured; and this being done, he then besought Heaven that in this fight victory might be, not as in other fights, to skill and strength, but to the one on whose side was right. And all the people fervently echoed the good king’s prayer.

Scarce a breath could be heard. Every eye was fixed on the gleaming swords, as they cut the air like flashes of lightning, and clashed with sharp, ringing strokes.

A few intense moments, which seemed to Elsa’s beating heart a very eternity; then a crash of falling armor, a wild shout from the people, and the fight was over.

Telramund had fallen; over him, like an angel of judgment, stood Lohengrin. “Through Heaven’s victory, thy life is mine!” he cried. “I give it thee again, that thou mayest use it for repentance.”

“Victory, victory! Hail to the hero!” shouted a thousand glad voices.

“The victory I owe to thy innocence alone,” said Lohengrin to Elsa. “All that thou hast suffered shall now be atoned to thee.” Then Lohengrin and Elsa were lifted on the shields of the nobles, and all the people marched round them in a triumphal procession, shouting a hymn of joyful thanksgiving, in which the good King Henry himself joined lustily.

Only Ortruda and the defeated Telramund stood sullenly apart. “Woe is me! Mine honor and fame are undone,” muttered the count. “It would seem indeed that Heaven is against me.”

Ortruda, with clenched hands, asked herself in dismay: “Who can this be? Before whom even I feel my powers weaken! Who? and from whence?”

ORTRUDA PLOTS FOR REVENGE

By Constance Maud

The stars came out in the deep blue sky of night, waiting for the summer moon.

The stately walls of the royal palace of Antwerp threw mysterious shadows all around. And in the darkness of these shadows crept two figures stealthily. They seated themselves at length under a tree which faced the windows of the Princess Elsa’s apartments.

Looking up, they saw a light still burning.

Then they talked together earnestly in muffled tones.

By and by the moon arose, and cast her silvery light about, shifting the shadows according to her royal pleasure.

The two dark figures, a man and a woman, moved with the shadows, still keeping close to the palace. They took no thought of rest or sleep that night.

The man looked at the woman, and shuddered.

The woman turned to the man, a scornful light in her eyes. She was for action, and despised useless regrets and groans.

“Frederick of Telramund, why dost thou mistrust me?” she asked quietly.

“Why?” he cried wrathfully. “Was it not on thy false word that I accused the guiltless, and condemned an innocent maid? Thou who didst swear that thine own eyes beheld her murder the youthful Godfrey!”

“Dost thou know who is this mysterious hero, drawn hither across the sea by a wild swan?” she asked.

“Nay, I know not,” he answered.

“Hearken now to me,” said Ortruda. “It is forbidden him to reveal either his name or country. That, his own words allowed. The reason I will tell thee. Should he do so, all his magic power instantly vanishes. There is but one person who can tear his secret from him—she whom he so strictly forbade to ask him.”

“Ha! Elsa! She must be made to do this!” cried Telramund eagerly. Ortruda looked at him and smiled. Her smile was very terrible. “If thou wilt be but silent and watchful, thou shalt taste the sweets of revenge. But—hist!”

The window opposite opened softly. Ortruda and Telramund drew back farther into the shadow. A white-robed figure came out on the balcony.

Ortruda whispered in Telramund’s ear: “Go thou, and leave her alone with me,” and Frederick withdrew.

“Elsa!” cried a wailing, miserable voice.

Elsa started. “Who calls me?”

“Is my voice so strange to thee?” answered Ortruda piteously. “Wilt thou repulse one in sore distress?”

“Ortruda! Thou! What doest thou here, and at this hour, unhappy woman?” asked Elsa, in surprise.

“Ah, woe is me!” moaned Ortruda. “What have I done, that such dark trouble should fall on me? How different thy fate! After a brief time of trouble, every cloud has vanished, and life smiles gloriously before thee.”

“Most unworthy should I be of my great happiness, could I spurn one in misery such as thine, Ortruda. Come! I myself will open the door to you.”

“Ortruda, where art thou?” called the gentle voice of Elsa, opening the door.

“Here at thy feet!” replied Ortruda, throwing herself down before the white-robed figure.

“Kneel not to me, I beseech thee, Ortruda,” cried Elsa, much distressed. “Thou, whom I have always beheld in pride and magnificence! Freely I forgive thee. And if in aught thou hast suffered through my fault, I pray thee pardon me in like manner.”

