Part 9

“The bird fled to save its life. The way it pointed thou shalt never pass, presumptuous youth.”

“Ha, ha! And who art _thou_ to arrest my steps?” laughed Siegfried scornfully.

“I am the Guardian of yon mountain, where sleeps the maiden Brunhilda! A wall of flame encircles her, which even to approach would scorch thee to death. Begone then, rash fool, for to win thy way one step farther, thou must first overcome the mountain’s Guardian.”

Placing himself in the middle of the road, the stranger loomed above Siegfried gigantic and immovable as the rock itself.

But Siegfried remained unawed. “Begone thyself, old boaster!” he cried irreverently. “Think not to scare me with such tales. I love the fire’s blaze! So out of my way, for I haste to where Brunhilda sleeps.”

“Thou fearest not the fire?” retorted the stranger, “Then fear this my Spear, for it shall bar thy way—this Spear, which once already has shattered thy father’s sword.”

The sky had now become lurid; a terrific tempest was gathering. At the stranger’s words, Siegfried sprang forward, and, drawing Needful from the scabbard, shouted exultingly: “Have I then found my father’s foe? Thanks be to the gods for letting me avenge his death!”

Then, falling on the powerful form that barred his way, he hewed with long, swift strokes at the Spear, which, had he hesitated one moment, or made one false step, would have struck him dead.

There was a rushing sound of wings in the storm-clouds overhead. Anxious faces peered down on the scene. The warrior maidens, hovering above on their war-horses, trembled and paled as they beheld the Spear which once had been the terror of the world hewn to pieces, while their father, recoiling at last before the fiery youth, cried half triumphantly, in spite of his defeat: “Advance! I cannot bar thy way.” For Wotan’s heart never failed to rejoice in a real hero, even though he fought against him.

A terrific clap of thunder followed, and a dark cloud swept over the fighters. When it rolled away, Siegfried looked in vain for his mysterious foe. He had vanished. “Now through the fire to win my bride!” cried Siegfried joyously, and leapt up the mountain side.

A ruddy glow soon told him he was nearing the fiery wall, and gusts of hot air swept across his face. Taking his silver horn, Siegfried blew a call which echoed far and near. “To greet my sleeping love!” he cried.

And now the fire was all about him, bursting up under his feet, pouring down from the skies, rushing round on every side. “Aha! This is glorious!” shouted Siegfried, plunging eagerly onwards, and laughing. The fierce flames which had scared so many nearly to death did not scorch even a hair of Siegfried’s head. For the magic fire injured only those who retreated—he who dashed fearlessly onward remained unharmed.

Higher and higher up the mountain went Siegfried. Emerging at last from the flames, he found himself on the summit of a rocky peak, clad with tall dark pine trees.

He looked around him, and rejoiced for very joy to be alive in such a fair world. The stillness was wonderful. Not a sound could be heard, for the wood-bird will not build his home so near the sky, and the fire had kept out all wingless intruders.

Presently Siegfried saw, standing motionless under the trees, a stately horse. On going nearer, he was astonished to find that on his feet were wings. His eyes were closed in profound sleep. Siegfried stroked his flowing name. “Awake good steed! The sun has arisen. This is no time for sleeping.” His voice rang out clear as his silver horn, and with a start, Grani awoke.

But Siegfried looked around in vain for the bride—Brunhilda. Suddenly the rising sun struck with its glittering light on an object under a distant pine. Siegfried hastened forward, and with wonder beheld a sleeping form clad from head to foot in shining armor. “Here is some warrior, for sure,” cried Siegfried. “This heavy helmet must press sorely on his head; I will loosen it for him.”

He stooped, lifted the shield, and then carefully unfastened the helmet. As he removed it, the sleeper’s hair rolled out in long curling locks of burnished gold. Siegfried started. Never had he seen anything so fair as that calm proud young face, framed in the wavy shining curls.

So still lay the sleeping warrior, so motionless, Siegfried bent down and listened anxiously for the deep slow breathing. “This coat of mail must weigh heavily on him; I will open it,” he said. But in vain he sought to find a fastening: everywhere the iron rings closed tightly round. To Siegfried, who had never seen a soldier, and knew of no weapon save a sword, this iron garment seemed a terrible inconvenience, almost as cumbersome as old Fafnir’s scales. He determined to free the young warrior, that he might at least sleep in comfort.

So, taking out his sword, he carefully cut through the rings of mail down each side, and then lifted off the corselet and greaves. As he did so, great was his astonishment to see lying before him a maiden in soft flowing garments.

He started back. His heart beat wildly. This must be none other than the maiden Brunhilda! Then he who had never known fear—who laughed in the face of the terrible dragon—quailed not before Wotan the mighty god, and dashed fearlessly through fire—sank down trembling and afraid before the sleeping maiden.

“What is this feeling? Can _this_ be Fear?” he cried.

“Awake! awake, O beautiful maid!” he cried, kneeling at her side.

Still she did not stir.

Bending over Brunhilda, Siegfried pressed his lips to hers.

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!”