Part 10

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.

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.