“How can I thank thee for such gracious favor?” returned Ortruda, in tones of great humility. “And for thy husband Telramund,” continued Elsa, “I will beseech my noble bridegroom on the morrow, that he show him grace and pardon. So let me see thee once more restored to happiness. Arrayed in thy robe of state, come thou with me to the minister, where our marriage will to-morrow be celebrated before God and all men.”

“Thou loadest me with chains of gratitude,” said Ortruda. “Only one way is there in which I may perhaps repay thee—by my knowledge of the hidden arts I may be able to protect thy life, and warn thee should grave danger arise.”

“What meanest thou?” asked Elsa, in astonishment.

“Trust not thy happiness too blindly,” replied Ortruda darkly, “lest some evil entrap thee unawares.” Ortruda drew closer, and lowered her voice: “Dost know by what magic art _he_ came to thee?”

THE DEPARTURE OF LOHENGRIN

By Constance Maud

It was Princess Elsa’s wedding-day.

The sober old city of Antwerp had blossomed out in colors gay as a spring garden, with banners, ribbons, garlands of flowers, and triumphal arches.

Not a burgher or a prentice but kept holiday.

Royal weddings were not an everyday sight, more especially when the bride was a princess of such beauty and virtue, and the bridegroom a knight who had risked his life for her sake.

Every maid in Antwerp would gladly have gone through fire and water just for a sight of the knight in silver armor. Greatly were those envied who had seen him arrive, drawn by the snow-white swan.

The bells of the old cathedral rang out a joyful chime. From every quarter came a stream of people, all hurrying to secure the best places from which to see the bridal procession. Guarding the entrance of the cathedral, on either side, were stationed knights and nobles in full court dress, ablaze with medals and decorations, helmets and waving plumes.

“She comes! She comes! Make way for the bride,” sang a chorus of voices. And Elsa appeared, more beautiful than a spring morning. Little children, clad in white, strewed her path with flowers. Maidens of high degree followed, bearing her bridal train. Never had a fairer, happier maid passed through the ancient doorway to become a bride.

_From the painting by Ferdinand Leeke_]

Smiling and bowing graciously, Elsa ascended the cathedral steps, when suddenly her way was barred by a tall commanding figure, who pushed through the astonished crowd and stood before her. It was Ortruda.

“Back, I say!” she cried wrathfully. “Thinkest thou that I am going to follow thee, like a serving-maid! No longer will I suffer it! The time has come when thou shalt bow before me!”

The attendants and courtiers stood aghast. “The woman must be mad!” they exclaimed to one another.

Elsa could scarce believe that this was the same Ortruda who, a few hours before, had knelt in the dust at her feet.

Pale and trembling she cried:

“Ortruda! Is it possible? What has happened to change thee thus terribly?”

Ortruda gave a mocking laugh.

“Thinkest thou,” she answered, “that because I foolishly forgot my high position and my worth for one short hour, I must forever after approach thee crawling? My lord was first in all the land! Not a foe but feared his sword, not a tongue but spake his praise. But thy hero! No man ever heard of him! Thou thyself canst not even give him a name.”

The people murmured indignantly:

“Will no man silence this slanderous woman?”

But all trembled, remembering her reputation as a witch, and not daring to brave her wrath.

Fortunately at this moment appeared the king’s outriders, followed by the royal bodyguard, and King Henry himself, riding side by side with the bridegroom.

“What! Ho!” cried the king, looking at the threatening figure standing across the bride’s path. “Who dares to make strife on a wedding morn?”

Lohengrin hastened to Elsa’s side. “What do I see? Why is this terrible woman near thee?” he asked.

“Oh, my deliverer, protect me from her! Pardon me, that I forgot thy warning. Seeing her in misery at my door last night, I took her in. Behold now how she turns on me, and mocks me for my trust in thee!”

Lohengrin stood between Ortruda and the trembling Elsa. “Begone, thou fearful woman!” he cried. “Carry elsewhere thy poison. Here is no soil in which it can take root.”

“Hold there!” cried a loud harsh voice. “O king, hearken, I pray. Greatly hast thou been deceived. The combat was no Heaven’s ordeal, for, by the evil power of magic, justice was turned aside. Here, before all men, I challenge him, the impostor, to declare his name and race, and from where he came, drawn hither by that unholy bird. If he dare not say, methinks it looks bad for his knightly truth and honor! I appeal to thee, illustrious prince! Demand thou a reply from this unknown hero. He will scarcely dare to call thee unworthy of his answer.”

Lohengrin confronted the wrathful Telramund: “All honor would I ever show to his most illustrious majesty; but there is one only to whom I am bound to reveal my secret—that one is Elsa, my bride.”

Lohengrin feared for one dread moment that the wicked Ortruda’s poison had, after all, begun to work. One moment only; then, to his joy, Elsa raised her head, and shaking off all doubt, she cried: “What he keeps secret, that he does in wisdom. She whom he has saved, shall she not trust him?”

And the king added heartily: “My hero, pay no regard to evil-speakers. Thou art too far above them for such to tarnish thy spotless fame.”

The nobles then pressed round Lohengrin, assuring him of their trust and devotion, even though he should never see fit to reveal his name; and the wedding procession entered the cathedral in solemn state.

When the wedding-feast was over and the wedding-guests had gone, Elsa and Lohengrin sat at the window, looking out on the starlit night.

Elsa sighed. A tiny cloud crept over her heart at the thought that she knew no name by which to call her love.

Lohengrin noticed it and strove to turn her thoughts from the dangerous subject. But Elsa continued, as though forced to return to it: “Ah show thou thinkest me worthy of thy trust! Now that we are alone, tell me thy secret and let it be buried in my heart, safe, where never the world can reach it.”

“Have I not shown thee highest trust?” answered Lohengrin. “I have trusted in thy promise. Now my greatest joy is in thy love. It is the only reward I ask for all I have left behind. For not out of night and sorrow did I come to thee, but out of light and glory.”

“Alas!” cried Elsa. “Then art thou farther removed, and I yet more unworthy, than e’er I dreamt! Any day may rob me of thee! Ere long thou wilt surely regret thy humble choice, and long after thy departed glory.” Tears blinded her eyes. Lohengrin saw, too late, that what he had told her but increased her doubt and unhappiness. She longed now more than ever to be trusted with his secret.

“The fear lest thou depart will haunt me day and night! Who is this unknown one? Whence comes he?” No peace now for Elsa, day or night, until she can answer.

“Alas!” she cried, “it was by a miracle thou camest here! Thy path is hidden, like thyself, in mystery. Thy life is divided from mine by a cloud.”

“Ah, look!” she cried, clutching wildly Lohengrin’s arm. “See the swan? He comes! There—down the river! He brings the boat! Thou hast called him!”

“Oh, Elsa, cease this madness!” cried Lohengrin, in despair.

“Nothing can give me peace again, till I know—even though it cost me my life—who thou art, and whence thou comest.”

“Alas!” groaned Lohengrin, covering his face with his hands.

So absorbed were they both, that they did not hear the stealthy tread upon the stair, nor the low, muffled voices outside the door.

Suddenly there was a crash. The door was broken open, and a group of dark figures, cloaked and masked, barred the passage, while one of the number rushed towards Lohengrin, drawing his naked sword.

It was the work of an instant. Lohengrin had but time to seize his sword, when the stalwart figure closed with him.

In the flickering torchlight, he parried the foe’s first deadly thrust, and before he had time for a second, the trusty sword of Lohengrin had pierced to his traitorous heart. With a deep groan he fell back, and Elsa beheld, as she suspected, the face of Frederick of Telramund.

Hearing the noise, Elsa’s attendants and guards now crowded into the room. The dark masked figures had fled on seeing their master fall.

Lohengrin turned to the guards, and bade them bear the body of Telramund before the king’s judgment-seat.

Then to Elsa’s attendants, who supported their fainting mistress, he said sadly: “Make her ready to appear before the king. There I will meet her, and answer her question—Who I am, and from whence I come?”

At noon next day, King Henry held a review of his troops.

Before leaving Antwerp, the king desired to collect forces for a war against the savage Drohns, who were threatening the peace of Germany. The king counted greatly on Lohengrin’s help, for never had he seen one more fitted to command and lead his troops.

But now the appointed hour had come, and still the king waited for the arrival of the knight.

Presently all were startled by the appearance of a solemn procession, bearing in their midst the body of a dead man. “Make way!” whispered the crowd, awestruck. “These are the followers of Telramund.”

Close on them followed Elsa and her ladies. Alas, how changed from the happy bride of yesterday!

“Ah, here he comes! Our hero!” cried the people, as Lohengrin at length appeared. “Welcome, sir knight,” said the king. “We look to thee to lead these brave troops on to victory.”

“Alas, my lord the king!” answered Lohengrin, “it is not possible for me now to lead thy soldiers, as I hoped.”

“Heaven help us! What means this?” cried the king, dismayed, not only at Lohengrin’s words, but by his sad, solemn bearing.

“First, I ask thy righteous judgment, before all the people, concerning this man.” He pointed to the body of Telramund. “In the middle of the night, he fell on me unawares. Was I right in that I slew him?”

“Thy hand was but the instrument of a just Heaven in so slaying him!” replied the king, sternly regarding the dead traitor.

“Ye heard all how she, my bride, gave me her promise, that never would she ask who I am or from whence I came. Now, alas! she has broken that promise—she has listened to traitorous counsel! Now hear, all ye people, whether my secret is one to be ashamed of before king, nobles, and the world!” Lohengrin raised his voice till it rang on all sides like a clarion.

“In the distant land, far from hence, is a mountain named Mount Salvat. In the midst stands a temple; none on earth can compare with its magnificence. Therein is guarded a sacred treasure, brought thither years ago by an angel-host. It is the Holy Grail. The knight who serves the Grail derives divine strength from the power of its might. Before him evil flies, and death itself is vanquished. Even when far away in distant lands, so long as the knight remains unknown, the Grail still renews his strength. But the working of the Holy Grail must ever remain veiled. Once the source of mystery is revealed, the blessings granted must be withdrawn—such is the Grail’s command. I was hither sent to you by order of the Grail. My father is Parsifal, the king—I am his warrior, Lohengrin!”

Elsa listened like one hearing her death-sentence. Had not her ladies supported her, she must have fallen.

“Oh, Elsa,” he cried mournfully, “why didst thou tear my secret from me? Now, alas, we are parted forever!”

“The swan! The swan!” cried a chorus of voices near the bank of the river.

Elsa turned to look, and there, sailing swiftly towards them, came the snow-white swan, drawing the small boat in which the shining knight had arrived.

“Oh, my Elsa,” he said, “the Grail has sent for me—I dare not tarry. One year only, and I might have had the joy of seeing thee again united to thy long-lost brother. For he is not dead, and by the might of the Grail he was then to be restored to thee. Now hearken. Should he return, give him these—my sword and horn and ring. The sword will bring him victory in battle, the horn will bring him help in time of need, and the ring he shall wear in memory of me. Farewell, my beloved bride; farewell forever!”

THE WOOING OF THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF IRELAND

_From the Gudrun Lay_

When Hettel, the young King of Denmark, but newly crowned, was minded to take him a wife, he sent and gathered together his high vassals and lieges to his palace in Hegelingen to give him counsel.

And Morung of Nifland said to the king: “There is one maiden that for comeliness surpasseth all others in the world: that is Hilda, daughter of wild Hagen, King of Ireland; and she is peerless.”

“That may be so,” answered the king, “but Hagen is waxed so proud that there is no dealing with him by fair words; and many kings and yarls which sought to carry her off by strength of arm now sleep the sword-sleep because of her.”

Then spake the sweet-voiced Horant: “Full well I know the maiden. She is radiant as the soft new snow beneath the dawn. Stern is her father, and cruel as the north wind that tears the clouds and breaks the sea, and shakes the pines in his fists. Wherefore if the king must send a messenger, let him not choose me.” Frute spake also: “Neither am I fain to go upon this errand. But let the king send and summon Yarl Wate of Sturmen; he is more reckless than any man, and heedeth no living thing.”

But when Yarl Wate was come before the king, and understood what was required of him, he was but ill-pleased, and said: “I ween Horant and Frute to have counseled thee in this, and to have done in no friendly wise toward me. Howbeit I am not the man to pick an enterprise that hath no peril in it. I will go. But since Horant and Frute esteem my life so lightly, they shall go likewise.”

Then Yrolt of Ortland and Morung said: “It is well spoken; and inasmuch as it behooveth none to hang back when brave men take their lives in their hands, we also will go with them.”

So the king made ready a great ship of cypress wood, in fashion like a dragon. It was all aglow with golden scales; the anchor was of silver, and the steering paddle overlaid with gold. Within he furnished it abundantly with victual for the voyage, with armor and raiment, and presents of great price.

Then Yarl Wate and Morung, Horant and Frute and Yrolt, entered into the ship with seven hundred of their men. They drew aloft the embroidered sail; a fair wind arose and bore them out of harbor. For many days they tilled the barren sea-fields, until weary of sea toil they saw the welcome land, and steered in for Castle Balian, where Hagen the king kept court.

Being come to shore, Horant and Yrolt took precious jewels in their hands worth many thousand marks, and leaving their men hidden in the ship, came to King Hagen, saying: “Behold we have voyaged from a far country where we have heard of thy fame, and we pray thee take these presents at our hands.” Hagen looked at the jewels and marvelled at their great worth. He said: “What kings are ye, and whence have you come with all this treasure.”

Horant answered, saying: “Banished folk are we. Hast thou not heard of Hattel, who is king in Hegelingen, and of his might and majesty, of the battles he has fought and the riches he has gathered together? He despiseth such as we, and being well befriended careth nothing for his men. Wherefore a few of us, weary of his overbearing ways, have left him seeking service.” Then said Hagen: “Ye shall abide with me”; and he commanded to make ready lodgings for them in the city.

But Horant and Yrolt gave gold away so lavishly to all within the city that the people said, “Of a truth these must be the richest kings of the earth.”

And the fair Hilda hearing of it desired greatly to see these strangers; wherefore her father bade them to a feast.

The Danish knights came at his bidding, arrayed most sumptuously. And the feast being over, and the wine outpoured, the queen and Hilda left the table, desiring that the guests might be brought to them in the inner chamber. First Yarl Wate went in, a huge and burly man, with a great rough beard and brawny hands. But when the queen bade him sit between her and the princess he blushed and stammered, and then blundered shamefaced to the seat. “Thou art strangely ill at ease in company of ladies,” said the queen. “Aye, mistress,” said Yarl Wate, “I am not oversmooth of tongue. I am not skilled to lisp about the weather. What shall I say? This seat is soft enough. I never mind me to have sat so soft before, nor to have wrought so hard in doing it. By my life, good ladies!” he cried upstarting, “a good day’s battle with a brisk enemy never wearied me so much, or made me deem myself so great a fool.” Hilda and her mother laughed pleasantly at his bluff behavior, and sought to put him at his ease; but Wate would have no more; he strode off to the hall among the king and his men, and in an hour or so became himself again. For the king won on him. Hagen’s big voice, his battle knowledge, and his love of fight, opened Yarl Wate’s heart, and the two were soon made friends. But for the women, there was none in their esteem like the sweet-voiced Horant. He was fair to look upon as a woman, yet had no lack of courage in the battle time. His wit was quick; and when he talked his face was in a glow at sight of the strange pictures in his mind, whereby he likened things to one another in curious sort, so that all which heard him wondered and were glad.

Now Hagen spake much with Wate concerning sword play, and the mystery thereof. So presently Yarl Wate besought the king to appoint him a master of fence to teach him a little of it, because fencing after their manner was a thing in which he was little learned. Then King Hagen sent for the best fence master that he had, and set him to teach Yarl Wate the rules of sword play. But quickly losing patience at the long list of early rules which the fence master laid down, Hagen caught the foil from out his hands crying: “Away with you! Why all this stuff? In four strokes I will teach this man to use a sword.”

So the king fell to with Wate, whom, however, he very soon found an exceeding skilful master of fence. Thereat being somewhat angry, he struck in fiercely; and they both carried on the sport till the buttons flew off the foils; yet neither gat the better of the other. Then Hagen throwing down his foil cried: “In sooth, never saw I youth learn so quickly.” And Yrolt said: “There is very little wherein the serving men of our lord’s country are not already learned.”

So as Yarl Wate and his fellows abode continually at the king’s court and feasted with him every day, it befell once on a time, when night was past and the day had begun to dawn, that Horant arose and tuned his voice to a song. The birds, waking in the hedges, had begun to sing, but hearing music sweeter than theirs, they held their peace. Ever higher and sweeter Horant lifted his song till it rang about the palace; and all the sleepers dreamed of Baldur and his home in Ganzblick in the sky.

Soon they woke; nor were they sorry to lose their dreams at hearing Horant’s song. Hagen heard it and rose up from his bed. Hilda and her maidens heard it, and arose. Men and women came thronging to thank the singer; but when they came the song was done. Yet none the more would the birds begin their lays; they had lost their notes from wonder.